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thewordswewrite · 4 months

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Like Winter, Like Spring

Pairing | Mizu x Fem!Reader

Summary | After the events of episode five, Mizu stumbles into the forest barely clinging to life and you happen to be hunting.

Or what would happen if you found Mizu bleeding out and cared for her (in more ways than one)?

Warnings | NSFW 18+, mentions of injury/blood/killing

W/C | 7.3k

A/N | I’ve been consumed by this show and can't help but recommend it to everyone, so please if you haven't already done so, watch it. Please leave me some comments and lmk what you think!!-Smoe<33

AO3 | Link

Donations | Link

Part Ⅰ: Winter

In the moonlit haze, a spirit roams, lost and cold, whispers of vengeance unfold, onryo's bitter gaze.

The snow soaked through your socks as you took exaggerated steps through the powder, cold seeping into your toes and numbing them. Though you had enough firewood to last until the first thaw, your food stores were beginning to dwindle. It had been a harsh winter, one your father hadn’t survived, leaving you to fend for yourself. Your day had been one of minor success; three rabbits hung from the rope tied around your waist, a haul good enough for the next few nights based on their size and you decided to head home.

Food was becoming harder to come by, and without your father, you could not venture into Mihonoseki to stock up on more dried goods. Your father had always been of more liberal views but you were still a woman and he was still your father meaning you knew where you stood in society. Due to necessity alone, your father taught you to hunt; a bow and arrow the ‘only thing suited to a woman’ your father once told you.

You pulled your scarf tighter around your head as the wind whipped around you, snow falling harder and harder as you walked. You were sure anyone else other than you caught in the storm would be utterly lost, but you knew the place like the back of your hand. As the wind howled, it carried to you the sounds of the forest and with it a distant grunt of pain, just loud enough for your keen ears to pick up on and you stilled. You would have ignored it–a lone man more often than not meaning trouble–but he was headed in the direction of your home and therefore you needed to act. With your brow set, you sank into a crouch and rifled through the snow until your unfeeling fingers grasped a rock, waiting for another sound from the man.

A hunter knew how to stalk its prey and in that moment you treated the man as nothing more. With every sound he made you got closer, using the noise from the environment to mask your own as you trailed him. In the distance, you caught sight of someone clad in navy and in the opposite direction of your home, threw the rock. You hadn’t been too worried until you heard the ‘shing’ of a katana and the crash of a tree.

A samurai.

It could be no one else with that blade or skill, and though they were meant to be honorable, you knew, they were still men. You knew every road, every tree that grew in these woods and as you were coming back up on the main trail where the samurai fled, one was struck down. Your pale hand reached out to stroke the clean-cut trunk, not yet five years old by your count and yet it had fallen. It was mindless acts of violence like this that made you distrustful of strangers.

A quick glance at the area revealed a small trail of blood, likely left by the man, and you couldn’t help but let a rueful smile grace your lips. His death would be easier than you thought. Cold, lost, and injured was a dangerous combination for anyone, but for a man in your woods? It was lethal.

You were soundless as you descended upon your prey, a respectable distance away but close enough to see his profile. He was dressed in simple pants and a shirt, though the latter looked to be soaked through with blood as one of his hands pressed against his stomach, the other grasping a blue blade, ripe for attack. It was too easy for you to nock an arrow and draw, your breath steadying as you aimed for his heart. You were preparing for the release when suddenly to your left a twig snapped and the samurai’s gaze turned to the noise, and then onto you.

The man raised his sword, removing his hand from his side to give the encounter his full attention. “Who sent you?”

You were puzzled by the question. Not only were you clearly a woman, but who was he that he thought himself important enough to have assassins sent after him? You didn’t think to voice these questions aloud but they were answered anyway when you finally caught sight of his eyes: blue.

When he spoke again, he must have registered that you were not who he thought you were. “I am no threat to you. I am just passing through.” To prove his point he sheathed his blade and put up his hands.

You hesitated to drop your own weapon but since he was injured and still a good enough distance away, you let-down your bow and stood to your full height, noticing the man was not much taller than you.

“Leave here!” You shouted, hands still latched to your grip and arrow, ready to fire should the need arise.

The samurai began backing up slowly, nodding to you and returning pressure to the wound at his side. When he did so, he grunted and his eyes fluttered. It all seemed to happen in a single moment when he was suddenly face down in the snow and you were taking brisk but weary steps towards him. As you got closer, the extent of his injuries became clearer and you could see the tips of his ears and nose red from the cold. Your eyes closed in exasperation; you hadn’t intended to stumble across a half-white, dying samurai let alone bring him to your home, but seeing as you weren’t too far away and he had shown no intention of attacking you, you could not, in good conscience, leave him in the snow to die.

With a huff, you flipped the man over, grabbed him under the arms, and began to haul him toward your home, the dense snow making the task almost more difficult than you could manage. You knew he was alive based solely on the noises of discomfort he released in his sleep as you readjusted your grip and pulled harder. You were forced to stop every few feet, panting from the effort it took but when you finally were able to kick open your door and get him in front of the fireplace, you felt a sense of relief.

As you pulled up the samurai’s kimono, you got a glimpse of four deep gashes punctured into his stomach and your heart dropped. “Please stay with me.”

It was immediately apparent to you what had caused his wounds: Boss Hamata, or more accurately, his Thousand-Claw Army. That would explain why he thought someone had sent you after him and why he was covered in so much more blood than what was plausibly his own. Anxiety sent goosebumps down your arms. The thought of one of Boss Hamata’s men coming to your home and killing the both of you for whatever this samurai did entered your mind. You tried to reason with yourself; no man in his right mind would enter this storm and they must know the samurai was injured, likely only letting him go because he was sure to die. That was that you decided: he could stay until the storm passed and not a second longer. Enough time, by the looks of it, for him to heal enough to leave but not enough for anyone to come knocking at your door looking for him.

With your mind made up, you went about untying his kimono to get better access to his wound. Your still-warming fingers deftly undid the knot and moved to unwrap the samurai when suddenly a hand shot up and wrapped itself around your wrist, halting your actions.

“No.” The man’s eyes fought to open and you were once again treated to a glimpse of blue through thick black lashes. He was only able to mutter the single word before he once again fell unconscious and you stared at him a beat longer.

He didn’t have the luxury of his warning being granted, and you instead opened his shirt, only to find his chest already wrapped. Or rather her chest already wrapped. A gasp escaped you as you balked at the sight, eyes darting again to the face of the person below you and noticing not only the sharp curve of their jaw but the softness of their cheeks and decidedly feminine-looking lips. Yes, you stopped your thoughts from drifting, she was a woman, but that made your job no different.

With clinical movements, you cleaned her wound with warm water, being sure to be as gentle as possible. You retrieved a suture kit your father had gotten from town after you had cut yourself chopping wood one day and began to sterilize the needle over the fire. You ran your fingers over the inflamed skin and worried when the woman’s stomach felt warm. The stitches were quick and clean, the woman below you making no movements which worried you but did make the process easier. Once each of the four gashes was closed, you wrapped up her stomach with strips of fabric and struggled to remove her soaked shirt–though, you left her pants for the sake of her already violated modesty.

You looked at her face once again, now less troubled looking than before, and saw hints of purple peeking out from under her scarf. Much like her shirt you undid her scarf as well and were horrified to see a deep purple handprint marring her skin. With little else you could do you opened your door, the wind catching it as you did so, slamming it open in your rush to gather enough snow to compress onto the samurai’s neck.

Another gust wafted flurries into your home, chilling the room before you could close the door in time and you cursed. You wrapped the snow in the previously discarded scarf and placed it on the samurai’s neck in hopes it would ease the pain. As tightly as you could, you bundled the woman in your father’s blanket and placed your own rolled-up one under her head as support after taking her katana and placing it across the room. Just in case.

With nothing else to do to try and keep her alive, you finally got to skinning the rabbits and making yourself dinner. You decided to wait until the woman was awake until you tried to feed her and thus only made enough for yourself. The food was hearty and warm and after the exertion you surrendered to the day, you were exhausted. In lieu of having a blanket, you threw on a second kimono and huddled close to your guest and the fire and, in an act of trust, you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to drift off to sleep.

- ⚔ -

You startled awake at the sound of someone shuffling around your home but all at once the memories of the day before come back to you.

“You’re awake,” You yawned, rubbing your eyes as you looked over at the half-clothed samurai propped up against your wall.

“You stitched my wounds. Why?” The woman’s voice was thick and gravelly but you could only focus on her eyes.

Your answer was simple and steadfast. “I could not leave you when you meant me no harm.”

The woman seemed to scan your face and must have found what she was looking for when she relaxed and coughed at the simple action. You took the lull to stand and place your kettle on the fire, intending on making sobacha tea for your guest. Her entire demeanor shifted when you moved and she realized she was without her sword.

“Where is my katana?” The woman ground out, eyes darting around the space.

You gestured silently to where it lay on the other side of the room and went back to pouring the tea, steeping it to your liking and hoping it was to the tastes of the woman across from you. You handed a steaming cup to the woman and cleared your throat, intending to find out more about your mysterious guest. You watched as she took a sip of the tea and closed her eyes for a moment to savor the flavor or feeling you were unsure but either way were happy she approved.

“What’s your name? If you don’t mind me asking.”

The woman paused before she answered, “Mizu.”

You introduced yourself and went about using the final two rabbits you killed to make a stew as well as some rice to help fill up. The silence between you two was undemanding as Mizu simply sat with her eyes closed while you cooked. It wasn’t long before you’d finished, offering a bowl to your guest which she took while meeting your eyes.

Mizu bowed her head. “I want to thank you for your hospitality and for saving my life.”

“As I said, I had to.” You shook your head with a smile as you ate.

The woman’s face suddenly went solemn and she put down her bowl. “Yes, but now you have to keep my secret, or else I cannot allow you to keep your life.”

Your eyes darted over to where her katana was, still half a room away, and took a steadying breath. “I can promise you I will never tell another soul but I need something in return,” Mizu looked at you apprehensively, her eyebrow raised. “You must be gone by the time the storm ends. I cannot be caught sheltering you in my home or Boss Hamata will have me killed.”

Her attention drifted from you, her expression unbothered. “You needn't worry about him or his army.”

“Why? You were clearly attacked by one of his men and–” Mizu cut you off with a raise of her hand.

“I killed them all.”

You took a moment to revel in the shock of the admission, spoken as though it was nothing more than a typical day for the female samurai. In your revelation, Mizu slid her bowl over to you, the blanket covering her shifting with the action and your cheeks warmed. You go to look away but stop yourself, instead letting your eyes search over her bandages for any signs of infection or bleeding before Mizu goes to cover herself back up, shooting you an indignant look.

“Oh! No, I–” You backtracked, knowing how it must have seemed. “Your wound, I was just looking to see if I should replace the bandages and…” You gestured to the bloodied cloth, “It looks like I should.”

Mizu looked down at herself and grimaced at the sight. “Fine, but I can do it myself.”

You nodded and retrieved a bowl of water for her to clean herself with as well as a new set of cloth to rewrap herself. You watched her struggle to undo the wrapping for a total of two minutes before you couldn’t help but reach towards her in aid though as you did she jerked away, wincing at the action and your face tightened.

“Please, let me help you.”

The two of you were locked in a stare-down, neither willing to give up ground so you decided to take it, scooting yourself forward and batting away her hands. Mizu looked ready to put up a fight but instead, she relented, allowing you to reach around her torso. Your faces were close as you did so, Mizu’s warm breath wafting sharply across your cheek as you pulled on the dressing to release it.

She began moving in every which way as you passed the bandages around her body to try and help the process go by quickly but your hands must have been chilled because when you finally revealed her skin and ran a hand along the plane of her stomach Mizu shivered and you looked up to see her eyes already trained on you. Mizu kept a hard look on her face as you wiped away congealed blood from her wound though it looked to you to have already begun scabbing, causing a self-satisfied smile to grace your face.

“It’s looking better. I think you should be okay to travel in a few days.” The labored breathing of the injured woman forced another comment from you. “Although, I think it would be beneficial for you to remove your bindings for the time being.”

Mizu gave you another long look and you figured that she must not be used to conversing with people regularly, a trait you both now shared. In retaliation, Mizu attempted to take a deep breath though before she could, her lungs stuttered out dry coughs and her face screwed up in pain at the action.

“Fine.” She ground out, once again attempting to remove the wrap on her own and failing.

You were unamused at the sight and decided to skip the dance the two of you had been playing at since you dragged her into your home and just helped her instead. It was a similar tension as when you removed her bloodied bandage but thicker by about tenfold when your eyes met again.

You couldn’t get over the sight, blue as the sky and sea but clouded by emotion. She looked to be studying you just the same, her eyes languidly making their way over your features before settling on your mouth. You couldn’t help but let your lips part, overcome with the moment and Mizu’s increasingly seductive gaze. Your cheeks burned under her but you weren't alone in your fluster, Mizu’s own face tinged pink as well, shared heat radiating between you.

All you had to do was lean forward and–

You cleared your throat at the thought and pulled back, “I’ll let you finish on your own. I’ll leave you.”

- ⚔ -

Ethereal and pale, haunting tales of love's demise, echo through her cold blue eyes, as sorrow sets its sail.

Hunting always cleared your mind, which, at that moment, was racing with thoughts of feelings you’d never experienced before. It wasn’t the fear of attraction that bothered you, but the fear of who you’d grown such a sensitivity toward. It would be easy if Mizu was just a lone samurai, someone wandering through life, a man, but she was none of those things and you were but a woman.

You’d been stalking your prey for a few miles, a serow that looked large enough for four meals between two people. Clad in your lightest clothes, you blended into the snowy environment and stepped slowly so as to not startle the creature. A moment of pause and a softly spoken prayer was all that was in between the serow’s short life and its quick death. Your emotions peaked as you released your arrow and the animal hit the ground, its breaths stuttering wetly as blood filled its chest. The pure white snow tainted red as you kneeled and slipped your knife from where it rested in its holster before promptly goring open the beast’s neck, killing it instantly.

You sat in the snow, waiting until the serow bled out enough for you to take it back, and began to think. You had very little, living in the woods alone, but it seemed to you so did Mizu. You were unsure if she even felt that way about other women as you had just discovered it was possible yourself. Mizu had incontestable skill, having claimed to have killed the Thousand-Claw Army single-handedly and suffered only a single serious injury. To you, she meant safety, security, and companionship, but what could you offer other than a home you were unsure she even wanted to come back to?

“Give me strength,” You called out to the universe and stood, bearing the weight of your future dinner on your back.

It was a difficult hike home but you were greeted by an up-and-about Mizu when you managed to open the door and throw down the serow.

“I made tea,” She announced, gesturing lamely to the steaming pot, uneasy at your sudden entrance.

You smiled and removed your scarf, brushing snow off of you and onto the floor in the process. “I can see that. Thank you.”

She nodded at your gratitude, her eyes not quite meeting your own. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m going to skin and carve this, then I can get started on dinner,” You moved to begin your task but Mizu stopped you.

“I can skin it. You rest.”

Your shoulders sagged with a relief you didn’t know you would feel and you smiled at her once again. You took your time undressing down to a single kimono and looked back to see Mizu butchering the pelt of your kill.

You gasped and Mizu stopped, startled as she looked up. “What?”

“Have you ever skinned an animal before?” You accused, taking three short strides over to her.

“Yes!” She defends. “Just nothing ever this large.”

You walk behind her and place your hand over hers. “Here, like this.”

Her hands are warmer than yours, but rougher, hardened by years of training and being on the road. She was slightly taller than you, forcing you to lean your head on the side of her arm in order to see what you were guiding her to do. You feigned intense focus while skinning the animal to combat the feeling that Mizu’s stolen and frequent glances gave you.

“Where is the man you live with?” She asked suddenly, causing you to stop your movements and remove yourself from behind her, too distracted in such close proximity.

Your heart clenched and you sighed. “Dead. My father got sick a month after the first snow.”

“My condolences.”

“I just realized you’re the first person I’ve spoken to since he died.” You laughed mournfully.

A dark look passed over Mizu’s face and she handed you the knife, gesturing for you to finish the skinning with your superior ability. “Let’s finish dinner.”

- ⚔ -

Your third meal together was nothing special, grilled meat and rice being all you had to get through the winter. The days were growing shorter and your energy with it, not to mention the strain healing took on Mizu and you as her unstudied nurse, left the both of you exhausted and ready to go to bed. Though your eyes drooped when you laid down, you couldn’t manage to find sleep, instead tossing and turning as Mizu slept soundlessly across from you.

A deep yawn tore itself from you and finally, you felt yourself relax into your slumber. Little by little your eyes closed and your breath slowed, as you were lulled by the crackle of the fire. This was until Mizu’s voice echoed throughout the room.

“I need you to know, I am on the path of revenge. There’s no place on it for friendship…or love.”

You were hazy with sleep but the admission hurt. “I understand.”

“I’m planning on leaving the day after tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

What else could you say?

The room retired to its previous silence but now you were fully awake and your heart pounded over what Mizu said truly meant to you. The little life you had constructed in your mind vanished into thin air, thoughts racing and consumed with every question you would never be able to ask her.

It was when you accepted you’d never see her again that you spoke. “I feel it's easier to talk in the dark so now I will ask: why do you dress as a man?”

Three seconds go by and Mizu fails to respond, making you assume she was either asleep or ignoring your question. When you’d all but given up hope she responded. “Because of my birth. And because it's difficult to be a woman in this world.”

“It is. After winter, I don’t know what I will do without my father. I have no chaperone to travel with and once spring comes and the roads become busy, I will have no assurance of my safety.” You curled in on yourself a bit tighter than before, your eyes welling up with tears.

“You have your bow and this house. That's more than many.” Her graveled voice sounded almost condescending and you were annoyed.

“More for a man, less for a woman.” You argued, turning to look at her.

Sensing your growing anger, you took a breath and opted not to continue the conversation instead looking angrily at the sword-wielding woman before screwing your eyes shut.

She cleared her throat and you opened your eyes once again, her pale eyes meeting yours before she spoke. “What happened to your mother?”

You sighed, decidedly finished with the conversation but Mizu didn't seem to catch on. “She died in childbirth.”

“You could always marry,” She suggested. “I was married once.”

Your brows set though the admission surprised you. “And now you’re dressed as a man in a pursuit for revenge,” Mizu gave you a look of defeat and you leveled with her. “I would be shackled to my husband and I have no desire for kids. I wish to live freely.”

Mizu’s eyes seemed to shine for a moment before she spoke. “You remind me of a princess I knew.”

- ⚔ -

Mizu had been antsy all day. Sewing up her clothes, checking and rechecking her wounds, stretching and eating her fill, all in preparation to leave you the next morning. You could assume she never stayed anywhere as long as she’d stayed in your home so you could understand why she felt that way though it didn’t help the growing pit in your stomach. You couldn’t wrap your head around it; you’d barely known her for three days and already you were, dare you say, truly sad she was leaving.

When seeing her pack became too much to bear, you used hunting as an excuse to leave, not bothering to go very far, but to a boulder you often frequented when you needed to sit in silence. The view was beautiful, overlooking a shallow valley that was currently coated in a layer of white, a calming sight while you attempted to reacclimate your mind to the reality of your solitude. Mizu was nothing more than a dream that you’d conjured up in order to live your fantasy life of freedom with. You should’ve known better.

When you got back to your house and walked in, Mizu looked you over and frowned. “Nothing today?”

You sighed, feigning defeat. “No, but I have more than enough for now,” Giving her a falsely nonchalant look you shrugged. “I don’t think I’ll need to go out again until after you leave.”

Silenced for a moment, Mizu just nodded and handed you a cup of tea. It seemed to have become a sort of ritual, her making you tea whenever you came back from a hunt. It was welcome and something you could get used to if the universe let you. Instead, you bowed your head in thanks and took a sip, pleasantly surprised to find it was made to your liking.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Mizu graced you with a small smile and your eyebrows shot up but you quickly turned to hide your quiet awe.

You moved over to your food storage and tried to come up with a meal that would be a worthy send-off of your limited time together but came up short. It would be meat and rice again though Mizu never showed any indication of being dissatisfied. Stubbornly, you rifled through your shelves and when your hand met glass and you realized it was a bottle of saké you smiled.

“Unfortunately it’ll be another meal of stew and rice but I’ve been saving this for a special occasion. Now seems as good as any.” You held up the bottle and Mizu looked dubious.

“I–I don’t drink,” She tried to deny you but you weren’t taking no for an answer.

You placed a hand on your hip and cocked it, looking at her unamused. “I think as payment for my food and hospitality you owe me this favor.” She looked conflicted but with an expectant raise of your eyebrows, she gave in.

“I suppose one would be okay.”

Dinner was mediocre but drink after drink, you and Mizu became more comfortable with each other and much to your amazement, began sharing stories.

“So…who was your rival again?” You wondered, almost sure she had already told you.

“He’s not my rival,” She mocked, rolling her eyes. “He’s just a samurai who I defeated in battle and has been chasing me around demanding a rematch so he can regain his honor.” Mizu seemed exacerbated at the prospect and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Why don’t you just fight him again?” You deadpanned. “I’m sure he’d leave you alone once he got what he wanted.”

“Because he wants to fight to the death, it would be him or me.” Mizu sobered up at that statement and swiftly downed another cup of saké.

“But…you defeated the Thousand-Claw Army alone,” You slowly put the pieces together and began to nod. “I understand.”

“He could be a good man, he just needs to let himself.”

That reminded you of a time in your childhood when your father was still young and strong, lending you wisdom that turned you into the woman you are today. Flashes of a house on the corner of a street, and a little girl with two missing teeth shot through your mind and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“That reminds me of something my father used to say,” You smiled at the memory and continued. “When I was little and we still lived in Mihonoseki, I lost my two front teeth at the same time and this girl who lived near me kept making fun of me.”

“What does that have to do with your–” Mizu hiccupped, looking confused. “Your father?”

“If you’d let me finish! So…she kept making fun of me and I made a plan to mess with her and when my father found out he told me,” You deepened your voice, attempting to imitate the way your father spoke with utmost sternness. “‘Daughter, you may be the more honorable, you need only allow yourself to be.’”

There was a moment of pause before the two of you burst into laughter. Though Mizu’s was much quieter, you were endeared by the sound. Your grin felt as though it would split your face if it got any wider and Mizu looked at you flustered.

“I like your laugh.” You found yourself giggling and when you tried to scoot closer to Mizu, the room spun.

She caught you as you swayed but nearly toppled over herself in turn. You found yourself grasping onto Mizu and she onto you, alone in your home as a blizzard raged on outside. You stared brazenly into her eyes, at a color you didn’t think you’d ever become accustomed to.

“Mizu, I–” Your voice failed when you attempted to continue, a lump forming in your throat when her gaze traveled to your lips as you spoke.

You’d thought about it once already, stopping yourself before the thought could develop but now, when you were a little more than drunk on saké, you couldn’t help yourself. A single tick of time went by, eyes flashing from Mizu’s mouth to her eyes and back before you were pressing your lips to hers.

She inhaled sharply at the contact but you pressed on, opening your mouth to her and sliding a hand around her neck. Mizu tentatively slid her own around your waist and gave an almost experimental squeeze as she deepened the kiss, letting her tongue trace yours and forcing a moan from your throat.

When she heard the noise it was as if Mizu was spurred on, advancing on you in a way you didn't think a woman in her state was capable of. Your back was pressed into the ground as she hovered above you, a heated look on her now more delicate-looking features before she descended upon you again. Her mouth was soft in a way her grasp was not as she trailed kisses down your neck, a moan escaping her lips when she sucked on a particularly sensitive spot and you pulled at the hair on her nape, loosening her bun in the process. Your hand cupped her jaw as you brought her mouth back to your own and stole another kiss.

Reaching up, you tugged the remainder of her hair down, allowing it to cascade over you like an inky waterfall. Mizu smiled as you tucked a strand behind her ear and kissed her once more. It wasn’t until you both had your fill that your actions began to slow and you saw her lips red with desire and knew your own likely matched, not to mention the state of your neck. You lay together in front of the fire, your head on her unbound chest as she traced unconscious patterns into your shoulder where your kimono had slipped during your escapades.

You reveled in the heat of her and the tingles she left in the wake of her touch, though knew she’d be gone when you woke and decided to ask your next question on a whim of hope. “If you think of me, even once after you leave, come back to me when you’ve found your revenge.”

You felt Mizu’s head angle towards your ear as she whispered two words: “I will.”

In the realm between, past and present intertwined, where a restless soul confined, seeks justice unforeseen.

Part Ⅱ: Spring

Beneath the sapphire moon, shadows dance in shades of blue, where love once bloomed, now askew, a blue blade gleams, a fateful tune.

Spring had been bountiful for you, animals re-emerged from the frost and the warming temperatures made it easy to forage. With the changing seasons came a margin of sadness in the lack of a certain samurai’s return. The roads had picked up some traffic but all had just been harmless travelers, no bandits busting down your door to attack you which you were grateful for but never had you been so disappointed someone didn’t come knocking. With a sigh, you shook your head, having no reason to expect Mizu to come back, especially considering you had no actual details on where she was going or how long she’d be away.

You managed a few martens in the short time you’d been out and decided it was enough for a decent meal. With a soft huff, you slugged your bow over your shoulder and began the hike back home, your stomach rumbling at your lack of midday meal.

The walk was no more than thirty minutes, cherry blossoms swaying in the wind and the soft earth beneath your feet lended to the tranquil mood. Your house was looking a little worse for wear after the snow had melted: the roof needed to be repaired, and a loose step in the porch stairs somehow always managed to trip you when you went out. Skipping that board on the way up, you pushed open your door and were met with a familiar sight.

Striking blue met yours as you saw Mizu standing in the center of the room, a pot of tea and two cups resting on the table to the right of her. Before you could manage to speak, your body carried you to her, dropping everything you held in the process to take her in your arms.

A small oomph sounded from Mizu as you collided with her and her hand came up to rest on the back of your head, you having already buried it in her shoulder. The two of you stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity, just reveling in the feeling of your togetherness before you pulled back, though only far enough to be able to meet her eyes. Her bangs were longer, covering her forehead and you noticed she was without her sword.

It was a silent conversation only shared between the flitting of your eyes but when Mizu’s settled her lips captured yours. You’d longed for the moment you’d once again be endowed with the plushness of her lips and at the contact tears welled up in your eyes. Your mouths danced together and one of Mizu’s hands went to cradle your face, the other holding you firmly to her as she took control of your mouth. Her touch burned, kiss after kiss marring your skin and ruining you for anyone else.

“How have you been?” She asked, her voice lighter than you remembered.

“I’ve been well,” You chuckled wetly. “And you?”

Her eyes closed momentarily and she stroked your cheek with her thumb. “Still walking the same path I have my entire life.”

This puzzled you, having not expected to see her until she’d completed her mission. “You didn’t get your revenge?” Your shoulders sagged when Mizu shook her head, and you gave her a soft peck on the lips in apology.

“I trust Ringo found you?” She looked genuinely curious and memories of a handless man coming to you with rice, beans, and a travel pass resurfaced.

“You sent him?” You smiled but were still confused. “Who is he?” The man had brought you gifts and cooked the best noodles you ever had in your life before leaving and claiming he would be back in a few month's time.

Mizu nodded, letting your face go but sliding her hand from across your back and sliding it into your own. “My apprentice. He accompanied me on my travels. Before I ventured into Edo, I gave him instructions to find you should I not return.”

“Not return? But–”

Mizu handed you the cup of forgotten tea, effectively cutting you off and you took an annoyed sip. “You’re the only person I had to see before I leave.”

The tea lodged in your throat at the admission, sending you into a coughing fit as you tried to clear the liquid from your lungs. “Leave? Leave where?”

A haunted look passed over her eyes, darkening them. “My path diverged in Edo. I chose the sea and tomorrow…I’m headed to London.”

“London?” All of a sudden you felt the same as you did that night all those months ago.

After some much-needed discussion, Mizu explained what she had set out to do and the vow she made to her mother when she was a child. You understood, how could you not? With every chop of your knife, dinner came together and you learned more about the woman you devoted so many sleepless nights to. Four white men, a quest for revenge, and a chance to gain it across the sea.

Mizu looked away from you when she spoke her next admission. “The shogun is dead. Edo burned.”

Your eyes shot up from your work and a sharp pain sliced through the backs of your fingers as you brought your knife down onto them. A hand reached out and Mizu was already tugging the white scarf from around her neck to wrap around your hand. She looked startled at the sight of your blood but you assumed she was used to it by now. She handled you delicately, enveloping your injury gently but snug enough that you trusted it would not come undone. Your attention was momentarily diverted before you processed what Miza had said, questions darting around your mind.

“The shogun is dead and Edo burned?”

“There was a coup, but I stopped the man in charge.” She seemed pleased by the outcome and you were in awe of the feat.

“And the city?”

Her expression dimmed and Mizu rubbed her eyes. “I started the fire…and it raged.”

A meal finally suitable for a goodbye–because that’s what this was–was ready in another fifteen minutes, most of which was filled with soft looks and stolen kisses, the pain and fear from hearing of Mizu’s narrow escape melting away with each one. You ate in companionable silence as they often came more naturally than conversation to the two of you.

- ⚔ -

Through the veil of time dire, the pale visage lingers on, a tale of love, now gone, in shadows of a haunted pyre.

Once the meal was finished and you’d both taken the time to clean up, Mizu took your hand and led you to your spot in front of the fireplace. She did little more than let you rest against her, savoring your touch as she nuzzled into your neck, dropping small kisses onto your skin. When you tried to touch or reciprocate Mizu tenderly denied the advances, letting all her focus stay rooted on you.

“I’ll be gone before you wake,” Mizu murmured as she caressed you.

You knew as much, having been told not an hour before but the reminder stung. “I know.”

She grabbed your face, turning it so you could do nothing but study her as she did you, your eyes locked on one another. Her expression shifted from a subtle longing to an unabashed look of want and seized your lips with an intensity that she had never allotted herself with you. Mizu licked into your mouth, tasting of the food you made and the tea she prepared, and dwelled on what it would be like if this was the rest of your life.

“Let me do this for you,” She rasped, her hot breath fanning over you. “Let’s make the most of tonight.”

Her fingers ghosted over your body until she reached the ties of your kimono and looked to you for permission. Understanding the silent question you nod, letting her undo the knots and reveal yourself to her. Mizu hovered over you, one arm supporting her weight and the other fondling your chest as she tasted your skin. Your arousal was almost uncontainable, your core throbbing at every touch, mewls and groans barely kept to yourself as the woman continued to shower you in affection.

“Mizu,” You couldn’t help but gasp when she slipped her hand between your legs and began to touch you.

Your composure slipped entirely when her fingers entered you and you clung to Mizu, nails scraping over her still-clothed body. You distantly knew you wanted to see more of her but failed to scrape together coherency as she thrust in and out of you, curling her fingers as she did so. Her thumb was massaging a toe-curling circle of pleasure and it was all too soon before you were reaching a peak. Breathy moans escaped you and Mizu swallowed them with hot kisses, noises of her own making their way to your ears as she took care of you.

Your loud cries echoed around the room as you came, clenching down on Mizu’s fingers though she rode you out until you were practically begging her to remove her hand. She smoothed her hand over your flushed face and whispered soothing words of praise as you returned to yourself.

“Beautiful,” She smiled, kissing each of your cheeks and then your lips. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” You tittered weakly. “I’m doing quite well.”

Mizu busied her hands by tying you back up and retrieving a blanket for the two of you to rest. “Good. I didn’t know if that was too much.” Her nervous tone was odd to you, given how easily she took control.

You gave her a peck to the cheek and took a breath to stare into her eyes that you’d grown to love. “It was perfect”

As you lay there, wrapped in Mizu’s arms and unsure of the future, you echoed to her a question you’d asked before.

“Will you come back to me?”

“I will.”

Yet, in the azure dawn, hope emerges, love reborn, fulfilling desires anew, as life unfolds, bright and true.

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eternal-kosmo-ghoul · 4 months

Text

*°:⋆ₓₒ day 23. public sex

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡ “christmas tree”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — ❤︎ while searching for the perfect christmas tree, phantom finds himself needing some attention

pairing: phantom ghoul x gn!ghoul!reader

a/n: apologies for the last three days being late. was spending time w family over the holidays. now i’ll get the rest of these out!

cw: nsfw content. public sex. penetration. almost getting caught. phantom fucks you against a tree.

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“shhh.. shhh quiet…” —❤︎

┅✦┅

the moon looked beautiful tonight, especially within a winter terrain where holiday spirit was high and festive.

it certainly got the ghouls within the ministry in a cheerful and jolly mood. each and every infernal was excited to celebrate the upcoming holiday with their own plans in mind.

one particular bug was especially excited, phantom. a young and energetic ghoul who definitely goes all out for holidays. he was especially looking forward to spending time with his fellow pack mates. however, he was most excited to spend time with you.

you have always been the demon to look after this little scamp, making sure that he’s happy and comfortable since he was the baby of the pack. so of course, you said yes when the little firecracker came up to you asking to go with him to find a christmas tree. you couldn’t say no, the little bugger was practically bouncing on and off the walls.

so here you both were, glamorized in your human disguises, walking around the local pine tree forest that was being taken care of by gardeners. glittery snow decorated the branches and pine leaves perfectly, and the fresh aroma of the tundra glaze was more than enough to put you in a good mood.

you instinctively clung to phantom’s arm while you both looked around, and in response, his long demon tail unfurled from underneath his winter jacket to snuggly wrap around your waist. there was no human in sight, so phantom felt safe untucking his tail from his clothes.

“this place is lovely.” you said with a dreamy sigh, leaning against phantom’s shoulder with a small grin etched onto your face. the little bug jolted slightly from you leaning down to nuzzle into his shoulder, but he didn’t mind. in fact, he quite liked it.

a little too much, perhaps.

“mhm.” he replied shortly, his tone of voice sounding slightly skittish, but you didn’t really pay attention to it. “but i much prefer spending time with you here.”

as phantom said this, his tail tightened around your waist a little more, making your own tail quiver slightly from the touch. the feeling was liberating.

both of you huddled closer to each other for comfort, just taking a nighttime stroll through the wintered terrain, not really looking for a christmas tree anymore. you enjoyed the closeness with your pack mate, almost a little too much.

you two were being a little too touchy to even consider it platonic, you were starting to second guess the intimacy the quintessence ghoul was showing you. well, turns out your intuition was correct.

before you knew it, a few misplaced hands on intimate areas led to face kissing, to full on making out on, to being fucked mercilessly against one of the snowy pine trees. your claws clung to the bark on the tree, scrapping a few chunks off while phantom thrusted forcefully into your tight hole, eliciting pleasured, yet muffled whimpers and moans from the two of you. phantom’s hand stayed clasped over your mouth to keep you from moaning too loudly, that way the risk of passersby’s seeing was decreased.

“f-fuck, y/n…” phantom groaned into your neck, biting onto the smooth flesh while his cock brushed against every sensitive nerve inside of you. “you’re so tight.”

“mmmh!” you whined helplessly into phantom’s palm. he moved it slightly to give you room to speak.

“h-hah… i can’t help it— not when your dick is inside of me like this..” you panted out, biting your lip to prevent any loud sounds coming out of your throat.

phantom chuckled lustfully, and only moved deeper inside of you.

“good to know you like it deep.” he groaned out, cock twitching inside of your tight hole, the ring of muscle contracting to clamp down onto his shaft.

you mewled with delight in response, tail shakily moving to coil around the bug’s calf. “i-i’m starting to think you just wanted to fuck me, instead of actually looking for a christmas tree— fuck!”

“perhaps.” he mused, thrusting deeper in you, claws digging into your brazened ghoul skin while you whimpered in delight.

as the two of you were getting it on, your moans slowly grew within volume, but you did your best to keep quiet. the snowy winds constrained greatly with the warmth churning in your stomach from phantom’s quick and rough thrusts. though, while this was happening, there was the sound of snow crunching in the distance.

it sounded like two people walking.

eyes cracking open, your palm moved to pat phantom’s thigh from behind, signaling him to stop. before he could even ask, his ear twitched as he heard the sound too. both of you stilled while phantom’s hand tightened over your mouth again.

“did you hear that sound?” the voice of a male sounded past the brush of trees you and phantom were barely hidden in.

you didn’t dare to move, and neither did phantom. if humans saw two demons fucking in the trees like this, it certainly wouldn’t be a good look for you or the ministry.

phantom cursed silently under his breath and pulled your body in closer, putting a finger over his lips. “shhh.. shhh quiet…”

you nodded silently, hoping to satan that these people would leave.

“not really.” a more feminine voice echoed out. “it’s probably just an animal in the trees or whatever.”

“you sure?” the mystery man asked again.

“it sounded an awful lot like moaning to me.”

“don’t be silly, honey. there’s no way people would be crazy enough to bang out here in the winter. it’s too cold.”

certainly wasn’t too cold for ghouls, that’s for sure.

you and phantom held your tongues while you listened to the young couple go back and forth about if there were really people fucking outside or not. eventually, they both stopped bickering and went along their way, making you let out a heavy breath you didn’t even realize you were holding in.

“thank satanas they left..” you sighed out, and phantom nodded in agreement.

“definitely.” he panted.

the two of you sat in silence for a bit, and you felt phantom’s cock twitch inside of your hole again. he raised an eyebrow, and smirked.

“ah that’s right… where were we again?”

and just like that, the thrusting started again.

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#holiday hoes event #ghost bc #ghost fanfiction #phantom x reader #phantom smut #smutty drabble #smutty fanfiction #the band ghost x reader #the band ghost smut #the band ghost #christmas prompts #christmas

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redlittlefoxari · 3 months

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To The Ends Of Faêrun: Chapter Sixteen: Something in the Air

This series is book two of a fanfic I have already written called Astarion Epilogue: An Adventure in Making Life

Master List Here for Books One, and Two

*List includes a prequel that is essentially one-shots of their adventures over the fifty years after the battle at the end of the game*

Warnings: Blood, Sex, Violence, NSFW 18+, Smut

Summary: Tav gets wrapped up in the Midwinter festival, Shadowhearts and Gale are drinking. While Astarion is hunting for dinner. But something is in the air.

Tav stood in the square just over the bridge leading to Moonrise towers. The distillery that once housed one of the most disgusting creatures she had ever seen in her life was now cleaned, polished, and in total working order again. Dozens of people poured in and out, looking for more than just the hot cider and mulled wine that lay on tables all over the square. They looked for spirits and conversation as the music from a traveling bard played and made casual conversation almost impossible. It’s not that they were terrible by any means; it was just that the volume at which they played their violin was a little grating on the ears.

Everyone had forgone their armor in lieu of some more casual clothes. Gale was inside the distillery giving an impromptu lecture to a few drunk bystanders dressed in a wool sweater and jacket. Shadowheart parked herself next to the cauldron of mulled wine and wore a long, fur-lined winter dress with an equally long jacket. Tav decided to go with something that allowed her to move freely just in case she needed to spring into action. She wore a long-sleeved red blouse and a pair of tight-fitting pants, her hair tied up in a ponytail to stay out of her eyes.

A gaggle of children ran by, Apple being among them as she ran with her new friends. Tav kept a watchful eye on her child as too much sugar had led Apple in the past to get overly excited, and that usually led her to bite. Halsin had made it a point to introduce Tav and Astarion to all of the parents and villagers he could, which helped alleviate some of the anxiety of letting her around strangers. They had found that what Halsin had said was true; everyone in the settlement was, as far as she could tell, of a sound mind. The only problem was a few angsty teenagers who weren’t even at the party at the moment. So the only thing Tav was worried about at the moment was Apple getting too excited on candied Apples or the dozens of other sugary drinks and food items and biting someone.

She looked around for Astarion, who was notably absent. He had told her that he was going to get something to eat, and that was almost an hour ago. Tav just chalked it up to animals being hard to come by because most were in hibernation. Or that he had to go further away from the settlement where people wouldn’t see him feed. Either way, Tav was starting to wonder where he was and if she needed to go out and look for him.

“How are you enjoying the party?” Halsin’s voice came from behind Tav, causing her to jump. “I’m sorry.” He grimaced. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s okay.” Tav placed her hand over her heart. “It’s hard to hear anything over that violin.”

“I’ve asked him to play softer a few times now, and it has fallen on deaf ears.” Halsin shook his head.

“Maybe that’s why he plays so loud.” Tav smiled. “They made themselves deaf.”

Halsin laughed, which caught the attention of a few people who were around, including the bard who shot the two of them a dirty look. “I think he knows we are talking about him.”

“At least people are talking about it.” Tav shrugged. “That’s all bards care about anyways.”

“Very true.” Halsin looked around. “Where is Astarion? Is he not with you?”

“He’s getting something to eat.” Tav touched her neck with two fingers.

“Ah, I should have guessed.” Halsin nodded. “I’ve noticed you haven’t left this spot all night.” He gave her an assessing stare. “Are you not enjoying the party?”

“No, I am…Well, as much as I can from here.” Tav’s eyes trailed after Apple. “I’m watching her.”

Halsin followed Tav’s line of sight to her daughter. “I told you everyone here will not harm her; they are good people; you even saw that yourself earlier.”

“It’s not them I’m worried about.” Tav watched Apple grab a sweet roll. “Apple! Put that back!”

Apple dropped the roll and looked around to find Tav. “Sorry, mom!” She licked her fingers before running off with her friends again.

Tav blew out a sigh as she returned some of her attention back to Halsin. Leaving one eye on the dessert table. Halsin looked at her with sympathy as he started to understand why Tav needed to abstain from the night's events.

“When she has too much sugar, she gets excited; when she gets excited, she bites.” Tav said matter-of-factly. “You wouldn’t believe all the times we had to apologize and explain away why she bites.” Tav deflated. “But we found that if we limit her sugar intake, she doesn’t bite.”

“I see…” Halsin trailed off.

The two stood and watched everything that happened around them. People started to come out of the distillery and dance. Now, having enough liquor in their systems, the loud music didn’t bother them. Tav could only guess how many children were going to be born nine months from now due to their parent's drunken reverie, and it brought a sad smile to her lips. Tendrils of sorrow spread through her chest at the thought. She thought about it briefly and then pushed it away altogether. Not wanting to be put in a sour mood by her own mind.

Halsin assessed her before speaking. “Why don’t I keep an eye on little Apple for you the rest of the night?”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.” Tav gave him her full attention. “I wouldn’t want to take you away from your people.”

“You wouldn’t.” He placed his hands on her shoulders as he stepped in front of her. “I have already spoken to everyone I care to, and before I saw you, I was already on my way to play with the children in my bear form.”

“Are you sure?” Tav looked at him, trying to gauge if he was telling the truth.

“I’m sure!” Halsin turned Tav around and pushed her towards one of the many cauldrons of hot cider and mulled wine. “Now go! I will make sure Apple is taken care of and in bed at a reasonable hour.”

Tav turned her head slightly. “Just be sure she doesn’t eat too much! Oh, wait, I need to tell her to stop and drink some water; she's been running a lot.” Tav looked around for her daughter.

“I will let her know!” Halsin used his archdruid voice. “Now go!”

Tav moved towards where Shadowheart was seated and grabbed a cup. She looked at the two cauldrons filled with the available piping-hot liquids. Shdowheart was enjoying the mulled wine that was spiced with cinnamon, orange peels, and cranberries already deep in her cups as Tav noted the red glow of her cheeks. Tav decided that she should still have her wits about her and grabbed the ladle that belonged to the non-alcoholic apple cider.

“You’re not going to get drunk off of that one.” Shadowheart spoke just before taking a drink from her glass.

“I know.” Tav drank her cider and felt the heat course through her body. “I don’t want to get drunk in front of my child.”

“Oh right… For some reason, I keep forgetting you’re a mother.” Shadowheart looked around for Apple. “I need to come see her more… She is my favorite niece.”

“She’s your only niece,” Tav replied, rolling her eyes.

“Right, and that’s why she’s my favorite.” Shadowheart gave Tav a playful smile. “She is great; you know the two of you got lucky.”

“In more ways than I can count.” Tav looked at the crowd forming around the bard.

Drunken men and women tried their best to sing as the bard played, and none of them hitting the right notes. Tav took a long drink from her cider, warming her further as she hummed along to the song. The song was called The Beauty of Baldur’s Gate and told of the beautiful maiden who slew the absolute along with her righteous friends and saved all of Faerun from the Mind Flayer invasion. As far as songs about her went, it was one of Tav’s favorites.

Shadowheart looked at Tav. “Didn’t you and Astarion once enter a bard competition?”

“UGH!” Tav growned at the question. “No, he entered me in the contest to catch a man who was killing the local bards.” Tav turned her attention back to Shadowheart. “It turns out a bard slept with his wife and took it upon himself to eliminate all bards from the town.”

Tav remembered the day Astarion had burst through their room at the local inn they were staying at and proclaimed that she would be participating. After a long argument, Tav conceded to participating. They had planned to have Tav not actually sing but instead get access Backstage in hopes that the killer would strike. But one thing had led to another, and Tav had found herself on stage with the crowd calling for her to sing. Then another local bard started to play the flute, and something in her called for her to sing. All the while, Astarion took down the murderer from backstage, and Tav took first place.

“Didn’t you win?” Shadowheart raised an eyebrow in question.

“Only because the murderer had already killed all the best bards in town.” Tav downed the remains of her cup and turned to fill it again.

“Why don’t you go up and try your hat at getting the notes right.” Shadowheart gave Tav her best puppy dog eyes. “I’ve never heard you sing, and I would love to.”

Tav avoided her gaze and instead turned her attention back to the crowd surrounding the bard. They had moved on to another song, and the crowd had swelled to almost double what it had been only a few moments ago. Tav could barely see him as he continued to play host to the drunks around him. They still were having trouble finding the correct notes.

Just as Tav was about to head inside to find Gale, the bard stopped playing and shouted over the crowd. “Is there anyone out there who is not drunk and can carry a tune?” He jammed his finger in his ear. “I fear I will contract tone deafness if someone does not aid me soon.”

Tav started walking away past Shadowheart when she stood abruptly and grabbed Tav’s hand. Raising it high in the air. “My friend can offer you some aid!” She shouted.

Tav pulled her hand from Shadowheart's grip and got in her friend's face. “What are you doing?”

“Making you have a bit of fun.” Shadowheart swayed. “It’s Midwinter! Come on, live a little!”

The crowd parted as cheers started erupting from all around Tav. If she walked away now, it would look as if she was scared, which she wasn’t, nor was she afraid to stand in front of this crowd. She blew out a long, calming breath and walked up to the bard, who was looking at her expectantly.

“Hello, my lady; my name is Samuel Crestwind.” Samuel bowed. “And what name does a woman as fair as you go by?”

“Tav.” She looked around at the crowd, waiting patiently for the next song.

“You wouldn’t happen to be the same Tav that liberated this place of the shadow curse and save Baldur’s Gate?” Samuel asked in awe.

“The very same.” Tav looked away and blushed.

“Everyone!” Samuel addressed the crowd. “We don’t have any ordinary person before us! This is Tav, liberator of shadows and the legendary hero of Baldur’s Gate!”

The crowd cheered as Samuel made his announcement, and Tav’s blush deepened. She could feel a strange power surge from the crowd as they cheered. It felt almost as if she was gaining something from them. A strange form of magic, but just as she felt the strange tug, it was gone before could identify it.

“What songs do you know, Tav?” He gave her a flirtatious smile.

“Pretty much all the popular ones.” She gave him her best polite smile. “Just start playing, and if I don’t know it, I’ll make something up.”

“As you wish.” Samuel lifted his violin so that it rested on his left shoulder. “Let us see what you can do.

Tav swallowed, and Samuel started the first few notes of The Green Eyes of Mallistari. The song was about a human woodsman who had fallen in love with an elven woman, and they met under the full moon to state their love for one another. Tav rolled her eyes and took a deep breath before opening her mouth to serenade the crowd.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had taken Astarion far too long to find something to eat. As he crested the hill that bordered the settlement, the Midwinter party was already in full swing. The hunt wasn’t a complete bust, as he was able to find two squirrels and a raccoon. Not as good as other things he could be dining on, but they would do for the meantime.

A crowd of people surrounded a bard and his partner as the two danced and entertained the growing crowd. Concern gripped him as he continued into the square where he had left Tav two hours ago as he couldn’t find her anywhere.

Astarion looked over to see Shadowheart clapping. Her body turned around on the bench to watch the crowd better. He approached her to see if she knew where Tav went as he clocked Apple playing with a bear that he hoped was Halsin. As he approached Shadowheart, her face broke out into a wide smile. It made him uneasy as it gave him the aura that she knew something that he didn’t.

“There you are!” Shadowheart stayed seated. “Where have you been? You have missed one hell of a party.”

“I was getting something to eat.” Astarion continued to look around. “Have you seen Tav!?” He shouted over the noise of the bards and the crowd.

“I have seen her.” Shadowheart smiled into her cup as she took a drink.

“And where is she exactly?” Astarion didn’t have time to play games with her, not when Tav could be alone somewhere.

“Behind you.” Shadowheart leaned back against the table.

Astarion looked behind him and just found the crowd. “Are you saying she’s in that crowd?”

“More like the crowd is around her.” Shadowheart slurred as she spoke.

He turned back around and really listened to the voices that were going on around him. Beyond the sounds of the drunks cheering, there was a high, sweet voice he hadn’t heard in a long time. Not since the days when Apple needed to be sung to sleep, and although Astarion did his best, he was never able to hold a candle to the voice that Apple always asked for. He looked back at Shadowheart to confirm what he was thinking. All she did was nod; she didn’t need him to ask his question to know what he needed to know.

Astarion started to make his way through the crowd, pushing his way past dozens of men and women. All of them were not putting up a fight, as many of them were too drunk to know what was happening before he had passed them. As he got closer to the front of the crowd, Tav’s voice became clear and it was harder to deny that it was really her. It had taken Astarion hours to convince her to do the bard competition over fifty years ago, and she still fought tooth and nail to get out of it any way she could. The only logical explanation as to why she was doing it willingly now was that she must be shit-faced.

As he broke into the front of the crowd, he was shocked at what he saw. Tav’s curls cascaded over her shoulders in a waterfall of brown silk. She was glowing in the moonlight but not from any magic but her own sweat that glistened on her forehead and the parts of her chest he could see. A large smile accented her face as she sang and danced to the tune that some man playing the violin was fiddling away. Her face was red, and she was panting, which told Astarion that she had been doing this for quite some time.

The song ended, and she locked eyes with him. “Astarion!” She ran over to him, and as she did, she tried to catch her breath. “Did you find something to eat?”

“Yes…” Astarion looked into her eyes. “Tav, how much have you had to drink?”

“None.” Tav panted. “Shadowheart volunteered me to come up and sing.” She grabbed his hands and smiled. “And then the crowd started cheering, then the next thing I knew, I had sung six songs.”

She was positively glowing. The smile on her face beamed at him, and Astarion found himself staring back at her in awe, gravitating towards her like she had cast a spell on him. Tav was stunning, a vision of pure beauty as she looked into his eyes, and it felt as if she was the answer to everything he had ever asked for.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Tav giggled before fear took over. “Is Apple okay?” She squeezed his hands. “Halsin said he was watching her! Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Halsin is doing a fine job entertaining her; it’s just…” Astarion trailed off as he released one of her hands and cupped her cheek with his now free hand. “You look radiant, my Darling.”

Tav leaned into his touch. “I’m sweaty, that’s probably why.”

“No.” Astarion stepped towards her, not caring that a horde of people surrounded them. “You put all the goddesses to shame with your beauty.”

Astarion leaned down and placed his lips to Tav’s. Her lips parted to give him full access to her mouth. She tasted like spiced Apples baked with cinnamon and cloves, whereas he tasted the iron of the animals he had just consumed. The crowd around them cheered, and some grumbled about how it wasn’t fair that pretty boys always got the bards. A different hunger grew in Astarion as he broke the kiss and saw the same hunger in Tav’s eyes.

“Come with me.” Astarion pulled Tav through the crowd.

Tav waved goodbye to Samuel, who shouted his dissatisfaction at Tav's departure. “Where are we going?”

“To feed each other mind, body, and soul.” Astarion started to make his way to the inn, Tav following not far behind as she held onto his hand.

Tag list:

@ofmyth-andmagicart @lunaredgrave @littlekidsteve @omnia--mea-mecum-porto @ayselluna @myreadingmanga123 @kismet-of-the-divine @nicalysm @justlilpeaches21 @five-salty-bitters @lenarosic88 @caydevakarian @supervrgnsokay-blog @ravenswritingroom @kalypsoox @foxiecelery @wisteriaofthegraves

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unsentlettersforpalestine · 23 days

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Sunday, April 7, 2024

What a privilege it is to be able to eat sahur and iftar every single day because unlike Palestinians, we have more than enough of foods and drinks at our fingertips. Never in a moment did we ever experience what being starved to death feels like and yet some of us are still occasionally complaining how "boring" our meals are, that we feel unsatisfied with what's available on the table and desperately want to try out that newest restaurant, and that we hardly ever feel grateful for what we have. Palestinians are literally dying because as the direct result of forced starvation imposed by Israshit and here some of our dustbins are filled with wasted foods.

What a privilege it is to clean a classroom/house made dirty by healthy kids playing, because unlike Palestinians, we have no single clue what it feels like to see children being blown up into pieces after their house getting bombed by Israshit. We get frustrated hearing kids screaming and crying but those Palestinian mothers are wishing their kids were still alive so that they can hear their voices one more time. We yell at our kids for playing and making a mess 24/7 and those Palestinian mothers are weeping buckets of tears because they know their kids that have been killed can never go back and play together with them again.

What a privilege it is to do piles of laundry because we have a plethora of clean clothes to wear every day. Some Palestinians don't even have enough and proper clothes to protect them from winter and yet here, some of us feel unsatisfied and we wish we can buy some more clothes because of social media influence despite the fact that we have a wardrobe (or two or three) wardrobe filled with miscellaneous skirts, t-shirts, pants, dresses, veils and so forth. We never feel enough, we always want more and more and more.

What a privilege it is to be able to taste the sweetness of education. Our kids are able to school every single day and we can learn things on our own from the internet but what about Palestinians? Their schools and universities have been turned into dust by Israshit and they definitely can't pursue their formal education anymore. But you know what, irrespective of what all they've lost, they never give up. The other day I watched a video in which an old woman patiently teaching Gazan kids how to read in a fucking tent. If during the genocide Palestinians still have the spirit and determination to teach and study, then what excuse do we have to not keep trying to educate ourselves and other people about Palestinian cause?

What a privilege it is to have a cozy bed and sleep soundly in our safe home because unlike Palestinians, we don't have the fear of the freaking bombs being poured down from the sky and getting crushed by the rubble of our homes. We are safe, but Palestinians have to constantly live with the fear of being shot at, slaughtered, killed, bombed, kidnapped, tortured and any other atrocities you can think of. We are safe and we have all we need, but we haven't been able to be a good ally for Palestinians and be consistent in doing the things that need to be done for Palestinians.

Why? Why don't you try harder and harder to spread awareness? Why don't you want to ask more questions and learn more about Palestine? Why don't you want to be all in and support Palestinians in any shape or form? Why can't you spur yourself into doing more? You know you can be better than that but what's stopping you? Why can't you write things about Palestine regularly? Why are you afraid of speaking up? Why don't you put in the effort to try to reach and educate more people? You know in order to help Palestinians reach liberation we need to be united and do things collectively in a sustainable way, so tell me, why don't you try to braver and speak more and more and moreeee? Why can't you confront those people who remain silent and indifferent about a fucking genocide against your own people? Why after all this time you still get distracted easily? Why can't you be focused and give your all for this noble cause? Why? Why? Why?

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nobedofroses · 5 months

Text

December 9th

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, alcohol consumption, smut (unprotected p-in-v sex)

words: 821

a/n: little continuation of the last Javi blurb bc fireplace! photo prompt from @toomanystoriessolittletime's winter writing challenge ❄️

more Javi, Full List

🌨️🌨️🌨️

The first time Javi had lit the fire in the fireplace, first time ever since it was your first year living in the house, you had been ridiculously proud and happy. You’d said it called for a champagne toast, but all you had was wine and you were nearly as happy with that. So happy, you ended up having two glasses in about thirty minutes and started doing what you did when you got tipsy: loving on Javi.

“You’re so smart and talented, you got the fire going so fast and it’s still going still,” you told him, managing to climb onto his lap from where you had been sitting on the ground next to him without spilling your wine.

“It’s not that hard, sweetheart, I can teach you next time in case you ever want a fire before I get home,” he told you, trying to get the wine glass from you, but you just wrapped your arms around his neck so it was behind him. And so you were very, very close.

“And you’re so humble and sweet, I’m so lucky you’re my man, all mine and all man,” you dissolved into giggles but before Javi could say anything, you were kissing him.

You were urgent and your mouth tasted like sweet wine, but Javi knew you were more drunk off of the holiday spirit and getting to fully utilize your new house than you were from the wine.

It wasn’t long before you had set the wine down of your own volition, Javi had tugged a blanket off of the couch, and he was fucking you on your back with your knees pressed to your chest.

You had kind of expected fast, hot and heavy, take your breath away sex, but that’s not what you got. This was even more intense, his slow strokes and the way it felt like he just kept going deeper and deeper until he was just a part of you.

He was kneeling with one hand braced on your breast, leaving the other to relentlessly rub at your clit, with the same slow, smooth pace his cock filled you. It almost didn’t feel like enough until without warning you came. Gasping and moaning his name, pleasure ebbed and flowed through you in never-ending waves until Javi followed and filled you with his hot cum, using his last few thrusts to grind into you.

A minute later while he was coming down, he used practiced moves to get you on top of him again without pulling out because he knew you’d make a fuss if he did it too soon.

With the fire, you didn’t even feel the need to grab a blanket, totally relaxed and at peace. Eventually, Javi got up to fetch a washcloth and you dozed while he did, not a care in the world.

You were nearly fully asleep when Javi came back and he pulled on his pants before sitting back down to help you clean up a little, the washcloth thankfully still warm.

“You know you’ll have to get up soon, sweetheart,” he told you but you just swiped your hand vaguely towards him.

“I’m sleepin’,” you told him, settling back again to relax more.

Except that’s when you heard a strange sound: the deadbolt in the front door unlocking. Eyes widening in panic, Javi stood up, yanked the blanket from under you and threw it over your naked body.

“Pop!” you heard Javi exclaim from half under the blanket. Then hurried footsteps, Javi hastily guiding him into the kitchen for a beer, and his father questioning why Javier wasn’t wearing a shirt.

You dressed as quickly as you could while they were out of the room, then made a big show of joining them in the kitchen, making sure to say you had been upstairs folding laundry.

Whether he believed the two of you, you didn’t know, but he didn’t say anything and that was all that mattered. You were able to muddle through the rest of the interaction, which was actually an invitation to dinner the next night, without any further hiccups and he was on his way before long.

Once you were back in the living room, sitting on the couch with your wine in hand, you said, “What is he even doing out at this time of night? Shouldn’t he be in bed?”

“Honey, it’s only just now 8:00pm,” he told you and you gaped. “Guess we were fooled by the sun being down.”

“Maybe we should just never fuck in the living room again,” you said thoughtfully, because obviously you didn’t want a repeat of the terror that had went through you when that door unlocked.

“No, I’ll just take the key back,” Javi said quickly and you laughed, knowing that you were in for a long night of negotiations on when and where exactly it was safe for you to fuck.

🌨️🌨️🌨️

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #smut #fluff #blurb #nobedofroses #snowy fics 23 #stephswinterwritingchallenge

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heartsfromjeanee · 1 year

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Skating Savior

Steven Grant x Reader, Jake Lockley x Reader (Marc Spector x Reader Mention)

Summary: You decide that going ice skating with your boyfriends would be a great idea, until you realize that you have no skills on the ice whatsoever. Warnings: None!

Now that the winter weather was approaching and holiday spirit was high, you were determined to do every cute little holiday activity with your three boys. First thing on your list was to go ice skating, which in your head sounded like a great idea, but as you and Steven got on the ice, you realized that you definitely overestimated your own skills.

“I swear I used to be able to do this better when I was younger…” You mumbled to yourself as you tried to keep your balance as you held onto the side of the rink. Steven on the other hand seemed to be doing just fine, as he glided smoothly next to you.

“Love don’t worry, you’ll catch the hang of it after a few minutes…here take my hand I’ll help you balance.” Steven said as he took your free hand that didn’t have a deathly grip against the wall. You were starting to get frustrated with yourself, not wanting to slow Steven down from enjoying himself.

“When did you learn to ice skate anyways?” You asked, trying to take your mind off of the fear of falling which was very present in your mind.

“Don’t know if I’m being honest. I’ve been on the ice only a couple times in my life, suppose it just comes naturally.” He said with a shrug. “Try to keep your head up Love, it makes it easier trust me.”

You nodded, making an effort to keep your head up and forward, your grip on Steven's hand tightening as you did so. His advice had been working, as you were able to start to feel more confident as you moved. Slowly, you let go of the wall, a smile breaking out onto your face.

“Steven I’m doing it!” You exclaimed and Steven let out a chuckle. Both you started to move faster, until your confidence started to get the best of you and you suddenly loss your footing, falling down onto the ice. Luckily, you were able to catch yourself with your hands before your head hit the ground.

“Oh Cariño, how’d you get down there?” You didn’t need to look up to know that Jake had a smug look on his face as he crouched down to help you up.

“Don’t tell me you're a pro at ice skating too.” You said as he wrapped his arms around your waist, hoisting you back up onto your feet, all while managing to keep his feet steady on the ice.

“Hey! It’s a skill that could come in handy! Such as these times where I have to keep my girl from ending up in an emergency room because of some ice skates.”

You rolled your eyes as you wiped your hands on the side of your pants, trying to get the feeling of the burning ice to go away. Jake noticed and took your hands inside of his, keeping them wrapped inside of his for a moment, before bringing them up to his face and place a soft kiss onto them. He flipped them over to look to see the condition your hands were in, and to his assumption, they were red with scratches all over your palms.

“My poor Princesa. Whose idea was to do this again?”

“Mine.”

“Of course. You think you’ve had enough skating for the day?”

“Very much so.”

Jake chuckled, letting your hands go and slide his arms around your waist pulling you close to him while you wrapped yours around his neck to keep your balance.

“How about we go to the diner down the street from out flat? I could go for a delicious greasy burger and fries right now.” He suggests while placing his forehead onto yours.

“If Marc or Steven heard that, I think they would both be appalled.” You said with a laugh, knowing that Marc preferred the system to try to eat high protein meals only to keep up with their shape and well, Steven was just vegan.

“Ah trust me their going banana’s up in my head. Now c’mon what do ya say Cariño?”

“Well, lead the way Mr. Lockley. Scratch that. Steer me towards the ring exit and then you can lead the way.” You said and Jake smiled, giving you a sweet kiss before pulling away.

“Alright, but I better get a tip for the service.”

“Oh I’ll give you a tip, just have to wait for it until we get home sweetheart.”

Jake had to bite his lip to restrain the groan that wanted to come out of his mouth from the words you said, as his imagination went wild. Without a second thought, he swirled you around and kept his hands steady onto you, moving the both of you as fast and safely as he could out of that ice rink. He began to think that maybe your idea of going ice skating hadn't been so bad at after all.

#moonknight x reader #Steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #Marc Spector x reader #Moonknight fanfic #Moonknight one shot #Jake Lockley one shot #Steven Grant one shot #Jake Lockly x Reader

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impossiblesuitcase · 9 months

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what are your fave jacinter hcs post revolution? :)

Here's one:

A few years after the revolution, Jacin starts medical school on Earth. That means a lot of time away from Winter, which he doesn't like, but he still has time to comm her during class and see her during the day. She stays local to his university, working with the Lunar embassy there in public relations.

They're both happy over that time. Jacin finally, finally starts to lose a bit of his grumpiness, his performative apathy, returning to the more openly emotional man she knew before he became a guard. Even their friends are surprised at this less abrasive version of him, but he still remains pleasantly snarky.

They want to get married, of course. Except he's being flogged by exams, and planning a wedding would take a lot of time and energy and he wants to give Winter the full attention and support she deserves. They agree to wait until there's a lull in his studies before that.

Then he starts his residency. He's working 12 hour shifts, with a 5 hour window for sleep, while still being on call. He gets breaks, sure, but he is flat out (Australian for busy). He sees Winter occasionally. Well, every day, but it's 5 minutes of a rushed meal and chatter and then he's off again. He hates it. She is generally frustrated by it. Still they both know it's where he should be right now, and he loves finally knowing how to help people, rather than just wishing he knew.

Six months in, Winter gets a comm while he's on a break:

Jacin: Winter, im sorry that im making you put up with this. you deserve to have the wedding that you dream of and a person who will be there for you always like i promised i would be. i dont deserve you.

Now another thing Jacin doesn't like--he isn't around to protect Winter. Sure, years have passed and she's more in control of her trauma and fears, but his peace of mind is never settled if she's not right next to him. So this residency period is hell for him. She spends a lot of time with their friends, sending him pics to assure him that she's with good company, regularly updating him on her wellbeing in what she calls 'sanity checks', a term he dislikes--"You're not insane."

So one day he's doing his final shift for the week when he receives this comm:

Winter: My darling Jacin. You mean everything to me. I need nothing more in life so long as you are in my arms, physically or in spirit. The walls bleed with you, my love, bleed water and diamonds and joy...

Walls. Bleeding?!

Jacin sprints out of the hospital. He tracks Winter's port, finding her just in the park on the next block. He's panting and stumbling when he finds her by the lake. She's donning a summery white dress, which on her rivals any vogue bride, and is holding a flower crown in her hands. She's decidedly not screaming or sobbing like the last time he saw her mention bleeding walls.

"Love?" he garbles out, racing up to her.

Winter gestures for him to slow down. Once in arm's reach, she plops the crown on his greasy, unbrushed hair and steadies his shoulders with her grip. "My darling Jacin. You mean everything to me. I need nothing more in life so long as you are in my arms, physically or in spirit," she repeats, in what is evidently a rehearsed speech.

"Bleeding walls?" he interrupts harshly.

"Hush." She pulls him into her arms. "Jacin, you are everything I deserve. I never want you to question that for a moment. Never let those clinical lights and smell of antiseptic confuse your senses into believing that I wouldn't want you, just the way you are."

There's more words spoken, from him and her, and his bewilderment and worry is still not supplanted with relief. Yes, she might assure him of this now, but he'll be back to endless shifts, and her patience will run out.

"I don't want to wait until things are calmer," she confesses, "because I love you with how things are now as much as I would at any other time." She pulls away and reaches up, adjusting his crown. "The crown has a purpose, you know. I bet you just thought I brought it because I'm crazy."

"You're not crazy."

She closes an eye. "You thought my message was crazy."

He's silent, because yes, he did.

"Once upon a time, I was a princess. So if I marry a boy, he becomes a prince. We aren't married yet, but I declare that we should make a promise first." She leans up and kisses him quickly. "There. That will suffice until the wedding. And this"--she gestures to the crown--"gives you your title."

"Title?"

"My prince. My knight and best friend. Until I change that to something else."

"Fiancé?"

"I was thinking husband."

He kisses her. Then he spends the next month in comms with his supervisor. He wrangles a 5-month break out of them, but he has to work 6 months first. During that time of work, he proposes, and now that he's more established in his residency, his hours drop. He does have time for wedding planning, and they wed the first week of that break. It's a busy few newlywed years, but it quiets down once he's out of his residency. He's still protective, yes, but he doesn't need to be by her side constantly anymore to be calm. He does not want to be known as a prince, even when Cinder and Kai joke that they'll make him one against his will.

He never protests when Winter calls him her prince.

#you asked for headcanons #and i have none #so i made just one #its nothing against jacinter #just marissa paid them very little attention #so i have a lot less material to work with #the lunar chronicles #tlc #lunar chronicles #jacinter #winter hayle blackburn #jacin clay

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guardian-of-fun-times · 11 months

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❄️Rise of the Guardians: Closer to You [Jack Frost X Reader]❄️

The evening sun cast long shadows on the ground illuminating the snow below. The slanting rays of the setting sun gave a warm orange tinge to the sky as you gazed out the grand window for a short while.

You heard a slight tapping against the hard wood floor of his bare feet. You found Jack wandering down the hall and met up with him. "I'm starting to feel sleepy." You told the winter spirit. "My schedule has been off since I abruptly stop my medication. My doctor cancelled our phone appointment since he had an emergency leave, so I'm stuck without them for a while." You stifled a yawn, turned to Jack, smiled, and took his hand. "But I could sure use a cuddle buddy tonight."

The pale crescent moon began to shine like a silvery claw in the falling night sky. The occasional clanking of toys being made in the nearby workshop broke the silence.

"I'll be your cuddle buddy. You can even fall asleep while we cuddle. I'll be here with you, don't worry about it." He let go of your hand and put his arms around you. "Do you want me to sing you a lullaby? I can if you'd like?"

"Okay." You smile sheepishly. "We can stay in my room. I have a Borealis light. I hope you don't mind. Oh, I didn't know you can sing. That'd be nice actually."

Oh, of course I wouldn't mind staying in your room! It would be a pleasure. I'll make you feel comfortable as I can. And my singing isn't really good, but I hope you'll like it anyway." He smiles back at you. "And is the Borealis light those kinds of star lights that shine on the ceiling? Because I love those!"

"Yes, it is! You said excitedly. "It glows different colors too. Would you like to crawl into the covers with me? I'm weird about blankets. I need them even when it's hot. It's a comfort thing."

"I don't mind at all. I like to feel comfortable, so I understand. So I'll go with you." He holds you gently and leads you to your room. "What color do you want for the star light tonight, my dear?"

"Ummm." You hesitated. Blue! It's my favorite color. "Oh, I've got to change into my PJs. I don't have any that'll fit you. I'm sorry." You reached your door and opened it for him. "Well, here's my room."

As he follows you to your room and see the room for the first time, I can't help but smile and admire all the beauty and the coziness. "It's a wonderful room. North did an amazing job!" He playfully nips at your nose. "Don't worry about the PJs, I'll be fine."

He moves in closer and corners you. You're now trapped between him and the wall. "I've never had a guy in my room before so this is my first time." You stuttered, your face growing immensely hot.

He laughs. "You're very cute when you blush, you know? It's okay. I don't mind being the first. Actually, it's a huge honor for me." He looks deep into your eyes, a huge grin playing across his face. "You're not going to be needing these." He chuckled, tugging on your shirt.

Jack was drop dead gorgeous and that was the truth. He was a total sweetheart that much you could tell, soft spoken, helpful, smart, handsy, every quality that made his personality attractive. Though, you weren’t sure if that’s what this could turn into.

You escaped his grasp and quickly dive into the blankets, hiding inside. "Come find me!"

"Sounds fun! Wait for me!" He immediately removes his hoodie and belt, leaving his pants unzipped.

He starts trying to search with his hands. When he finds you, he smiles and gives you a small peck on the lips. "Found you!"

You giggled and placed your hands around his neck.

"You're adorable when you hide like this. You look so cute. You make me so happy. Truly and completely. You're just perfect. I love you."

Before you can say anything, he’s kissing you softly, hoping to convey his feelings more through touch. You hum softly, relaxing against him as he rolls over, resting on top of you. You trail your hands from his hips to his chest, raking your nails gently down his skin. You suck in a sharp breath as he kisses down your neck, his hands sliding up the shirt, sending goosebumps along your skin. As he pushes up the shirt, exposing your skin, wanting to see you with fresh eyes. He pulls the shirt over your head, sitting up and taking the time to really look at you. As he stares at you, you almost feel self-conscious, making you want to cover yourself, but he’s lowering himself back down, placing kisses on your skin. You relax the further he goes, his hands reaching underneath you to unclasp your bra.

He slowly moves it out from underneath you, setting it somewhere to the side, his hands caressing each breast in hand. The sensation of pleasure rolls through you, and your back arches as you close your eyes. You didn’t know what to do with your hands, but the moment his tongue laps at one of your nipples, your fingers are tangling in his hair, a breathy moan escaping your lips. His other hand teases your other nipple gently, rolling it in between his fingers, loving the way you squirmed. His ocean eyes are on your face, taking in your features. Before long, he's switching to the other nipple, palming your other breast. He groans against your skin, trailing kisses down the valley of your breasts. The lower he gets, the faster your heart beats. He nudges your thighs apart, his fingers curling around the waistband of your underwear. His cease in movement causes you to open your eyes. He’s waiting for you to give the okay. With a small nod, he’s swiftly removing your underwear in a matter of seconds.

Nudging your legs further apart, you hold your breath as he kisses your inner thighs, squeezing lightly. His eyes almost roll into the back of his head as he tastes you for the first time. A squeak leaves your mouth as his tongue dips between your folds. Your fingers curl into the sheets, eyes closing as you rock into his face. “Oh…” You moan, sucking in a sharp breath. Jack takes both of your legs, lifting them over his shoulders, angling your lower body upward. His tongue laps against your clit, and he slides a finger into your depths, your answering whimper leading him to continue. He keeps his free hand against your hips, keeping you still as you started to squirm. “Oh fuck…” You rasp, your hands now moving towards his head, either in an effort to keep him there or push him away, you weren’t sure. His humming against your skin makes you shudder, and he slips another finger inside, gently pumping them forward. Your legs are shaking now, toes curling, and your fingers tighten in his hair.

He then starts this sucking motion with his mouth, and you can’t help the quiet wail that leaves your lips. Some part of you prays to God no one could hear you. Your sexual experience wasn’t anything to brag about. With Jack still holding your hip, the friction you wanted so badly was being withheld, and it was frustratingly pleasurable. Your head swims as you lock your legs behind his head. His fingers dig into your flesh in response. “Please…” You breathe out, not sure what you were asking for, but you were asking for something nonetheless. You could feel the pressure building in your body, and your soft moans and curses were uncontainable the closer he brought you to ecstasy. Most men at this point would change the rhythm to a faster pace, but Jack? He continued with this languid motion of flicking his tongue and pumping his fingers like time didn’t exist. Your thighs were practically vibrating over his shoulders, you’re breaths wispy and ragged.

He loved it.

“Jack…” You pant, your eyes screwing shut, white flashes dancing across your dark vision. You were this close. The more he licks and sucks on your flesh, the more of you he tastes, the closer you were to losing your mind. He then replaces his tongue with his thumb, rubbing your clit in small circles, his tongue plundering back into your slick, wet, folds, intent to get all he could. That was your undoing. He finally lets up on your hip, and you rock into his face as your orgasm takes over every part of your body. With your legs clenched around his neck, it kept him there, licking everything you had to offer and more. He didn’t care that you practically soaked his face and the sheets, he was on a high just knowing he got you there. He takes one final lick from the very crevice of your pussy to the top, before easing up, gently unclasping your shaking legs. He kisses each thigh in passing as he lowers your legs down. Your fingers had finally released his hair and if he were human, you’d probably have ripped a few chunks out. You still shudder as he kisses back up your now tired body, before taking your lips, and you moan softly, though you had no energy to do anything more. You can taste yourself, and it was mix between a salty and somewhat of a tart taste if you could describe it. It wasn’t a gross thing you’d think it would be.

He releases your lips to breathe, and your eyes are barely open at this point, but you’re able to see the satisfied look on his face before you close your eyes completely. His frigid body leaves the bed, leaving you even more cold for a moment and you hear water running before he’s back in a minute if not less, wiping between your legs gently. Not wanting to disturb you further, Jack sets the warm towelette on the back of his chair, pulling the covers from under you on top, nestling beside you as you curl into his side once he settles. He kisses your forehead as you drift off into sleep, his arm settling around you.

It was nearly midnight, and the night sky was picturesque. A black to navy gradient was the backdrop for a full moon; the night sky so clear you could almost see every crater. The moon, a glowing yellowy white, loomed large, surrounded by an ethereal glow.

"I'm ready for bed." You snuggled him close.

"Good night, love. Sleep tight. I'll be right here if you need me. I'll be your protector. I'll be your shoulder to cry on. No matter the problem, I'll be right here for you. You're my rock. My world. My everything. I'll always love you. So, sleep tight and dream of me."

"How can I not dream of you? You're already in my every thought." You laughed. "Goodnight Jack."

"Sweet dreams. I'll always dream of you, too. I'll always love you, forever."

#rise of the guardians #rotg #jack frost #rotg matters #guardian #rotg fandom #rotg jack frost #guardian of fun #midnight drabble #oneshot #rotg fanfiction #smut fanfiction

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possumsinpeoplesuits · 7 months

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At long last, my Our Lady of the Passion cosplay is ready for cons!

Based on this picture from Pinterest (google is finding fuck all elsewhere, but if someone knows the source I'll add it.)

The tank top is from Lockedtombmemes' Redbubble store.

The jacket is here, though I've painted the back with some fabric paint. I used the non-heat treating kind and just sort of sketched out the letters with a dark pencil to make sure the placement wasn't too awful.

The dog tags I'm not quite satisfied with because I put too little information on them, and an updated one is still waiting in the mail (I wanted to put the Wing and Cell on it, and had to reread some chapters to verify) There's loads of places to get them, but I used these.

The machetes I don't have many pictures of (I don't have a full length mirror to show them properly strapped to the legs.), but I went a little overbudget to the point it would probably have been cheaper to buy real machetes (but not as welcomed at conventions!) Still, they were from here, in case anyone wants some big ol' 27 inch props instead of the dinky ones from Spirit Halloween.

Gloves were these ones, and they fit my big ol' butch hands just fine. Nothing special there.

For my TACTICAL BLOOD OF EDEN FANNY PACK (which I already wear all the time, but changed colors to match the costume anyways) is this.

The boots are fairly ubiquitous and seem to come from various online sellers, sometimes in men's sizes, sometimes in women's, but this store has them up to a women's size 12, which I needed because I'm lorge.

Now, the mask I'm most proud of! I don't have any experience making costume bits, but I found this one meant for airsoft, which has TWO FUCKING FANS?!?! hidden in the filters to cool my face in the sweltering 80 degree Texas winters.

But! You'll notice the goggles aren't tinted, so I had to figure out how to do them myself to hide my glasses, for REASONS, but this little kit was pretty simple. There's a gluey side, so you just spray the goggles with some water, then slap them down and spend like... a fucking hour or two squeezing out the air bubbles, but aside from a single wrinkle, I think they turned out great! The red also provides some good contrast.

Now, the pants were pretty simple. These come with knee pads, and the black camo looks really nice with the gray coat and black shirt. It did take two attempts to get some that fit (One seller had the XL listed as having a 44 inch waist, equivalent to a women's 18, but labeled elsewhere with the true size of 36 inches, the bastards.), but where I got silly was the straps.

I got this tactical belt, which seems to have tipped the number of tactical things I can search for before search engines decide you're a bootlicker, and intended to use a single bike strap on each leg to hold the other end, which, well... two problems.

The blades were now being bent by my massive fucking quads because I've been doing a shitload of exercise to get fit, because apparently all I needed to get into the gym five times a week was wanting to look like my specialist book blorbo.

I couldn't bend my fucking hips.

So! I ended up ordering a total of SIX STRAPS for my legs, pairing two up high to fit the wider part of my leg, and a single one down near the knee. The upper ones I later looped through the belt to hold them up, which also doubles for making the trousers into a fucking cod piece, which, hey, some people like that. The lower ones were led up by the knee pad, so I had a somewhat stable set of six straps and one belt, which is dangerously close to becoming a Nomura-era Final Fantasy character, but hey, I gave myself carpal tunnel marathoning all the Kingdom Hearts games last year, so that's not a problem.

All in all, it probably cost me... well, more money than it should have, but it's all pretty quality stuff that I'm sure will be very toasty if we ever happen to have another winter down south.

Also, last note... boots of any kind are so much more comfortable with insoles. They don't have to be expensive, but your feet and knees will thank you at conventions when they have a good cushion under your heels.

That's about all I've learned putting this together! I'm 5'9 and around 250 pounds, give or take, so most of this is men's garments, which means the pockets are DEEP AS FUCK. Perfect for collecting small rocks.

Just something to keep in mind.

(See y'all at the conventions. I promise my Yorkshire accent will be less goofy by then, but I can't promise I'll be as nasally as the audiobook.)

#the locked tomb #cosplay #costume #blood of eden #our lady of the passion #our lady of the passion tlt #nona the ninth #halloween

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deluluass · 2 years

Text

So says fate

(Hades & Persephone AU)

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; abusive parents

This time of the year cannot end tucked between sheets, laying down aching knees to snore the rest of the evening away. The crops have been bountiful so sleep is not supposedly easily had.

Rest is elusive for those who have toiled through the winter.

The time for toiling is over.

Spirits are high and— exhaustion be damned, the knees ache for merriment; for dancing; for, thereafter, running away from the festivities, a trail of giggles behind, hand in hand with a lover towards an empty barn; for a kiss; for a clumsy tumble in the hay. This is a time for drinking, of your name sung and savored by intoxicated lips.

But you have walked and walked and walked— made it past the forest that divided your world from his. It’s been hours.

The earth remained silent, as if in slumber, buried under unyielding snow.

Below, where the soil should've been rich and soft and the grass thick and dewy for the dawn, there were only blades that cut through the calluses and scabs on your feet. From east to west, across the prairie, the trees stood out like fingers charred into disfigurement. They did not sway, branches unbudged by the gale.

A mother's grief.

(A mother’s anger.)

"I'm home," you called out, panting. Each breath came out in smoke. "Can't you feel me?"

She would’ve come by now, perhaps not without a tirade about your obstinacy and immature and bumbling nature, but you could take that. You always had. You would take any mean thing she could dole out if it would mean she’d be here to see you.

Because when the last of her anger had left you know that she’d eventually hold your face between her work-torn hands, inspecting how gaunt it’d become from all that had happened to you. Her eyes would turn glassy, crow's feet drooping.

And because she’s not the unfeeling bitch they claim her to be, she’d shed those indignant tears as she asks, "Who did this?"

And reality will dawn on her, after lifting your tattered clothes, that the wounds don't end on your face.

And you’d lift your chin up, anyway.

They’re all on the skin. Merely that. They don’t go any deeper, not to the point of scratching bone. Besides, the wounds are proof of the days (months) (eons) spent trudging through valleys that had never felt a drop of rain. There is no need for shame. You’d tell her you braved steep mountains that could have sent you tumbling down a raging river at the slightest misstep; eluded the grasping hands of souls that hungered for a warm body and a beating heart.

You’re here now, you would say.

“I’m here now, mother,” you cried out.

The wind continued to howl.

You sought the pulse of every creature that once danced to the beat of your own.

No laughter. No dancing. No merriment.

Finally, like a child holding onto her mother’s skirt in search of any sign of forgiveness, you said, “I’m so sorry.”

Penitence was the only way to a god’s good graces, innocent or not. The gods had no use for a lesser being that did not know how to kneel. And the Lady Harvest was a god first and your mother second.

“Please forgive me,” you told her, meaning every word of it.

Breaking your resolute stomp, you fell on all fours and begged like you never had before: to feel that embrace that had been the only thing you ever knew before he took you away; to hear her voice; to be brought home. “I was stupid and careless and—”

Young.

The open cuts on your palms prickled against the snow. That did not deter you from bunching it into your hands, for nothing could ever burn more harshly than that simple truth. Your fingers curling into fists, you lowered yourself further— further than you’d already been debased, and pressed your forehead against the freezing ground.

It should have been spring by now. (Spring has long come and gone, you know this). You knew because you'd never stopped counting each agonizing day that passed, longing for the seasons that had come and gone. All the springs you’d missed.

You shut your eyes tight— cheek to cheek with hale that refused to melt, and wept.

“I’m so dirty now,” you finally admitted. “But I’m still your daughter, mama.”

“I am still your daughter.”

A proclamation this time, louder, with teeth bared through snivels.

“I am still your daughter,” you repeated.

And amidst the groveling came a stray thought:

This is your lot in life.

What did it matter that you’d suffered.

This is your lot in life.

The earth is hardened with ice and the strikes you descended upon it, although more forceful with every passing second, didn’t do anything to soften it. As it should’ve been. This is how it is and this is how it would always be. All that suffering, all the tears shed, all had been just that. Like the wounds. Merely that.

When you pleaded, splayed and bleeding on your marriage bed, for any form of salvation to bring you back home and the only answer you had was an empty sky staring back at you. Not a sun or moon or a cluster of stars to be seen, as if everything and everyone that you’d prayed to had decided to turn a blind eye to the very same pain they promised to shield you from.

Exactly like this.

No one answers your call. The silence is so palpable, you could taste it. Then, without a warning, it becomes oppressive with an invisible, unbearable weight, and your strength, whatever little of it is left, further dwindles into pathetic shivering.

Ah, you sighed, yielding to that force pulling you down (for what else is there left to do), such is your lot in life.

You managed a faint, bitter smile, briefly stretching your already cracked lips, as you slowly raised your head. You didn’t bother to turn around.

“Well,” you croaked, “that was fast.”

He didn’t respond. Didn’t move either. If he did, you wouldn't have heard it.

“You don’t suppose you can call my mother for me? Perhaps she’d taken a liking to you.”

Pulling at the bit of root that made it past the cold, you added, “Between the two of us you’re the only one who gets to come up here. You have visited her, surely? She bakes the loveliest pastries. Pity, though, for she will not have me. Can you believe it? I sure can’t."

You shake your head. "So unlike the humans in that regard. Apparently, absence does not make that great, incomparable heart grow fonder.”

“Even if it’s towards their own child,” you told him, tightening your enclosed hands. “My, of course, you already know that.”

There.

They never cared for your prayers, so they better not start with your sacrilegious jabs now. Besides, he wasn’t like his brothers who stuck their nose in every mortal business and punished the slightest whiff of profanity. This great, incomparable, and immovable creature— an enigma to both the impermanent and the eternal, will never be swayed by something so inconsequential as a deranged woman’s bitter taunts.

As if to prove your point, he then replied, “She won’t listen to you.”

You sneered. Ever the epitome of compassion, this one.

“Nor I, for that matter. She refuses to listen to anyone save for herself,” he concluded, that voice frigid and quiet. Just like this damned snow that seemed to go on for forever.

You find yourself bereft of any ammunition to retaliate with, like always. That little gibe about his filicidal father had been the last of it. But, you’d come this far.

You’re almost home.

She just needs to let you in.

“Call her,” you muttered, vision fixed on the blank horizon. “Call her, my Lord.”

He huffed, a hushed sound that exploded in the tranquility of the frost-bound meadow.

He’s irritated.

Good.

“The gods are always watching,” he only said.

A reminder that didn't need to be said twice. The only constant in this fickle universe. The gods are always watching. Your mother can see you— had seen every moment you’d been away from her. She was there the moment you set foot into the world of the living. She was there the night gold soaked the sheets and every other night that came after that.

She was there when those red lilies caught your fall, petals and filaments like the spindly legs of dead spiders against your neck.

Your mother heard your cries then and she didn’t do anything.

She won't do anything now.

Because you’re a bad daughter. Only good daughters deserve the hand of their mothers, don’t they?

You didn’t feel your skin jump anymore when he closed the distance between you two. It’s insidious. That you know his every breath simply by the way the air subtly shifts.

“Let’s go,” he whispered, opening his palm for you to take. “You’re freezing.”

The edge of his cloak teased your shoulders. If you leaned into him its warmth would’ve embraced you whole. You ignored him, eyes trained forward. Then, “What about you?”

The gods are always watching.

“Aren’t you a god, too?” you pushed. “Were you watching me, all this time?”

The gods are always watching.

"You'd been following me, my Lord?"

Such an inane question. How else were you able to pass through the river, the valley, the mountains, the woods? How else had you gone on your journey for so long, untouched by any spirit, malevolent or otherwise?

He knew when you snuck out, had been aware of it ever since the seed of rebellion had been planted in your mind. He was right there. Behind you. Following you.

Always.

Your mother will never see you again.

Your husband will never let you go.

What use, penitence? What use, defiance?

(They’re all fucking with you.)

For what? At this point, you no longer have anything left to give, not even contrition. Right then and there, your only true possession had been the snow trapped in your fists. He insists on taking from you, doesn't he? Well, this you are more than generous to relinquish.

You snapped towards him, crouched like a feral thing, and threw the ball of snow straight into his face. Your chest heaved as you stood.

“Leave!”

The shriek that left your throat had been dry, fragile, and strained, yet you still pushed that raw ache welling inside you because there was no other way to get rid of it.

“Leave! Leave! Leave!”

Hot tears began rushing down your face, mingling with the spittle and snot as you took in deep, shuddering breaths.

“This isn’t your land anymore! You don’t belong here!” you roared.

He barely flinched.

He just stood there, dusting off the bits of snow clinging to his shoulder. He remained just as he'd been, motionless even as your cries subsided.

Then, after decades of running and never daring to look back, once again, you found yourself standing face to face with death.

The enraged beating of your heart petered out, skipping weakly only to collapse by the end of it.

His cloak shrouded him until it swept past the ground. You could scarcely tell where the garment ended and where the darkness began.

He and it had always been one and the same.

Nevertheless, the Lord Death stood out against the shadows with those heartwood eyes, glowing like embers that the violent winter wind failed to snuff out.

Its icy gusts, meanwhile, threatened to topple you into the snow for every second that you spent fighting against the current, keeping your feet planted into the ground and stubbornly ignoring your body's desire to keel over.

The wailing swelled, heightening into a sharp ringing inside your ears. You winced and chewed the insides of your cheeks. By the damnable gods you were not going to cry anymore.

You'd already done enough of that.

Enough, now.

However, the once steady branches began to rattle like corpses jerked into convulsions, and, one by one, trees started falling in heavy thuds, shaking the frozen land and bringing your knees closer and closer to the cold, and it was only then that you realized that there's never been a bigger lie than you telling yourself that you'd no longer cry.

Enough, I say.

You could almost hear her.

Enough with your insipid tears, little girl.

Oh, but by the Lady Harvest, how could you not cry?

No matter how hard you tried to remain stoic just as he is, your jaw still quivered, as if some sick monster were struggling to crawl out of you, and your heart constricted until the periphery of your vision was too dim for sight.

The Lord Death's gaze was not unkind. Only patient, in the manner of the wiser mortals when they wait in silence for the ignorant ones to work out what they mean to say.

Soon enough, the gale stopped, and in its place came the gasping whimpers.

You placed a hand over your mouth.

It hadn't managed to stifle the staggered bawling that echoed across the endless winter, darkness surrounding you like an inescapable vacuum.

And there was just no way of stopping it.

You collapsed, body shattering on the snow, retching and keening as you clutched your stomach.

What did you tell him earlier?

Leave.

This isn't your land anymore.

You don't belong here.

Now, who truly doesn't belong here, stupid child?

The flowers and leaves and trees are not waiting for the sun, you know that already. There would be no celebration, no dancing, no silly little rendezvous between silly young lovers.

The earth is not silent.

The earth is dead.

There'd been nothing to grow and eat. The cold had been too much to bear.

Spring had not come.

You were not here.

Look at what you've done. Was all that disobedience worth this?

"No, no," you gasped, choking on your tears as you struggled to genuflect. "No, mama, I'll make it right it's all my fault- please listen- please forgive me-"

"Don't blame yourself," you heard him say, effortlessly wrapping you in his cloak while you cried and cried and clambered out of his hold. "It is futile."

"You don't understand, you don't understand," you wailed.

How you yearned to be here.

You'd imagined yourself crossing that border and laughing giddily as you speed towards the rolling hills, splashing the crystal clear waters of the stream with your feet, your mother watching, clicking her tongue, telling you to hurry or you won't have anything left for dinner.

It is futile.

There is nothing here for you now. Not your mother. Not your people. Nothing here would ever be capable of loving you in return.

And you would've laughed had you still possessed the energy for it. What a farce you'd made of yourself. It must take some sort of inherent gift to allow things to come to this.

Because, as it stands, the only place that you could come back to now is the very same one that you turned your back on.

“Oh, fuck off.”

The woman wiped the froth from the liquor on her mouth, and smudged the back of her hand with rouge.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” Kita told her.

“C’mon, read the room,” she groaned. “Not now!”

He has, indeed, surveyed the mead hall alive with food and sweetmeats and talk and music. The cause of her stubbornness to leave with Kita was difficult to miss. He was handsome, as well as tall, more so that he loudly inquired for the woman’s whereabouts as he weaved his way through the inebriated preparing themselves for a lively jig.

“I even charged him less than a whole night’s worth!” And because he stayed as impassive as he’d been, she added, too beseechingly as they often do, “Can’t a girl get a good tup before she goes?”

She didn’t want an answer, that was apparent. What she wanted was more time, and for this to not have happened, but no one gets a say on fate. Not even them.

Her body sat in the corner. Kita let the woman stare at it, at herself, face down on the table as if knocked to slumber by the drink beside her head, her hand that once clutched her chest now limp on her lap. “Fuckin’ idiot,” she chuckled, shaking her head.

“It shouldn’t be that bad, right?”

“That’s up to you,” he said.

“Will Her Ladyship of Bountiful Harvest follow my ass to hell?” she piped up, unfazed by the thought judging by that snicker. “Hated me, she did. Can’t stand the idea of a woman spreading her legs for food. If she’s so against it she shoulda stop playing favorites and pay attention to us sinners, eh?”

Kita tipped his head. “You’re quite irreverent.”

The woman only gave a mockery of a courtesy.

“And no, you’re not going to hell,” he continued. “The Lady Harvest is not here. She won’t be there, either.”

“Oh,” she said. “What about her daughter though? Is she here right now to see me? She must be.”

Kita saw a sliver of the child she used to be, wide eyed and expectant of good things as she turned to search, but just as the great mother is never present for death, the daughter typically follows. The gods are always watching except when mortals cry for another chance; when they look up to the sky wondering whether the war they’re told to fight for was worth it; when they raise their fist at the world that had not once treated them fairly.

The dead can no longer worship. There is no reason to continue watching them until the very end.

“No,” he eventually replied.

That child disappeared. The woman returned.

“So it’s just you then?”

“Just me.”

“How lonely.”

The work is necessary. It matters not if he is lonely. It matters not if no one praises him because of it. Kita chose not to tell her that.

“A little bit more, then, my Lord,” she said urgently. “Let me stay a bit longer, please, it’s- it’s spring.”

“And so it is.”

“Everything’s funnier, see,” the woman uttered weakly, taking one last look at the people tripping over chairs as they pushed against each other, the spirits making them laugh instead of shamefully angry, twirling and jumping and clapping along to the melody of the lute that soared like birds. “Lovelier.”

Her forlorn stare stayed on the ancient tree in the middle of the hall, the blushing buds on its majestic trunk and its sprawling, moss canopied branches carrying lamp lights, fireflies leading the eyes to the stars in the sky.

“And so it is,” Kita repeated.

There’s another one after her. Kita could not delay any further.

When she finally looked at him— really looked at him, and saw him for what he truly was, the woman began to look at him as if he’d snuff out everything funny and lovely about the world.

And she followed him with her head down and without anything else to say.

Kita thought that he’d heard crying. It no longer fazed him.

The work resumed.

Once, you were a child and easier to like, and your mother did not mind that you fumbled with the laundry. You were small. Easier to understand. Too much energy bursting out of you to pull the sheets out of the line without breaking the clothespins.

She'd release an exasperated tsk-tsk and that would be the end of that. Even when you dragged the immaculately white sheet into the mud, swaddling it over your head as you raised your hands into claws, shouting when you ran towards your mother, "Here comes the three-headed beast! Best watch out, mortal!"

The sheet smelled like the earth after the rain, pleasantly mingling with the aroma of your mother's dress. Oranges, apples, and fresh bread caressing your senses as you nuzzle your face into her stomach, clinging to her, refusing to let go.

Warm and soft, the damp cloth against your eyes had the exact same smell, gentle as it brushed your lashes. It coaxed you awake, despite the heaviness pulling your eyelids down.

You held the instinctive urge to chase the hand holding that cloth.

Back then, you had been your mother's little innocent daughter. Easier to forgive. Deserving of comfort.

Now, you are not.

The ceiling that greeted you was testament enough. So far above. Not the low hanging beams of your mother's house with dried herbs dangling upside down. Here, there were lacquered black pine arranged in a perfect grid, elaborate carvings of butterflies fluttering on the corners where they meet. The recessed panels in between were wide, each one painted with a camellia or a blooming chrysanthemum. A gallery of flowers for mourning. In the middle were delicate strokes of red spider lilies.

Death spoke.

"Go back to sleep," he said, lifting the blanket closer to your chest. You nudged his hand away and sat up, wincing as you did.

The futon was plush, like the white chemise that replaced your ragged dress. Although neither mattered much when your limbs were too numb to feel anything else. He watched you as you stared back at him, only for a brief moment, then shifted on his folded knees to wring the washcloth into a basin next to him.

You turned towards the veranda, where there was an open view of the sky. Or the closest thing that the Underworld could have to a bright, sunlit sky.

There was nothing there. Just stark white light illuminated under a dome. The Lord Death’s mansion towered over everything else in this world and you wondered before what it would feel like if you reached out your hand to touch it. (Perhaps it is cold and empty and if you knock you’d be responded with a hollow sound.)

That thought of wry amusement did not last long enough to alleviate the helplessness.

At the foot of the hill grew bamboo the size of pillars.

A sea of glass green where the valiant and virtuous rest, reminding you of what you’d lost and cannot get back.

How ironic it was to already be on the other side of death and still be deaf to the whispers of those who had passed. All the more ironic for someone who was supposedly hailed as their queen.

(Once, there was a time when you thought that the possibility of hearing the dead could make this place tolerable. At least you would know that you were still with those you hold dear. At least you could hold onto a semblance of home. But many, many years passed and all you could ever hear and feel and see was him.)

"What do they say about me?" you asked, staring at the forest.

He paused from soaking the cloth.

"Not the ones that you worry about. Those who are good would never speak ill of those they love,” Lord Death said. “They would not be there if they were to hold any grudge at all, besides.”

What were you thinking, asking him that. He is not one to make reality less terrible than it actually is. Such is the nature of Death. But in this matter— well, you can never tell.

“My Lord,” you sighed, “With all due respect, but I do not think that you would know what those who can love are capable of."

“If I gathered correctly…”

The voice of Death was calm, almost pensive.

“I take that you mean,” he continued, “that those who can love are also capable of punishment meted out of anger.”

You looked at him. Tiny droplets of water seeped from the washcloth and into his fingers. It barely dripped out anymore, yet he still squeezed the thing as if every thread of cotton were drenched.

“Resentment.”

You flinched.

“I killed them,” you told him. “I deserve that much.”

“Your mother had chosen to deprive them—”

“—Because I was selfish.” Your breath was becoming labored and you could no longer meet his eyes. “And all they ever did- all she ever did was love me. The resentment. The anger. She wouldn't feel those so acutely had she not loved just as fiercely."

"And they are mine to bear," you added. "All of it.”

After folding the washcloth into a neat square, Death moved closer, and you could only sit there, transfixed, as he fixed the sleeve of your chemise that’d slipped past your shoulder.

You felt his skin warming yours through his robe. He sat beside you, one hand moving to lift your chin, his hold light as a feather.

“You speak of your mother’s affections with this mouth, but it's her voice that's coming through,” he muttered. “Tell me, Spring, cannot you use your own?”

How dare he.

“She's my mother,” you spat back, recoiling from his hand. “She was my god.”

“So am I.”

Death was not something that your kind will ever have to become acquainted with, but every time he gets like this— looming over you with that sharp scrutiny, his power wielded insouciantly and as naturally as death takes life— for a split-second you are but a mortal that would trade away all the wealth in the world just to evade him.

But you are not a mere mortal, are you not?

You are Spring. Daughter of Harvest.

Perhaps not anymore, but you’d been one all the same.

So you swallowed thickly and met his gaze.

“You raped me.”

Never mind that your voice cracked, you pressed on.

“You raped me. What more could you possibly want.”

“Anything,” he replied, not missing a beat. “Just not your guilt.”

A disbelieving huff, then a chuckle that sounded as broken as it’d felt. Distancing yourself from him as far as your feeble, cumbersome body would allow, you hung your head low as you let the rueful laughter die in your chest.

“Why?” You finally asked, brows furrowed.

The question, you found, was not really for him. Tossed into existence for the sake of letting it known: to the empty dome of a sky; to the Fates; to the forest sitting peacefully below you; maybe just to the blanket in your grip, wrinkled out of place, chemise disheveled to reveal your thigh.

Why?

“You should hate me. I hate you. In fact,” you scoffed, “you should throw me to the deepest pits where the wicked go. Leave me there and condemn me and leave my name cursed forever. I disrespected you, time and again, and I let your children die. I let your children die, my Lord.”

Your skin was unscathed, the insides of your legs the most spotless they'd been, not just in here. Even when you were up there, enjoying the caress of the sun, you had never been as uninjured as you are right now. No sign of wound, fresh or on its way to drying. No gold oozing out because you scraped against a rock, or got caught in the waves attempting to cross the river, or wittingly hurt yourself to destroy the god growing inside your belly.

You are clean.

He bathed you and tended your wounds.

Just as he’d done countless times before.

“It doesn’t change what you’ve done to me. But that doesn’t matter, does it? You are God. Death itself. You get to hurt anyone you want and we’re supposed to just accept that. That is your lot in life. It would not matter to you if I forgive you- I’m not even— ha! I’m not even in a place where I can forgive you! I just have to stay on my knees! Take it all in silence, don't I? Beg for your forgiveness! Be remorseful for- for wanting something different, something kinder! Because I feel! I feel! I do not exist because of you and I do not exist for you! And when you hurt me I’ll give as much as you’d given me and I will cry out when you pummel me and break me and- and—”

And he’s hugging you, cradling you on his lap, sturdy arms wrapped tightly around you as racked sobs and words that hardly made any sense sputtered out of you.

And he did not say hush, little girl. Enough. Enough or you’ll taste the back of my hand, little girl.

And this is not love, even if he let you cling to him as if you were a small child that was easy to like and easy to understand and deserving of comfort.

This is not love. Love simply does. It comes to you on its own just as the seed grows towards the light. It is not acted upon in such a way that you pull it by its roots, destroying and making a mess out of the only place it calls its home.

But—

Is that not what your mother did?

Spring?

Ignoring the sharp stings that shot up your feet, you loosened yourself from his hold and scrambled to stand up.

"Wh-” you rasped. "Did- did you hear that?"

He held you up when you fell back into him, keeping you steady with a gentle grip around your waist.

"I heard my name," you said, panting and desperately eyeing the forest as if the green sea of bamboo would whisper back to you.

And you know it would.

"I heard my name. Someone called me. I think it's..."

Them.

The word withered before you could utter it. You looked down at him, imploring.

He smiled.

A small curve of his lips that had briefly, just for a passing second, made you forget who he was.

"I told you," he whispered. "In time."

"I don't understand."

The voices that had been inaudible to you. That look in his eyes, open and defenseless, wistful and yet…relieved. As if he could cry at any given moment.

You could not understand any of it.

The question had been stewing at the back of your mind for a long time. There's no way of ignoring it now as he sighed and closed his eyes; as his perpetually unbowing shoulders collapsed under your touch, and as he rested his forehead against your hip:

How is it possible that death can be so tender?

"Just.." he began, hands caressing the back of your legs. "Just come to me, my love."

Rough-hewn fingers kneaded away the dull pain from the muscles, inducing a shiver that ran up your spine and making you hold onto his head for support.

He rumpled your chemise, exposing your skin the more he dragged the article with the fervid brush of his hands, his lips pressed on the curve of your thigh.

You gasped at the feel of his hot breath. "I don't want to punish you," he said, grazing his teeth against your naked flesh. "I don't want to own you."

"I'm not like her," he murmured, almost snarling. “I’ll mend you and take care of you everyday.”

This isn't the first time that he's done this. He's been above you, rutted into you while he had you pinned on top of him, had spent nights between your legs like a man starved, but this is the first that you contemplate, if not reluctantly, how soft his ashen hair felt, the ends like ink spilling through your grasp.

You tugged at it, only slightly, but he immediately bared his throat and gazed up at you so fiercely it made you glance away, although not in fear, not in disgust, not anymore, the heat that'd been spreading all over your body threatening to combust you right where you stand. He must've caught on too.

Because he never took his eyes off of you as he left a trail of kisses along your thighs, light and sweet, lingering to take in your scent every now and then, moving slowly towards where you ached the most.

Too slowly.

"Please," you sighed as you scratched his scalp, pulling his head closer.

(Please? Please? What's happening to you?)

"I have a name, wife," he replied, licking the sweat clinging to your skin.

"Kita," you said in a hushed tone. "Please."

It surprised you how easy it was to say, considering that all you've done thus far was pretend the name never existed, that he'd never tirelessly entreated you to call him that ever since you'd recited your vows.

And now here you are.

You felt him smile against your skin. The rumbling of his chest as he chuckled accompanied your weak, shaking knees.

"You're so beautiful," he said under his breath.

Long fingers parted the thick, coarse hair on your mound, stretching the skin below along with it. And before you could even release a tensed breath, your husband had already moved to latch his lips on your cunt, an open mouthed kiss that left a loud, indecent smack.

He ignored your surprised yelp and continued to prod with the tip of his tongue, again and again, stoking the fire in your belly. He kissed the slick bundle of nerves as if it were your own mouth, tongue brushing sloppily, sweeping across and drawing out moans from you. The soft, gentle pursing of his lips betrayed by the way he grabbed your ass, blunt nails digging into both cheeks until it hurt, restraining your bucking hips and bringing you into his mouth like you could not be any nearer, when you could already feel his nose flattened against your cunt, cutting himself off from air just to breathe you in and savor you.

You wanted to say something. A hasty command for him to stop. Everything was happening too fast for comfort and you were going to lose your head anytime soon if you didn't cease grinding into his mouth.

"Wai-" you moaned, shivering when he brought up a finger to tease your hole, dripping thickly as he stroked languidly. "St-stop."

He slipped a digit inside, then two, still devouring you, all lips and tongue and just the barest hint of teeth. And this madness had to be put to a halt. You couldn’t muster to register anything beyond his hands all over you, his mouth, his low groans, him. You didn’t think.

You yanked him by his hair.

Thunderclouds in your fist, dark gray and angry, the gravity of what you are doing falls upon you and makes you buckle in his hold.

You are taking part in this act.

You are no longer the abducted bride who remains voiceless as an act of retaliation during a coupling. No god can punish you, you finally accept, not here, and there is no longer any need for you to stifle the urge to cry for fear of another beating. You are not on your knees, begging.

In fact, it is Death who is.

His mouth surrendered without a fight. Your thumb found its way on his lower lip, and he immediately opened to suck as you rubbed the wet flesh, his eyes telling you that in the grand pantheon of gods there is none higher and none more worthy of devotion than the one in front of him.

This great, incomparable, and immovable creature— an enigma to both the impermanent and the eternal, has thrown himself at your feet. There's a part of you that is waiting for the curtain to lift. Soon, laughter will ensue at your expense because only a fool could ever manage to conjure the thought. Let alone consider its possibility.

But it is there.

It is true.

Death is yours to do with what you will.

Always has been.

“Stick out your tongue,” you whispered.

And he did.

With unsteady limbs, you inched closer and rubbed your throbbing clit on his stiff, waiting tongue, back and forth, back and forth, keeping a sluggish rhythm that has the spit pooling in his mouth.

You released a thick, dissipated curse, the one that you often hear among mortals in the shadows during revelries. “Fuck,” you moaned, half expecting the stinging bite of your mother’s belt. It did not come. You could only laugh.

Filthy. Filthy. You are filthy.

“Don’t move,” you hissed at him.

And he did not.

“Don't touch me,” you huffed as you rolled your hips, slinging your leg over his shoulder. You swore you heard him whimper as you grabbed his head with both hands.

You could tell that he was itching for it, the feel of your waist, your ass. He wanted to reach up and grab your tits. Oh, he looked pitiful. How he'd give anything just to touch you and make you feel good.

“Are you mine?” you asked, stripping your husband with your foot, tactless, his robe caught between your toes. "Do you promise?"

Kita nodded without hesitation and you smiled.

"Go on then," you told him, guiding his hands to your breasts, your fingers hastily intertwined with his. You whimpered as he started fondling and pinching and pulling at your nipples.

You're so close.

You cried out when he flicked his tongue hurriedly against your sopping clit, drool spilling down his jaw as you swivel your cunt harder. He picked up his pace, his tongue moving faster and faster the more desperately breathless and shameless you screamed his name.

That familiar sensation that he introduced to you approached like a storm. The anticipation for that flash of hot light that seizes your entire body is exquisite now. Not numbed by indignity or by the fact that he'd taken you without your consent.

This time you welcome it, letting the tides crash and drag you along with it.

But because he's Kita and he's your husband, he immediately grabbed your thigh, mooring you to him, his other hand supporting your back in order to keep you from falling once you were finally reduced into spasms.

He caught you.

He carried you and kept you safe back on his lap after you came and your limbs had gone boneless. You stayed there in his embrace, eyes closed and feeling his chest rise and fall like he’d been running for miles.

So human.

So unlike him.

“We can always make another one, you know,” he suddenly spoke.

You looked at him, at that pallid face now beaming with sweat and a spark in his piercing gaze, a certain recklessness in them.

In this light, mussed hair and all, you could almost believe that he was only some farm boy who’d promised himself to the neighbor’s daughter, flowers in hand with a kiss and a song to give despite her mother’s objections, naively courageous in a way that only the youth can be.

It made your heart ache.

His hand brushed against your stomach and you became aware of the fact that something hard had been poking your wet quim.

He eased you into his cock with a gentle glide of his hips, the meaty girth just barely entering as he tells you, “You apologize for far too many things.”

“We have all eternity to make amends,” he said and you shook terribly when the tip brushed under your sensitive clit. “And to make another child.”

At this, he entered you with a grunt, laying your back on the ruined futon while you’re twitching and squeezing down on his cock. He wrapped your legs around his waist and raised your ass with his hands, keeping his seed from leaking out of your cunt as he thrusted.

Kita was a vision above you.

Death the God, your husband, eyes closed and brows knitted together as he fucked you, cheeks as red as the painted spider lilies framing his beautiful face.

(You were a daughter once. A wife now. A mother soon.)

(You will never be your own.)

You were on the verge of passing out, pleasure tingling your nerves in a low simmer, and you can hear it.

Hear them.

The sound of feet thumping against the earth in a merry dance, the joy of drunkenness, lovers giggling among themselves.

You threw your arms around your husband's neck, his body sweating and panting. Enclosing him in your weak embrace, you grinned to yourself, weary but enraptured, as they sang the song of sweet, sweet spring coming home.

The funeral bells are a divine order as much as they are a ritual.

When tolled, it means that respect must immediately be paid to the dead, and mourners and strangers alike have to set aside their grief in their little snot rags, no matter how keenly they feel it, and march to say their farewells to the one who used to walk among them.

The funeral bells did not ring for this one mortal, Kita observed, because no one mourns those who defied the Lady Harvest.

What’s left of her home had already gone up in smoke.

Her remains were among the ashes that covered the small plot of land.

A seamstress. Orphaned too early. Clever, as she had managed to survive all twenty and four years of her life with only hard work and an eye for colors.

Clever.

Clever did not suffice.

She ought to have been wise, and capable of knowing her place. The youngest princess had already been betrothed to a pious maiden, one that was favored by the Lady Harvest, no less. That wasn’t much of a problem. Not really. Not to gods. Many a lowly mortal has fallen for someone above their station.

A seamstress who deemed herself worthy for the princess's love was no different from a boy who believed that his wings were all that he needed to get himself close to the sun. The boy's wings were made of wax. The heart of a poor seamstress was no match against the goddess of harvest.

This story has been told countless times before. The beginnings change, and so do the names, but ultimately they all end the same.

Kita remained among the tall brambles, out of reach from what the fire had devastated, as he watched you, back towards him and bare feet on ruins. You hadn’t stirred for quite a while, so it was with curiosity that he stayed to see why you’d suddenly bent on one knee.

In the blink of an eye, spider lilies sprouted out of the soil. Kita has no other way to describe it, only that with the flick of your wrist the world became new.

Like dusting the earth clean. No more ashes and grief and the sharp regrets of those left behind. Only the bright, vibrant hue of red, red, red.

Kita looked down at the flowers brushing against his cloak, pointing to where you stood, and followed. He stayed behind you but did not call to your attention.

“She doused herself in oil,” you said. “Burned everything.”

He knew that. He let you continue anyway.

“Where will she go?”

You looked back at him.

“Where did she go, my Lord?”

You’d been talking to him.

“You know me,” he replied, a little late and a little shaken.

“How could I not?” You shrugged weakly. “I’m always there when they come into this world, it seems only right that I’m also there when they leave. And you are," you chuckled, “punctual, to say the least.”

You’d been watching him.

“I see you, you know. All the time.”

The breeze was cool as it danced with his hair and Kita had the odd urge to cry.

"I like it when you talk to them. You don't have to, don't you? But you still do. You are very good, my Lord."

He should say that it was necessary. It had nothing to do with being good. He wasn’t. He does it everyday because that is just what it is. It matters not that he is perceived as good. It matters not that someone else regards it for the valuable work that it is. It matters not that, for once, someone understands.

“You still haven’t answered me,” you told him. “Where did she go?”

You are every bit the Spring that they make songs about. He felt the need to cower at the sight of you, but like a child urged to play outside by the field of flowers and balmy weather, Kita stepped closer.

“It depends,” he said.

You rolled your eyes and threw your hands up, as if surrendering begrudgingly.

“I’ve had enough of riddles! I’m sick of bending over backwards, my Lord! Why can’t you just say what you mean!?”

You are infuriated. Of course you are. This death has upset you. They care for you deeply because you care for them just as much. And to know them is to know him. And to love them is to—

Tears had sprung from your eyes. Kita wanted to wipe them.

“Oh, my Lord, forgive me! I didn’t mean-”

He hadn’t even moved yet. Moreover, what he was planning to do certainly didn’t warrant raised arms, face covered, as if you were protecting yourself from him. Kita was not going to hurt you. But it seems that someone already had.

Bruises marred your skin. Some fresh gashes on your elbows. Too small and too precise to have been caused by a slip up while doing chores. There were a number of them that they cannot be attributed to a clumsy nature either.

“Who did this to you?”

In truth, Kita needed not ask. He’d once almost crossed paths with that infamous wrath of the Lady Harvest. He is familiar with her proclivity for lessons that must be imparted with an iron fist. The difference between you and him is that he’s Death. You are simply her daughter. A lesser entity to one pillar that held the universe together. And so you are the one who’d ended up like this: afraid and beaten.

He should’ve been watching hard enough.

“Who did this to you, Spring?”

You had to say it with your own mouth. “N-no one,” you mumbled. He wondered then why you’d gotten them. Spring has not faltered, not once. You are obedient to the whims of the Lady. Does it have something to do with caring for a harlot? What about mourning for a foolishly mutinous woman with a field of red spider lilies?

“I have to go my Lord,” you panted, scampering to remove yourself from his presence.

If he lets you, will you come back with another welt on your leg?

Worse. Kita knew that nothing would be left of you, when all is said and done. Unless, Kita thought, he had you all to himself.

None of them would protect you. None of them will take you from him.

None of them can.

Kita was upon you before you knew it.

You fought as he held you down. And he could’ve reasoned with you had you not tried to kick and scratch his face, that all of this is simply a natural turn of events, the same way one weeps in birth and in death. Your paths have always been locked to one another, he felt it in his very being as you bled and howled for mercy. Perhaps he’d been blind to it then, but just as he was meant to do this, you’ll learn soon enough that this, too, is your lot in life.

#tw noncon #tw non con haikyuu #kita x reader #kita x y/n #kita shinsuke x reader #yandere kita shinsuke #dark content haikyuu

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