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nyimasu · 1 year

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───── 𝐺𝑂𝑇𝑇𝐴𝑆𝐴𝐷𝐴𝐸

PAIRING — satosugu x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS — there's no such thing as "sin" in buddhism, but gojo and geto are not so sure about that... not when you look good enough to eat.

CW — monk!satosugu, believer!reader, slight dumbification, praise and degradation kink, pet names, oral, dacryphilia, power play, rimming, size kink if you squint, cum eating, choking, satosugu is fruity af // WC — 2.5K ;; cross-posted on ao3

ANYA'S CORNER — geto in his buddhist robe is something I think about every day, but him and satoru? I'm gone

P.S : this fic is named after BeWhy's song, "GOTTASADAE". in early Korean's transcriptions, the term 가라사대 was an imperative form used by the king and other important figures hence the connection

Being a faithful believer is no easy vocation. Especially if the temple you go to pray at has such debauched monks inside.

"Drunk on my cock already?"

Every time, every day, it ends up in the same way: confessions whispered in the darkness provided by the huge, golden statue of a Buddha in the Hokke-do, the meditation's main hall. Immoral words heard by Geto Suguru then reported to Gojo Satoru.

A slap on your thigh. Playful, but it stings still.

"That's all she's good at."

They are the heads of the temple and as such, it's no problem for them to summon their acolytes and before you know it, they are onto you. Hazes of lust surrounds their godly bodies like foggy auras and nothing, not even the great Buddhas take pity in you.

Suddenly your clothes are gone and you find yourself laying on your back on one of the altars close to their living quarters. Often it's the one with food offerings made to please enlightened beings, which you certainly are not.

'Atone for your sins with us here', as both of them like to repear, an offer to the spirits of sex you should be staying away from.

Such a sacred tool soiled with body fluids should corrupt the monastery, but it doesn't.

It never does.

A dark, masculine chuckle slide on your skin like honey, soft as the fabric his robe is made of. The rustling of his sleeve, so close to your ear, brings you back to reality.

"It's true, but there's more. Come on now, doll. Show us your tongue."

"Do as we say, you filthy slut."

You wrinkle your nose at the smell of incense mixed with hydrangea tea next to you, yet you oblige. You're glad to. Your outstretched tongue reaches the chin with Geto's length resting on it and Satoru cocks his head to the side to look. Once he's done, the man kisses your thigh, delighted.

Today, it's his turn to suffocate in the warmth of your pussy.

"Good girl. You're so obedient," your eyes beam with adoration as calm, considerate Suguru cups your face while his other hand grabs the base of his veiny, girthy dick. Your mother waters all over again and he notices it.

You sinful, little thing.

He motions for you to raise your eyes and meet him and when you do, you see it. His smile borders on a grin. "Now take me fully. Make me cum and you'll be one step closer to repent."

You know it isn't right and yet here you are, gagging and choking around him when he shoves himself back in, his length pushing through your lips to fuck your throat while his best friend's lips delve deeper into your flesh. Gojo's eyes roam on the bulge in your throat, the head of Suguru's cock touching your uvula.

Then he starts to move and you whimper, helpless, and you feel your drenched folds get even wetter. The pace set by the other monk is too fast for your poor self to endure much longer.

Strands of pearly white hair caress your inner thighs as Satoru scoots closer to you. His tone is graceful, an inch away from your cunt when he whispers, "So you really are dirty. Look at this pussy. You like your throat fucked, slut? It's unsurprising why you always come to us to atone. No one else wants you."

Geto's gaze is fogged with lust, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure as your moans vibrate around his cock. Degradation really gets you going, no doubt about it... even if his best friend isn't able to calibrate at times.

For Gojo Satoru, the boundary between pleasure and pain is blurry at best and invisible at worst.

The sight of tears pooling in your eyes almost have him cum in his robe and as for you, naked and aroused despite shame, you hold onto the altar's borders as if your life is on the line. In a certain way, it really is. Another bead of arousal streams down your legs, spreading on Gojo's cheek. He chuckles, peppering every inch of skin he could reach in hasty pecks.

You don't see it, too busy with your throat being clogged by Geto, but the dark-haired monk shots Satoru a warning look and the white-haired monk scoffs.

"You love when we're being mean to you, precious, don't you? You love when I do." he hums and his impossible, blue eyes bore another hole in you when you wail in response, the sound buried by the slapping of Geto's skin against your skin.

Reaching out, you fondle his balls and feel them twitch in your hand. Impossible as it is, a proud smile plasters all over your face, eyes fixed on Geto's. Well, that goes right to Satoru's groin.

"Fuck." It doesn't take long for Geto to grab your hair, keeping you still as he fucks your throat. Gojo stops in his tracks, watching his best friend come undone in your mouth.

Gorgeous.

Being the kindest out of the two, Suguru warns you with a strained "I'm coming" and thrusts one, two, three times before he shots his creamy load in your mouth. You wait, gather in your cheeks every rope of cum he gives you as his spent cock weighs on your tongue. When he pulls out, Geto's vision tunnels on you swallowing.

A few strings of your saliva and his release spanning from your mouth is all it takes, and Suguru feels his dick spring back to life as you hide your face in his taut forearm, suddenly too shy to hold his or Gojo's gaze.

Hot and cold. Fire and water. You are perfect.

"Oh, look at you, acting all cute when I was balls-deep in your mouth just moments ago." the dark-haired monk coos, eyes rolling down to where Gojo's mouth is heading to. He pats gently your hair, then leans closer to nuzzle at your neck.

"What do we say in return to those who provided us with such delicious food, uhm?" You are in over your head, chest heaving with exhaustion. It's always a struggle to accomodate him fully in your throat. The man is hung.

Still, your voice grazes him with a small, "Thank you, G-Geto-sama" as another one, much calmer and deeper, hits you both.

One used to run up your pussy and make you see stars... and then you remember. Your lower half is his to ravish today. And he hasn't touched you properly yet.

His smile is lewd, intoxicating as you look at Satoru and he whispers, "Thank you for the meal."

The first lick is almost hesitant, as to test how jumpy you are; when you do jump, however, Gojo laughs. He was expecting it. And then, without further ado, his mouth is on your pussy.

Demanding, relentless, starved. Satoru is all that and more as he indulges his desires.

Chants of groans flutter around you three as your hips buck into Gojo's mouth, his wet muscle flickering small and frantic circles on your clit and then down, lapping up your juices. He's making your body sing unholy songs on the altar of enlightenment, while Geto enjoys the view from above.

You are so close to your own release, but it's not going to happen any time soon, and the man with snowy hair proves your point immediately.

"Ah-ah, not yet." he tuts and draws back, feeling you spasm underneath him. His chin is coated in your juices as he admires the mess he made between your legs and your heart drops to your feet.

He is preparing you for the grand finale, how can you expect to have an orgasm so soon?

Geto must've seen the look of disappointment in your eyes because he's on you in a nick of time. He bits your lower lip and you chuckle. It tingles.

Spidery fingers press on your stomach as Suguru steps back, sinking into the expanse of skin while Gojo breathes on your pussy. Now that definitely helps you focus on him again.

"Look at me." You tilt your head to better look at him but Suguru coaxes you closer again and kisses you, the feeble plea on your lips dying on his. Satoru stares at you in silence, both annoyed and a tiny bit aroused, until his best friend covers one of your tits with his hand.

It's time to act.

Unaware of the little bet between them you relax in Geto's touch, enough for him to slip in his tongue, stroking yours with his until a sudden, sharp pain knocks the air out of you. Yelping, your eyes flicks up to the man between your thighs, perched and hooked up his lean shoulders.

Gojo has nipped at your folds.

Shocked but burning within you keen and Geto smirks at the white-haired monk, amused.

Geto 1, Gojo 1.

"I said look at me, slut. It's time for the final absolution." When left down, both their hair are so long and lush you always fight back the urge to sink a hand in them. Sometimes they let you do it, for they love physical touch.

Today you sigh sighs in relief when Satoru notices the question in your eyes and nods, moaning as your fingers grip his roots; Suguru, on the other hand, simply grins at you but complies and bends his head for you to caress his.

One hand in Gojo's hair. The other in Geto's.

You feel invincible.

Satoru's locks are spread across your skin like silken webs when he noses your clit and you squirm, shake on his demonic tongue. "Your tongue feels s-so good, Gojo-sama" that's all you manage to say but it's enough. The praise boosts Satoru's ego. He's the easiest to get through like this.

A tug at the seams of your, his limits but they both tear apart the moment Satoru's tongue snakes out of his mouth again to descend further on you, two fingers resting on either side of your tight, incredibly tight ring of muscles while you arch your back, startled.

His head spins at the thought of how ruined you're going to look like soon, bliss painting the inside of his cheeks while he allows you to fuck yourself on his tongue.

Good sluts need to be awarded, too, after all.

The image goes straight to his painfully hard cock, still caged in his clothes. After this, he is going to break you in a half. "Mine."

"Gojo-" you want to protest, say something at least, but neither of them gives you time to understand what's going on. What you do figure out, or rather see, is Geto's arm coming in the frame. He grounds his hand on your throat and cuts your airflow just enough for you to clench like crazy around Gojo's tongue on — no, in your ass. But he's not done.

"Take everything we give you and pray. You'll need it."

A mewl escapes you and he shots you a heated glare as his free hand sneaks between your sopping pussy, neglected by Gojo. His thumb presses on your clit, then an idea strikes his skull, and the look he gives you after is, for lack of a better word, lecherous.

Drawing back from your pussy, Suguru stares at your open mouth and head thrown back on his shoulder, eyes closed in a desperate attempt at containing your sobs.

All in vain.

Looking down for a second, Geto sees the other monk leave kitten licks on your pussy only to still his tongue in your ass right after, hands on both your ass cheeks spread for him to fuck into you deeper. Ruthless.

"Do you want to come, doll?"

The snow haired man moans against you when you cry out, digits digging into Satoru's scalp as your eyes crack open to look at Geto. Am I dreaming?

"Please, I beg you. Let me cum. I've been good." Fresh, salty pearls frame your lashes, falling on your cheeks as Suguru pin you down with a gaze. Satoru keeps on licking and sucking and fuck if you're not going insane because of him.

Tensed, you throw daggers at both when they stop working your body. What-

"You call that begging?" Geto wets his lips before the thumb previously on your cunt flies to pry your lips open. He rests it on the flat of your tongue as he groans,

"You can beg better. Or choke trying."

You go absolutely nuts. With them you always feel so small since they're so tall, but today your need to let go is bigger than both of them.

"Please please please just let me cum this once. Gojo-sama," you whip your head around to catch a glimpse of him and catch him staring at you with hungry-filled eyes. "I've been good, haven't I? Can I repent now?"

Fuck. That look in your eyes, so teary and filled with need make him cum, and he does so hard that his strangled moan echoes in your pussy, your ass, your walls.

Everywhere.

The thumb in your mouth glides past your lips and Suguru chuckles, eyes fixated on Gojo. Then it's on your engorged bud, stroking it lazily, and that means you did well. The dark-haired monk bit your earlobe and says, "Come all over us, little whore.

Repent."

The coil snaps. You snap.

Jolts of pleasure shot through you as the orgasm hits you and without warning, your legs snap shut around Gojo's head but he doesn't care in the slightest. Actually, he's the happiest man alive right now, stretching out his tongue to lick and suck and — kiss every droplet as your arousal does collect in his mouth.

Geto fingers you through the haze of the moment, sliding three fingers in you while he keeps circling your clit. When you come back, shaking in over-stimulation, your gaze wanders around the room. Geto pulls out just as you see Gojo's shadow against the wall stand up after pressing light, affectionate pecks on the inside of your thighs, your calves.

"You've atoned for your sins. Look, they're all here," he darts his tongue, covered in your release and your cheeks burned, seeing how much of a wanton you've been with him. "I'll take care of it."

"Not so fast. Let me see."

Before he can swallow, Suguru lures him down to his eye level and plants a kiss on Gojo's lips. The man quickly responds to it, deepening the kiss, and the sight of their spit and your cum pushes your embarrassed form to roll to the side, face toward the painting of a holy Buddha in front of you.

Their inhuman eyes stare back at you, merciless.

You are ruined, soiled beyond divine grace.

Moments later the monks' bodies cramp you once more and Suguru's arm encloses your waist to let you sit with your back against his chest. Satoru sits beside you both and your eyes fall on the wet spot on his crotch, a smile already forming on your bruised lips.

Gojo follows your gaze when you whisper as sheepishly as possible, "Looks like I haven't repented enough. Want me to lick you clean, Gojo-sama?"

Truth to be told, you love being their sweet, naive acolyte. Always eager to comply, ready to follow every instruction they give you.

They are your one, true creed.

And you're the greatest sin they have yet to absolve.

#voice of cassandra #jjk smut #satosugu smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto x you #gojo x you #gojo smut #geto smut #satosugu x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader

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jesterwriting · 6 months

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pairings: angel!sanji x gn!reader

word count: 1.5k words

contents: smut, divinity kink, blowjob (m receiving), pet names used for reader: little lamb and dove, reader calls sanji ‘my lord’

note: thought too hard about worshiping sanji and this happened. my first time writing for divinity kink so bear with me if it reads a little odd. if you have any questions as to why sanji’s angelic robes are so slutty its because i think itd be hot. enjoy my lovelies <33

playlist: your blood - aurora

There was a shrine built in your bedroom, made for no one and inhabited by one. He found shelter within it, and while you could fault him for his bad taste, you were too fond to try.

It was a dusty old thing. Atop a small side table sat a goblet you filled with moon water daily. A stick of half-burnt sandalwood incense was beside the cup, accompanied by several clear quartzes you had for no reason other than finding them pretty. A cookbook was open to a page about risotto and a bit of ash from the incense stained the paper. You had read on how to make an altar for worship, but not what to do when something made its home there.

His name was Sanji, or at least that was what he told you to call him. His true name would cause your eardrums to rupture if you ever heard it, even if, apparently, it wasn’t much to brag about. Personally, you thought that if you had a name that held so much holiness within that it would make any mortal who heard it bleed from their eyes, you would be a bit of a braggart. Though, you supposed that was why Sanji was an angel and you weren’t.

You kneeled before his altar, hands clasped in prayer. While you knew all it took was the barest whisper of his name and he would appear, you wanted to show him how much he meant to you. Since the day he appeared, bathed in a heavenly glow, golden hair and blue eyes glimmering beneath his halo, your every wish was granted. Your food tasted divine, your days were kissed by the sun, and your dreams were always pure. To have earned the favor of someone so holy for nothing in return made you feel a little spoiled. Today, you decided that you would give Sanji a gift in return. Something only a human could give him.

“You called for me, my dove?” Sanji’s soft tenor echoed through your head, a choir of voices all singing together to form one. You shivered under the weight of it. Gentle, he brushed the tip of his index finger against your chin and tilted your head upwards until you met his eyes. “I told you once before, there is no need to prostrate yourself to make me appear. You have me at your beck and call.”

That was the problem. You wanted to worship him. To fall to your knees at the sight of him, to bask in his holy light, and give him the full weight of your attention. The attire he wore did wonders for your imagination. A pure white gown with a slit that ran from his leg all the way up to his hip, revealing golden bangles hanging along his thighs. His arms were adorned with jewels and chains, all of which ran together to create a harness across his chest. Oh, how you dreamed of pulling him towards you, fingers tangled within it, to press his holy lips against yours. Sanji’s wings fluttered behind him, a nervous gesture — it still surprised you that an angel was capable of feeling nervous of all things — and you felt your lips twitch.

Still on your knees, you shuffled closer to him until you rested your cheek against his thigh. You gazed up at him, the picture of innocence, and even then you could see the stirrings of lust darken Sanji’s expression. He wasn’t as pure as he made himself out to be. His eyes lingered on your bare skin and his fingers trailed across the small of your back when he passed you, more than once. Maybe that was why an angel found his way into your dingy little apartment. Heaven had no need for a pervert.

A shaking hand found its way into your hair.

“My lost little lamb,” Sanji murmured.

With a small breath, you lowered your head to place a chaste kiss to his knee. “And I need you to guide me.”

You felt him shiver above you, his hold on the back of your head tightening ever so slightly. Raising yourself high, you placed open mouthed kisses along the length of his thigh, your tongue running across the cool metal that decorated his skin.

Sanji groaned, his free hand going to cover his crotch. “Sweet, sinful dove, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“I do. Let me worship you, my lord.” You muttered between kisses, growing closer and closer to his clothed heat. His cock was erect, barely hidden by the thin fabric that covered him. You looked up at Sanji from beneath your eyelashes to see that a beautiful pink blush covered his face, and a thin trail of blood trickled from his right nostril. His breathing hitched when he looked down at you.

With a sweet little smile, you pushed aside his gown to reveal his already weeping cock. It glowed with the same heavenly light as the rest of him, and you were certain that you found the holiest part of him right then and there. Your mouth watered at the sight. With your tongue, you trailed a wet line along the underside of his cock before you pressed a dainty kiss to the head. Sanji let out a chorus of moans that went straight to your core. You pressed your thighs together to get a little bit of relief from the insatiable heat.

His hand trailed from the back of your head to cup your cheek. “Look at you, so needy for me already. Come now, lamb, let me take care of you.”

You shook your head before you wrapped your hand around his cock. Sanji bit his lip as his dick throbbed against your palm.

“No, my lord—” His cock pulsed again at the title, and you caught the drops of precum that dribbled from his cockhead with your thumb, smearing it along his length— “Tonight, I worship you. Tonight, I give thanks for all the prayers you have answered and the wishes you have granted. I want to show you the pleasures that only a human can give.”

Sanji’s eyes softened, even as he bit his lip from the slow strokes of his dick. “I could never deny you. Not now, not ever.”

With that, you took his divine cock between your lips. You swirled your tongue around the tip, swallowing the salty-sweet taste of his essence as it leaked into your mouth. He tasted like cinnamon, so unlike any other man you’d had before. Sanji groaned, fingers tangling in your hair.

“Yes, my dove, worship me just like that,” He said, rocking his hips forward and pushing himself further down your throat. You gagged, esophagus constricting around his dick, making Sanji throw his head back and cry out. It made you want to take him deeper. Before you could try, Sanji pulled himself out of your mouth, a string of saliva still connecting you to him. His pupils were blown wide with lust, almost blocking out the blue of his eyes entirely. “Are you alright? Was I too rough?”

“You were perfect,” You said before swallowing him whole.

Not expecting it, Sanji couldn’t help the moan that spilled from between his lips. It sounded heavenly, like music to your ears. You would never grow tired of Sanji’s beautiful noises, encouraging you to take him deeper. Spit dripped from your chin as you continued your sloppy ministrations, Sanji’s thighs twitching beside your head as he fought to keep from thrusting into your mouth.

“Yes… Oh, my lamb, where did you learn to do such dirty things, I can’t take much more,” Sanji babbled above you. “I don’t want this to end.”

His brow furrowed, nose wrinkled in concentration as he fought to keep from cumming. You tapped his hip, and looked up at him, pleading for him to finish with your eyes. Sanji was breathing heavily as he stared down at you, his cock disappearing between your lips.

“Y-You want my blessing, dove? Are you willing to take all of it?”

You nodded.

“Oh, may Heaven forgive me for this si- Ah!”

Sanji’s dick pulsed as he pumped hot ropes of cum down your throat. You swallowed every last drop while he rode out his orgasm, unable to keep from thrusting ever so slightly into your mouth. Playing with one of the golden bangles on his thigh, you removed yourself from him with a slick ‘pop!’ a coy smile playing on your lips.

“That’s my favorite method of prayer, you know,” You said.

Sanji let out a small breath of air, still trying to gather himself in the wake of his orgasm. “If I had known that, I would have begged you to pray to me months ago. For now, though…” Sanji trailed off, the heat in his gaze making you shiver. “I want to hear what sinful noises you’re capable of making, little lamb.”

#one piece x reader #sanji x reader #sanji x yn #sanji x you #.jesterwrites

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pixiespax · 5 days

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GUILTY AS SIN? – MATT STURNIOLO <3

warnings: RELIGIOUS METAPHORS, edging, male masturbation, sub!matt, use of, goddess/mistress, don’t like don't read xoxo <3

author's note: this is one of my favorite works, I'm fucking so happy that it's my 500 FOLLOWER fic, thank you so much everyone, I love you all.

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"my bedsheets are ablaze, i screamed his name..."

Matt's skin prickled with anticipation as he approached the altar. The air was thick with the smell of incense and candle wax, and the flickering flames cast shadows on the walls. He laid down and closed his eyes, feeling the heat of her breath on his face as she asked him to say the prayers she usually says. As he began to pray, he felt a surge of energy coursing through his body, a heat that traveled all across his bed like a fire. But just as quickly, his hand was pulled away and the feeling was gone, replaced by a deep sense of longing and frustration. He knew he could never attain the ultimate release he craved, not while he worshipped his goddess. Agony ripped through his throat as he screamed out the name of his goddess with all his might, his voice pleading for mercy and release from the unrelenting punishment that he was enduring.

The searing pain in his throat was almost unbearable, but he kept on shouting, hoping that his cries would reach the divine ears of his beloved deity and she would take pity on him.

"...building up like waves, crashing over my grave..."

Matt had been yearning for a release from his agony for what seemed like an eternity. His mistress had been subjecting him to unbearable suffering, and he had been pleading with her to let him let go. He had been praying fervently, hoping to be heard by his higher power. Every moment felt like a lifetime, and he whispered to himself that his pleas would eventually reach his deity, and he would be granted the relief he so desperately craved.

As he stood there, gazing up at his mistress, he suddenly heard her voice. It was like nothing he had ever heard before - beautiful, yet ominous at the same time. It was as if a pure, divine creature was singing to him. The sound flowed through him, filling him with a sense of relief that he had never experienced before. He felt his chest heave with emotion as he finally let go of all his held-back tears and agony, as he began to chant his gratitudes to the sky - to the goddess that he knew was watching over him from above. It was a moment of pure bliss, a moment that he would never forget.

"...Without ever touching his skin, how can I be Guilty as Sin?"

The sensation of her touch lingered like a ghost, but he could never quite feel it. He yearned for his goddess to appear and envelop him in her embrace, amplifying the euphoria he felt. He begged and pleaded for her to reveal herself, to let her hands glide over his skin and intensify his state of bliss. However, despite his fervent prayers, she remained elusive, leaving Matt with only the memory of her touch.

Matthew found himself in a state of inner turmoil, wondering if the situation he was in was a form of punishment for his past wrongdoings. His hands were clenched tightly around his bedsheets as he struggled to maintain his composure in front of the divine figure before him, who seemed to possess an all-seeing gaze. He couldn't help but wonder how he could be held accountable for sins he had not committed, and how he could be considered guilty without ever having laid a hand on his goddess' golden, sun-kissed skin.

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THANK YOU FOR 500 FOLLOWERS MWWWAH <3!

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sihtricfedaraaahvicius · 3 months

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The Goddess

Note: requested by @foxyanon! I really hope I did justice to your idea.

Warnings: 18+! smut, primal play, sex magick, knife play, blood.

pairing: Modern!Sihtric x you (f)

summary: you and Sihtric did a new ritual together.

wordcount: 2,2k

Masterlist

You and Sihtric simply couldn't get enough of each other. You had just moved into your first home together. The furniture was scattered all through the apartment, as were unpacked and half unpacked boxes. The only room that was completely finished was the bedroom. The walls were painted a pleasant colour of green, while the cabinets and decorations were a mix of golden and rose. The colours represent the goddess you both honoured, Freyja, for whom you also had made a little altar in the corner of the bedroom. You and Sihtric had done rituals together to honour the goddess and to ask for her help, and with her help you had managed to successfully obtain the wonderful apartment you now called home. So when you told Sihtric a ritual was in place to thank the goddess, and also to ask her to bless your relationship in this new phase of your lives, he immediately was onboard. And it wouldn't be just any ritual, no, it would be the first time you performed sex magick together.

The bedroom was smoke cleansed earlier that day, and now incense burned and the scent of amber spread in the air. Flower petals were scattered on the floor and candles were lit in safe places. All the lights were switched off, your new home was completely dark, apart from the several burning candles that were safely placed in every apartment room. You and Sihtric had both taken a cleansing shower, separately, before you met again for the ritual in the darkened bedroom. You were dressed in a silky white, short nightgown while Sihtric was wearing just his grey sweatpants, comfortable and light clothing were important because you had to feel at ease and not restricted.

Sihtric's dark, shoulder length hair was still damp and pushed behind his ears. The scars on his face, arms and torso were visible as the candles casted a faint and romantic glow. Your almost dried hair was tied back into a bun and you were both barefoot as you sat on a large blanket made of black feathers, which you had spread out on the wooden bedroom floor. Next to you, on the feathery blanket, was a round wooden plate on which an athame was placed. The silver double edged dagger had a black handle and runes carved into the blade, and it was purely used to draw blood or cut flowers and herbs during rituals. Next to the athame was an amber necklace and a first-aid kit, just in case, but you trusted each other and knew you both would be careful when it came down to using the blade.

Sihtric's Mjölnir pendant dangled as he leaned in to secure the amber necklace around your neck, which would later be an offering to Freyja. He then sat back and mirrored your position. You had thoroughly discussed the ritual beforehand and were clear on what you wanted to manifest and achieve. Sex and magick had never been an issue in your relationship, but combining the two was new and you were both filled with adrenaline. You both sat back on your heels, knees touching, and you lightly held each other's hands and looked into each other's eyes. Your breathing slowed down, as did Sihtric's, and soon you both breathed calmly and in sync. You gazed into Sihtric's mismatched eyes, one light and one dark, and your focus was purely on him, his body and your own body. You felt your muscles relax and your thoughts stopped racing, a trance like feeling washed over you, nothing but calmness, safety and love. Pure, primal, raw, real, deep, lustful, passionate and honest love. That is what you felt for each other and that is how you planned on honouring the goddess as well as each other.

You felt your heart begin to beat faster while your breathing stayed calm, but became heavier, and your lips parted slightly while your relaxed state slowly filled itself with desire. You saw Sihtric's eyes darken after he experienced the same feeling, and he slowly but firmly rubbed his thumbs over your hands. You both smiled softly while your eyes wandered all over each other, and the loving gazes transformed into lustful gazes. Sihtric slowly licked his lips, then his teeth, and he swallowed hard to keep his breathing steady. His eyes darkened even more and then he slowly got up on his feet. He held your hands and helped you up to stand in front of him, he turned you around, your back towards him, and he slowly trailed his tattooed fingers up your arms and to your shoulders. He lightly touched the amber necklace around your neck and, when he leaned in as he towered over you, you felt his cold bronze pendant touch your back. It sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, and your breath hitched in your throat when you felt his warm breath on your neck.

'Hide, my little bunny,' Sihtric whispered, his lips grazing your ear while his low voice made you shiver with anticipation. 'Run and hide,' he chuckled playfully, 'and I will hunt you like a falcon. And when I find you,' he husked, 'you're mine to play with.'

You held your breath until Sihtric stepped back, and you felt his hands slowly pull away from your bare arms. Then, when you lost his touch… you ran. You ran as fast as you could through the dimly lit halls of your apartment, away from the bedroom, and you began to tip-toe through the half dark in search of a hiding place. You hid between a few unpacked boxes in the spare room, knowing that if Sihtric stepped into the room you could escape through a second door that led to the storage room next door. You listened carefully for any movements, but Sihtric was quiet and had no trouble sneaking around. He had done it often in his own home, when you stayed over, just to scare you. But now it was different. Now you were hiding from him because you knew he was sneaking around, and you knew he would carry the athame that had been in the bedroom. It was all part to honour the goddess and to become even closer to one another, through exploring sexual desires without fear and shame and to be aware of all your senses.

You felt the excitement in your body; in your core, as it tightened like a spring that needed to be released. You shuddered when you suddenly heard your boyfriend's light footsteps nearing the room you hid in, and you had to bite down a nervous and elated giggle.

Sihtric quietly entered the room after he had searched the living room and the kitchen, but there his instincts told him to look in the spare room, and once he stepped through the door he smiled. He chuckled softly, the sound of it setting your lower abdomen on fire. He chuckled because he knew you were in the room. He knew he had found you, because he smelled you. He smelled the scent of your body lotion, which he loved, but there was another scent he caught which he loved even more.

'I know you're here, bunny,' Sihtric purred, 'I can smell you, darling. I smell the scent of lavender and eucalyptus,' he inhaled sharply and smacked his lip, then exhaled slowly, 'and the scent of your soaked pussy,' he almost growled. He pulled away the box you hid behind after you let out a soft moan at his words, and you jumped up. You laughed and screamed, then tried to run to the second door but Sihtric was fast, like a falcon, and he grabbed your arm. He yanked you towards him and pushed you down on the floor, where he crawled on top of you. Sihtric was just a shadow above you, as the candle casted its glow from behind him, but he could see your eyes widen with arousement and anticipation, and he laughed threateningly as he leaned in. You caught a glimpse of the blade in his hand as he held it up, and then you felt the cool steel being pressed against your throat.

'You're mine now, little bunny,' Sihtric cooed in your ear.

You then felt his tongue on your neck, licking up to your earlobe which he bit teasingly while his free hand moved up your thigh and underneath your nightgown. He trailed his fingers up between your thighs, lightly teasing your folds which he had free access to as you wore no panties, and he then smoothly pressed one finger inside you. You didn't speak, but your heavy breathing and the wet fluid that coated his finger told Sihtric all he needed to know. He got up and swiftly threw you over his shoulder, and he gave your ass a hard spanking as he carried you back to the bedroom. You pretended to fight his grip on you, just to rile him up, and it worked. Because he threw you on the bed and smoothly cut through the silky fabric that covered you up with the ritualistic dagger. Sihtric tore off your ripped nightgown and he was fast to remove his sweatpants. He then pinned you down on the bed again, the dagger held lightly against your throat. Sihtric's breathing was heavy and he bared his teeth at you, he then removed the blade from your neck and his lips took its place, sucking your sensitive skin, marking and claiming his prey.

You felt his markings as he made them, and you raked your hands through his wild, loose hair. You pulled his locks, hard, to which Sihtric growled like a beast and began to tease your pussy with the tip of his hard, leaking cock, his pre-cum mixing with your own arousal. You moaned and dug your nails in his back, clawing at him and scratching his back while he sunk his teeth in your shoulder, leaving his teeth marks. Strangled moans and heavy grunts left his lips when you began to push your hips up against his, desperately wanting to be taken by the man who owned your heart. You wrapped your legs around his waist, another silent beg for him to take you. He then flipped you over, on top of him, while he laid back on the bed and looked up at you with hooded, adoring and lustful eyes. His big, warm hands grabbed your hips and he grinded you down on his cock.

'Ride me,' he commanded, yet half begged.

You obeyed and sunk down on his twitching length. You both gasped softly as you took him all in, and you felt his fingers dig into your skin, holding you with a bruising grip. You began to rock your hips, slowly at first and gradually speeding up. The candle flames flickered as you looked into each other's eyes, both completely in awe with one another and so in love. Sihtric smiled at you, sweetly, and he bit down on his lower lip as he hummed in pleasure, watching you bounce rhythmically on his cock while your hands were placed on his broad shoulders. You dragged your nails down over his muscular chest, leaving red marks and drawing tiny droplets of blood from him, with which you painted your fingertips and you then brought your hands up to your neck and trailed them down your breasts to your stomach, painting yourself with light and thin strokes of his blood, until you reached your clit and began to stimulate yourself with your reddened fingers.

Sihtric took your free hand and kissed it, then licked and sucked his own remaining blood off each of your fingers while he watched you pleasure yourself as you rode him so perfectly. He carefully took the athame and he made a light, shallow cut on the palm of your hand and he pressed it onto his chest, his heart, which you owned, and your blood left a mark before you smeared it over his torso and then onto your own thighs. And as you continued to make that raw and passionate love, you both envisioned yourself together in the future. You were manifesting your wishes, dreams, desires and goals while you made love. And when you both felt your climax approach, Sihtric cut the amber necklace around your neck with the silver blade and you both held it in between your blooded hands, as they were pressed together, coating the amber with the colour of two lovers who were destined to be together.

And as you both came, your desperate gasps and moans and his groans and deep grunts mixing together, your fingers locked even tighter as you held each other's hand. And Freyja's offering, the amber necklace painted with blood and charged with the energy of both your orgasms and love, was held tightly as you both came down from your highs. And once cleaned up, you and Sihtric would place it on the little altar for the goddess, and afterwards you would fall asleep in each other's arms; safe and loved. Forever.

taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @hb8301 @bathedinheat @neonhairspray @anaeve @bubblyabs @travelingmypassion @sylasthegrim @andakth @succnfuccubus @willowbrookesblog @lady-targaryens-world @skyofficialxx @elle4404 @alexagirlie @sweetxime @solango @gemini-mama @cheyennep3107 @little-diable @jennifer0305 @drwstarkeyy @mrsarnasdelicious @verenahx @urmomsgirlfriend1 @foxyanon @djarinsgirl27 @sigtryggrswifey @diiickbrainn @sihtricsafin @lexwolfhale @dixie-elocin @m-a-s-h-k-a

#sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom #sihtric #tlk #the last kingdom fic #sihtric fic #modern!sihtric

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temple-of-eternal-hera · 3 months

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Blessed Theogamia!

“With that the son of Cronus caught his wife in his arms and under them now the holy earth burst with fresh green grass, crocus and hyacinth, clover soaked with dew, so thick and soft it lifted their bodies off the hard, packed ground… Folded deep in that bed they lay and round them wrapped a marvelous cloud of gold, and glistening showers of dew rained down around them both. And so, deep in peace, the Father slept on Gargaron peak, conquered by Sleep and strong assaults of Love, his wife locked in his arms.”

—Iliad, 14.413-421, translated by Robert Fagles

Rundown of the altar: my statues of Zeus and Hera on a golden plinth, standing in front of my "wedding portrait" (done by the INCREDIBLE @coloricioso). The incense is lotus oil. To the right are flowers in the flame colors associated with brides (and priestesses of Juno) in my Wifey water bottle from my wedding. To the left is a replica hydria depicting Zeus and holding peacock feathers, which my husband gave me for our household altar. In front is an altar box where I keep random love notes my husband gives me, also holding my wedding jewelry. The whole thing is scattered in lotus petals and olive leaves which I am definitely not going to sweep up and make into a tea out of curiosity.

My husband joined me under my veil to drink a toast to the anniversary couple 🥰

#hellenic polytheism #helpol #hellenic pagan #hellenic paganism #hellenic polythiest #hera #hellenism #hellenic polytheist #hera cult #queen hera #zeus #king zeus #theogamia

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kiraman · 3 months

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And so death comes calling for her, a supplicant throwing itself at her feet; then again, Mizu has known death too well now to fear it; has filled her hands with it, adored it, fiendishly, with such devotion and horror—no, she is not afraid of it. She isn't happy unless it’s lying across her path; so when the dark, violent fever overtakes her, swallowing her up in its flaming grip during the tenth month of her trip over the high seas, it is not fear that comes with it; no. It's something else; something furious, with teeth. She drags herself onto the docks and gropes for the gunwale, slips down onto her knees. When someone comes to help her back onto her feet, she is a caged animal, cruel, vicious , scratching to get out. She shrugs them off, shoves the cup of water forced upon her mouth away, hissing in japanese; get off me! she does not want their hands on her, does not need their help; her cold blood cannot be worked into a fever – her veins are full of ice-water, they are dark, death does not know how to live in them, the fever turns to tidal waves, she is ocean depth; she will be okay.

She does not know how, but when next she awakes she's on her back, swathed in layers of heavy woolens that have been unwashed for months or years, reeking like everyone, itching like everyone, like a hot stone on her chest, burning and she violently tears them off, tosses them aside, and tries to sit up, her blood pounding in her ears. She topples over and falls onto the floor, feels her chin crack against the floorboards; distant voices cut viciously through the damp darkness that envelopes her; she does not understand what they are saying; she blinks through the veil of heat that enshrouds her and weakly drags herself towards the window, parched for air, her throat is throbbing wildly, her skin feels like a coal, melting right off her bones, gods help her, she is is melting, her body bursts into flame, this must have been how it felt...back at Edo...all those people swallowed by her rage, gods, gods help her.

She blinks at her hands and gasps when blood spills down her wrists onto the floorboards, pooling all around her, swelling, like the tide; and she is trying to swim through it, back to her cot, but it keeps spilling and pouring, it floods the cabin, drips into her mouth and throat; red, like a flame, like murder, like her, in her crimson dress, like her mouth screaming her name as she was dragged away on that horse and Mizu gasps and gasps, she is feral now, she is furious, screaming as she gropes for the bed, her hands slipping; her eyes are the sharp glint of a sword held to Akemi's throat, glittering in the light of the sea lantern.

She lays on her back and lets the flood sweep her under into its furious flame. She dreams of her at night. When she opens her eyes (dark, feverish eyes, eyes with teeth, like two angry waves in a storm) she sees her there, robed in silk, her dark, ebony curls sprawling all over Mizu's fevered face as she leans over her, urges a cup of water to her lips; she sees her, with some kind of hallucinatory clarity, and, all night long, she calls out for her, she is not sorry, she will not say sorry; she cannot; she is something else, something feral, with claws; she clings to her wrist when she tries to pull away, Akemi, Akemi, she whispers her name like an apology like a prayer for something they cannot have, will not havs, but she pulls away and she is left alone, drowning in fire.

She sinks in and out of fever sleep for so long— how long has it been now, is she dead? Alive? She loses count; but every time she opens her eyes, she is there, golden and radiant, wrapped in a veil of shimmering heat, and Mizu feels her hand reach out towards her but she can't touch her, she is air, she's fire and incense, an altar, she turns into smoke, consumes Mizu all to an ember; she touches her sleeve, all that silk, like flames, burning through her fingers and does not ask her to stay, she will not beg, she does not know how, does not even want her to look at her; but when the cup is brought back to her open mouth, she closes her eyes and feels her mouth on hers too; she is fire and flame but her lips are cold like the ocean, she has a taste of tempest on her tongue and a kimono red as blood, as the death on Mizu's hands, it spills like silk through her hands, she fades away and she does not scream but something inside of her is howling, don't go, don't go, come back. Akemi is shadow and light, something secret she keeps so deep inside of her she can never reach it, she will never touch her, she will never hold her, her hands are stone, they are a blade, it will cut her open, her touch. She shivers when Akemi pulls away and her throat is raw, she is parched and desperate, and everything inside of her is numb and dead, she does not know how to love, she is the edge of a knife and darkness, the scream of a woman held underwater, drowning, she will not touch her.

She sees her face, in the gold of summer, burning with fierce loveliness as she passes by her in a cage, like a memory, like a sliver of sunlight, threads of golden beads in her dark hair; her carnelian eyes meet hers, but only for a second, and she sinks into Mizu like a flaming arrow, sudden, deep, inescapable; she is the taste of the night, she is fever and fever and flame; and then she is gone.

When the fever abates, the mean, bitter coldness returns where her flame has burnt itself into her veins, scalded her to the bone, and Mizu furiously tears her out of her mouth her mind her hands; gods she has never hold her, and she wonders how can someone miss something that she has never had so much? She buries that thought, too. The sea before her is fire-water and silver froth, a roric flame; outside, the winds howl, savage, squalling with the storm, dark, secret.

She does not listen to it. Her eyes grow dark and unseeing, all she sees is her rage; ruthless and cold, beseeching at her feet.

She does not think of her, but sometimes, in her sleep, she thinks she can hear her voice screaming her name as they drag her away.

Somewhere in Japan, Akemi lays down near her husband, and all of her fire is snuffed out; when she closes her eyes, all she sees are his eyes, blue as iron and cold as sea-washed silt, furious waves in a storm crashing themselves against the shore of her body. She wakes up gasping, thirsty for the ocean; it makes her sick, wanting the sea. It makes her sick, how everything around her becomes drenched, her neck beaded with sweet sweat, the air, stifling, throbbing as she thinks of him, the salt of his skin, how it had felt, holding onto him as he shielded her with his body from the Claws; somewhere between sleep and awareness, she thinks of the dark cold shelter of it and how he had smelled, all salt water and bitter, like the ocean as she had stood behind him in the brothel.

She does not speak of it to anyone, lest of all to herself; she is frantic and flaming, a wildfire roaring: she shuts it away desrparately, but it comes back to her anyway. Akemi wonders where he has gone. She does not know if she wants the answer. He lives in her head now, and even drinking a cup of water makes her sick.

Somehow she survives it.

#.......bye :((#mizu x akemi #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai #mizu hallucinating akemi on the ship to london while in fever? more likely than u might think!!!#more mizu pov bc im bad :( at writing akemi :(#my writing #writing tag.#mizemi #akemi x mizu #:)))

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animetrashbox · 2 months

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Amidst Shadows and Blossoms

(A/n: Finally posting the prototype for this fanfic 3 months after my introduction. This is not the finalized first chapter. There are a lot of things I'd like to fix before I officially begin this series, however, I wanted to see how this would go. Bold first post I suppose.)

Deity!IzukuMidoriya x Fem!Reader

The warm flicker of candlelight casts elongated shadows across the golden crested lanterns strung from above you. You feel the warmth of the flames as a deliciously scented incense wafts up into your nose. Your eyes are closed as you kneel in prayer, sitting silently before the altar of The Seven. You concentrate on the serenity of the shrine, focusing on the words of thanks you have for the seven Deities as your breathing is consciously moderated. Almost annoyingly so.

Breathing in, and out. Inhale, Exhale. A silent prayer on your tongue.

All is quiet.

. . .

Too quiet.

Against your better judgement, you decide to ignore it. It’s probably nothi-

“(Y/N)!!!”

A yelp escapes you as a sudden weight against your back sends you forward onto your chest. Your limbs are spread flat beneath the perpetrator as your eyes snap open in surprise. Though it was quick to fade when you caught the bright eyes of-

“Komiko (L/n)! Get off of your sister! She’s in the middle of praying!” Charging in behind your sister; Komiko; storms your mother, her hand clamping down on your sister’s ear—who’s brimming with unchecked energy—and tugs her off of you. A yelp leaps from the young child’s throat, and yet she quickly brushes it off.

“(Y/n)! Please let me go to the village with you! I promise I can help! I really can!” Komiko begs, now upright as you dust yourself off from the rather rough contact.

You look up at your mother incredulously as she covers her face with an exasperated sigh, shaking her head.

“I can’t with her today, she refuses to listen to me.” Your mother mutters softly, massaging the bridge of her nose with vigor. You give her a sympathetic glance before facing your sister, your scarlet Hakama pooling around you.

“Komiko, after the way you’ve behaved for momma, I’m not sure it would be right to take you with me. Heavens, you shouldn’t even be here. You’ve disrupted the peace of the altar.” You pat her head softly as her bottom lip begins to tremble, pulling down into a pout. Despite that, she knows better than to argue back.

“But... I could use your help when cleaning up the Tojii Gates tomorrow morning...” You offer with a kind smile, tilting your head slightly.

Immediately, her expression lightens. “Really?! Can I?” You nod in response, snorting lightly at the rapid change in her attitude. The pools of tears in her eyes had all but disappeared as she lunged forward for another hug. This time, one you were prepared for.

You catch your mother’s gaze from behind her and she smiles fondly, a grateful look in her eyes. You admired her beauty in the warm candlelight. Despite the bags beneath her eyes, and the wrinkles that began to form around her mouth and forehead—ones she’d often pick at—didn’t deter her pretty smile and loving eyes. You considered yourself to be her number one supporter.

Your sister nuzzled into your arms, adorned with the velvety crème sleeves of your Hakama. She muttered incoherently into your bosom about how she’d help you before pulling away with a youthful grin. “I promise to do my best to help you!”

You smiled down at her, your forehead dropping to meet hers. “I know.”

At that, she slipped away from you, shuffling on her knees before rising. Komiko gives you a wave as she turns towards the arching wooden doorway at the entrance of the altar. “Well then, I’ll see you tomorrow! For now, I’m going to bed so the morning comes faster!” She cheers rather eagerly as she races away towards your Sha-ke.

To that, you let out a hearty laugh as your mother scoffs with a fond laugh, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Thank you for that, (Y/n).” She speaks softly, gazing towards your shrinking sister.

“It’s no problem, really. I understand-”

“No. Just take it. I don’t tell you how much I appreciate your help around here. I dunno’ if I could do as much as I do now without you around.” She sighs softly, looking towards you with a warm twinkle in her eye.

Your smile softens at her words—more tender than usual—as you find her side. Leaning against her as her temple presses down against yours.

“You do a lot too, y’know. I think we both need each other.” You reply, gazing off towards the sky that continues to darken with each minute. Dusk fading to dark as stars begin to spackle at it’s surface. The moon rises from the horizon, following the remaining purple from the sunset to the deep blue encapsulates the sky.

After your father passed away, life had gotten a lot rougher. Especially for your mother. Living as a widow was often pitied or ridiculed. Without a man to guide the family—your father—there was a short period of time where you had to wonder when your next meal might be; if you get one at all.

But you, your mother, and your sister endured that time of trial, and were able to get back on your feet when your mother inherited the role of the shrine’s Head Priestess. Earning the role after your father; the Head Kannushi; passed away from illness. She was able to put the shrine back together again thanks to the efforts of you and other families' contributions.

During that time, you and your—rather stubborn—mother grew incredibly close. She relied on you as her rock from your dad’s death, and you seemed to fulfil that role perfectly.

“What did I just say?” She snaps playfully, pinching your cheek.

“Sorry-! Sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

“AHT!” She tuts, raising her voice.

“I-...!” You begin to protest before sighing into her fingers. “...You’re welcome.” You grumble, evoking a laugh from her as she ruffles your hair with a smile.

The two of you relax against each other as you slowly slip into a comfortable silence, breathing deeply as you feel the warmth growing between your bodies. She keeps her hand in your hair, now dragging her fingers through it soothingly as you hummed in content at the gesture.

“Oh, by the way, what did Komiko mean about heading to the village?” You suddenly remember.

“Oh.” Your mother coos with a guilty tone beside you. “Well, um, you don’t need to worry about it.”

“Mom.” You cock an eyebrow up and she groans quietly before replying.

“I’m exhausted from all of the rituals and praying I’ve done today... So I was hoping I’d be able to send you to the village to buy some food.” She mutters with irritation—at being caught—in her voice. “Could you please-”

You pat her hand, cutting her off. “Yes mom. I’d be happy to.”

She sighs in relief. “Thanks kiddo.”

“I’m eighteen.” You grin fondly.

“Nuh-uh. Not to me. You’ll always be my kid.”

The village was a place of warmth, you’d always been enchanted by the red lanterns strung overhead; steams of delicious foods swirls between their paper glows. It’s a welcome change from spending the majority of your time praying and cleaning—and on good days—performing rituals. You get to go out and browse familiar shops and products, greet some family friends, etcetera.

However, the village during the nighttime was indisputably the prettiest. Warm red and orange lanterns flicker across slated stone pathways, illuminating storefronts and Yatai stands as the sellers of the evening began to open, while those who worked the morning began to close for the night. Your shoes scraped softly against the ground as you carried a wide rimmed basket.

You’d already gotten the basic fruits and veggies you’d needed, and were now headed towards the one family-run shop you could rely on for the best grains and protein.

The Shimura’s.

You approached the storefront hurriedly as you spotted it, your Hakama swishing languidly with each step as it clung to your body. Thanks to the late chore request, you didn’t have time to spare for changing. Especially if you wanted to make it to the village in time before the food stalls began to close.

Unfortunately, even with the extra time, you watched as the small wooden sign out-front listing products for the day being wiped clean. A familiar dark-headed lad knelt before it, cleaning it off.

“Wait, wait Tenko!” You pant as you jog up to his crouched figure. Immediately, a rough scoff could be heard from him as you receive a sharp glare from the man on the ground. His messy black curls frame his sharp navy-blue eyes, the skin of his eyelids was reddened with irritation and small rashes from scratching at them.

“Too late (L/n). Shop’s closing. Go home.” He replies gruffly, his hoarse voice firm as his gaze returns to the sign. Wiping it clean before scribbling a neat “closed” onto the board.

“What happened to friends helping out friends?” You grin softly at his attitude, a huff escaping you as you walk closer. “And I thought I told you it was okay to call me by my first name.” You chide, kneeling beside him.

“I don’t really care about what you prefer.” He retorts, standing up the moment you kneel beside him. You scoff slightly.

“Please, Tenko?” You plead, clasping your hands together. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

“You said that last time.” He scowls, walking back behind the counter. You give a nervous laugh as you go to follow. When approaching the open gate, it suddenly snaps down, effectively blocking you off. So you follow him from across the counter instead.

“This time I really mean it.” You persist with an entreating smile. Leaning against the wooden counter as his back is to you.

“No, you don’t.”

“Okay, I don’t. But I do have some Ohagi with me.” You try, noticing the subtle—so subtle—stiffening of his movements before he quickly schools his reaction. You stop the knowing smirk that tries to find your lips.

But to your shock, he—without a response—just disappears into the back of the shop. You’re stunned into silence.

“Oh, damn it.” You grumble under your breath. He’d escaped, essentially. You gaze guiltily at the empty doorway before slinking back, turning away from the shop with a sigh of defeat. Your feet shuffle beneath you with embarrassment as you sling your basket over your shoulder.

“Where the hell are you going?”

You spin around, and there sits your exact order—which you didn’t happen to tell him—on the counter. He continues to glare at you as his hand rests atop a large, bagged fish beside a bag of rice and bread.

“You whine to me about needing your order tonight, and then when I go to get it for you, you just leave?” he asks sharply, as if it was obvious that these were his intentions the whole time. A bright grin of surprise finds your face.

“Thank you Tenko!” You beam, and he scoffs softly shaking his head.

“I was planning on just taking your money, but since you offered the Ohagi, I expect that too.” He folds his arms as you dig through your basket to find your yen, along with the warm box of pre-prepared Ohagi Balls.

“Of course.” You agree matter-of-factly. “I wouldn’t want to scam a friend.” You smile, chuckling softly.

“Shut up.”

“You didn’t deny that we’re friends~!” You coo with a teasing grin.

“Do you want me to kill you?”

It was a quiet walk back to the shrine, sticks and grass crunching beneath your feet. The moon is crested and iridescent as it casts pale blue light onto the foliage above your head. Your arms sag with the weight of the food you’d purchased as you trek back to the shrine, now coming into view.

You huff gratefully, ready for the sleep that awaits you. While you approach the first of the three Tojii gateways, it’s deep crimson shimmers in the moonlight; it’s pillars standing tall. As you go to walk through it however, you yelp as something tugs on your Hakama. Jumping before turning around with a grimace.

“Komiko? I thought you said you’d be in bed-“ You start, before being pulled even harder. This time, the force shocks you as you’re pulled down onto the dirt.

“Hey! Stop!” You growl, turning towards the force. Your fingers press into the coarse soil beneath your fingers. You were alone. A small sound of confusion escapes you, paired with a sense of disappointment.

You were kind of done for the night. You didn’t need anything else going wrong-

Suddenly, you were thrown back. Your elbow skidding against the dirt and taking the brunt of the attack. You shout out in pain, your eyes darting around as you glare at nothing.

“STOP! Whoever you are- does it look like I’m laughing?!” You yell, now officially passed off.

It’s then that you hear a deafening crack from above you, or now, rather, in front of you after being torn away. Your eyes shoot up to the Tojii gate, it’s pristine pillars suddenly filled with cracks.

“Those weren’t-“ You’re barely able to speak before they begin to shift.

Your heart leaps into your throat as you scramble from the ground. The gate groans at the change in balance as the cracked poles shift further, before crumbling away. Bringing the entire gate to the ground.

A puff of dust fans out of the fallen structure as you feel goosebumps crawl up your back. Your breathing irregular.

At your feet lay the debris of the religious barrier. Now shattered all too suddenly. You couldn’t find the strength in you to stand up. You’d been frozen to the ground in fear. As you stare at the remains with a broken understanding, you fail to notice the choir of people calling your name.

Priests and Priestesses rushed out of the shrine walls as they saw what was left of the gates. Many stared in shock as hands went to people’s mouths in astonishment. Murmurs from the people were hardly recognized by you.

And rightly so, this had never happened before.

You’re only snapped from your stupor when a familiar pair of arms wrap around you.

“(Y/n)! Lord, are you alright?!” Your mother was crouched before you. Searching you for any form of injury.

You could hear how quickly your heart was racing, a throbbing drumming in your ears and chest. Pain blossomed in your elbow as you clutched it tightly. Finally, you’re able to make eye contact.

“I- dunno’ what happened-…” You breathe out.

“That’s not what I asked. I can figure that out with my eyes. I need to know if you’re alright.” Her tone is serious as she holds you by the shoulders.

“Yeah, I should be alright.”

“Anything you need some medicine for?”

“I-I need to bandage up my elbow.” You lift it up or her to see, face pale and hands shaky. The robe had torn open at the elbow, revealing a jagged scuff beneath the seams of your sleeve.

“I’ll clean that up for you, and I’ll make sure to get your robe sewn up. For now, I need you to stay out here. Make sure the children stay in bed.” She instructs seriously, authority creeping into her tone.

You nod as the adrenaline of the gate’s collapse begins to wear off. While you push yourself off of the ground, your mother finds the group surrounding the broken structure. Forcing her way through to look at it. You rub your elbow, staring at the group. Each are dressed in varying sleepwear while others still wear their Hakamas’. All quietly discussing and examining the rubble.

Scooping up your spilled groceries, you walk past the group, listening as best you can as you head into the shrine grounds.

“-Could it have been damaged by that recent thunderstorm?”

“No, no. The gate’s material is supposed to repel lightning. Not attract it.”

“It’s possible, but look at the position of some of the cracking-…”

Their words become a blur in your ears as you head inside of the shrine. The frazzled feeling finally dispersed.

But now, you were just confused.

What, or worse, who grabbed you?

You felt your eyebrows knit as you walked deeper into the shrine grounds. Headed towards your Sha-ke. You mentally slapped yourself. Rolling your shoulders and taking a breath as you went into work-mode.

Approaching your home, you slide the wooden front door open, stepping inside and dropping the basket of food down. Then, slipping into your bedroom.

The room was dark aside from a small orange lantern lit in the corner of the room, stretching over every surface the light could touch—including Komiko’s sleeping figure from the floor. You were silent as you crossed your sleeping sister, creeping towards the chest of drawers across your room to find some medicine.

Your toes flexed as you tiptoed, silently finding the third drawer filled with medical amenities. It creaked softly, causing you to pause before you were able to pull it open.

“(Y/n)?” A soft voice yawned.

Immediately you grimace with a sigh, shielding your elbow from sight.

“Hey Komi’.” You reply softly.

“What are you doing?” She mumbles, rubbing her eyes. Kneeling beside her futon, you reach forward, clutching her small fist as you smiled down at her sleepy expression.

“Don’t worry, just helpin’ momma. I promise I’ll be back soon. You can go to sleep.” You tug it away from her eyes to stop her from rubbing them.

“I don’t wanna’. Not when you’re hurt.”

You pause at her comment. “…You’re too observant for your age.” You scoff fondly, patting her head with your clean hand.

“What happened?” She rests her head back down on the pillow, blinking to try and stay awake.

“I fell.”

“What about the loud boom?”

“…One of the Tojii Gates also fell.”

“Oh.” She says. Too sleepy to worry about how important that might be.

“So, we aren’t cleaning the gates tomorrow?” She adds with a sleepy frown.

You huff gently with a breathy laugh. “I’m afraid not. We’re probably going to close the shrine grounds tomorrow to fix it… But they might let us clean the other two.”

She nods. “Okay.”

As you watch her slip in and out of consciousness, you pull your sleeve up, eying her cautiously as you treat it. When certain she’s not watching, you carefully apply the medicine to the wound with a small towel. Watching your sister’s expression for a moment, your fingers continue working to bandage your elbow.

“Did the gates fall on you?” You pull the bandage tight around your elbow as she speaks again, her eyes still closed.

“No.” You reply.

She pauses again. Evoking you to glance back at her. She’s looking down at her pillow, playing with her blanket as a smile filled with childlike wonder finds her face.

“Then I guess what that man said was true.” She giggles into her pillow, her eyelids sagging.

“What man?” You narrow your eyes at her blissful expression, your fingers working around the roll of bandages as you wrap up your elbow.

“The green man,” she continues. “He said he’s really good at keeping promises.”

“The green man.” You echo, not sure what to make of it.

“Yeah. He was super nice.”

“What did he promise you? Do I know him?” You frown.

Her cheeks swell with air, puffed up into a pout. “He told me not to tell anybody I talked to him.”

You thought it might’ve been a dream she’d had, or an imaginary friend of some kind. You knew it was important to take what kids say with a grain of salt; but that was weird—to have something purely imaginary telling a kid something like that. Unless they were real. You didn’t like that.

A wary feeling welled up inside of you; your legs felt awfully weak after hearing that.

“Komiko. I need you to tell me what he said.”

“… But he-“

“Now. Please.” You murmur.

She sighs, sitting up again as she crosses her legs.

“Well... He never actually told me his name, so I called him the green man. He doesn’t come very often, but when he does, he’s really good at hiding. Any time I try to point him out, he always hides.”

You nod. Do you or do you not take this seriously? You didn’t want to seem stingy, but it was for your sister’s safety. All and all, the only thing you could for now was listen.

“That was the first time I talked to him though. It was after I went out to explore the forest. And I saw him in a tree.”

You nod again, anticipation building in your chest.

“And then he played with me.” She finished. Making you aware of just how close you’d leaned in to listen.

“That’s it? What about your promise with him?” You try with a stammer.

“Oh, yeah! He said that he promised to… Uh…” She narrows her eyes in thought. You suck on your teeth.

“I don’t remember.”

“You remembered earlier.” You reply pointedly.

“I don’t know! I’m just- really tired.” She pouts, flopping back down onto her futon.

“Please Komiko.”

She’s silent for a second.

“I think-“

“Miss (L/n)? Are you in here?”

You roll your head back with a groan, looking towards the doorway where one of your fellow priestesses stand.

“Yes?” You ask, a strained smile on your face.

“It’s your mother. She sent me to fetch you. She needs all hands-on deck.” She explains, her eyes darting back from you to your sister.

“Sure. I’ll be on my way.” You chew on the inside of your cheek, rising to your feet as you set a hand onto your sister’s head.

“You and I aren’t done. So, make sure you get some rest, okay?” You say with a lilt. Her expression makes you smile.

“Okay… And, um, when you get back, can we cuddle?” She leans into your palm, her head warm from the sheets.

“You bet.” You grin, pressing any stray hairs back for a kiss to her forehead. She giggles softly before finally laying down again. The priestess nods to you as you swiftly rise, following her out towards the gates in hasty manner. You could see your mother directing people in the distance.

“-Cover the South-eastern sector. Check for more damage. If need be, we’ll gather to purify any evil. I need- (Y/n).” Her expression shifts to one of relief. You were someone she could always rely on. “There you are. I need you to search the Northern sector of the shrine for any sort of disturbances. Emergency check. Can you manage on your own?”

“I’ve got it covered.” You nod, your hand resting against your side. Fingers prodding for the handle of something sharp hidden away in your robes.

“Thank you. Be quick, and meet back here to report anything. You know what to look for? What you need to report?”

“Mhm.” You nod, eyes narrowing in seriousness.

“Good. Then off you go.”

Honestly, this whole checkup has been rather disappointing for you.

Yeah, you knew it was probably a good thing that you hadn’t encountered any danger—no Tanuki, Oni, or Tengu in sight; the Omarmori’s you’d encountered seemed just fine—but the immaturity in you begged for something aside from mist and shadows that might lurk out on the grounds.

A soft groan of exhaustion bubbled up from your chest as you wrestled with your fatigue, and given the placement of the moon, you guessed it was likely far past midnight. Great. But, in your despair for essentially wasting your time, came the relief for finding the edge of the forest. Your cue, to head back towards the shrine, and clock out for the night.

“Finally.” You breathed, leaning against a tree as you gaze up at one of the small Omamori’s dangling from a tree branch. This one—more powerful than those sold in the gift shop—glistened a vibrant shade of red, golden embellishments of your shrine’s name stamped on. It jingled softly in the breeze, twirling whilst strung from above.

When all seemed to be in fine condition after your check—which you ensured was as thorough as one could be when being checked by one who’s been awake for eighteen hours straight—you decided to begin your trek back to the shrine.

When walking back, the clouds seemed adamant on pursuing your troubles as they crossed in front of the moon, effectively blocking your only light source. The mist that hung low to the ground grew thicker, it’s cold exhale slipping beneath the skirt of your Hakama and grasping at your legs. An eerie feeling found your chest as shadows flooded the forest; it was unnervingly dark.

As time passed, the trees began to feel closer together. It was impossible to see anything in front of you, hell, you couldn’t even see your own two feet. You stuck your arm out blindly while nerves encouraged you to find the blade sheathed in your pocket immediately.

You were losing your cool. It was too hard to see. Too hard to breathe. You felt trapped in this veil of mist and shrouded murk as your throat slowly began to close.

No. Something was off.

Biting your tongue, you guided yourself forward. However, with the risk of running smack bang into a tree, you could only increase your pace to a brisk walk.

The mist continued to close in on you. Until it grew tight. It was thick and choppy. You couldn’t breathe.

‘I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I. Can’t. Breathe.’

Black splotched at your vision as you began to inhale the thick mist. Violent coughs wracked your figure, and despite how badly you’d wanted to—you couldn’t stay quiet. You gasped and hacked uncontrollably, tears burning your eyes until you felt your knees buckle helplessly beneath you. Leaving you in a broken heap on the forest floor.

As you shuddered and seized with painful splutters, a disgusting scream—one loud enough to effectively silence your coughs—made you look around wildly. Clamping a hand over your mouth, your body helplessly began to gag against your hand. Demanding you expel of all your bodily contents.

With a lack of air, and the chance of your life at stake, you willingly let the frenzied coughing overcome you.

That’s when the screech resurfaced, that same bestial shriek here to reverberate off of the trees. Echoing around you on all sides, your ears ring at the insultingly loud wail. However, with a sudden gust of wind, the mist around you suddenly disperses, and amidst the clearing, you find yourself alone clutching the grass. Your hands trembled as fresh air returned to your lungs; labored gasps of air letting you greedily inhale anything your lungs could hold.

But alas, your time for relief was short as your eyes suddenly met those of darkness above you. You slowly peered up at the shadowy figure above you. The sclera’s of the being barely visible amidst the sea of black swimming within it’s eyes. It was a Yokai. A demon.

There was a demon within Shrine boundaries.

The shrine had been infiltrated.

Fear flooded your system as your body went into overdrive. Fight, flight or freeze; a decision made unconsciously. Immediately. In this condition, you weren’t given much choice to move; even if you’d wanted to. You laid paralyzed beneath the monster, breath hitched as the demon towered over your crumpled form silently.

It’s eyes lolled around freely within it’s sunken eye sockets, their reflections muddled. They were lifeless, no light within it’s eyes whatsoever. Their eyes clung to the last shreds of skin that kept them in place as the darkness swelled within it’s eyes. Bubbling with empty desires. Or perhaps, none at all.

It was blind, you’d realized.

You held your breath, your movements stilled until there were none. And yet, somehow, there was still sound. Throbbing from within you. Your eyes widened in terror as the sound of your heartbeat began to echo. Stretching past the confines of your own ears. Was it the smoke? Why was your heartbeat so loud?

It was then that a withered hand came flying forward towards your face. The Yokai’s fingers snatching the hair from your scalp.

A scream ripped from you as the Yokai tore you towards it by the roots of your hair. Your fingers clawed at it’s grip as you thrashed within it’s grasp; nothing to defend yourself with aside from the strength you have.

You feel yourself pressed to it as it lets out a hellish bellow, it’s chest rumbling vigorously against your back as you claw at it’s hands—now working their way up your body to hold your waist and mouth.

You scream into it’s shriveled palm as it’s grip tightens, hoisting you up and giving you a perfect view of the back of it’s throat. It’s jaw pops harshly as it seems to unhinge, dropping open in a distinctly inhuman way.

Tears leap to your eyes as your muffled screams of anger and pain quickly grow into ones of terror. You can practically hear the way your body molds into the grip of it’s hands; indicated by the nightmarish cracking of a bone. Another scream, this one the loudest, rips from the deepest corners of your body as you feel your shoulder dislocate.

And suddenly, as it’s humid breath envelops your body, and your feet come in contact with the slick of it’s saliva, your brain just seems to stop.

Click. You’re out.

Limp.

You never thought ‘play dead’ could be taken so literally.

It’s tongue finds your body and licks up your uniform. Dragging up your unconscious body to get a taste. If you were able to form a cohesive thought, you likely would’ve been grateful for the lack of feeling in your body. A disgusting violation that you couldn’t stop, but luckily, couldn’t feel.

However, though you couldn’t feel, you could hear.

You could hear way too much for your own liking, in fact.

The squelch of the Yokai’s tongue against you made you retch against the creature’s hand. This was officially one of the worst ways to die.

Just let it be quick.

Please.

I’m begging.

“Hey, hey now, that is no way to treat a lady. Have you any shame?”

Now that was unexpected.

A new voice.

“Though I doubt any follower of All For One has any knowledge on that sort of thing anyways.” The voice continues.

It was then that you heard the Yokai speak. Though you suppose you weren’t enough of a problem for it to need to speak earlier. Not that you could understand it anyways. It spoke in a series of hisses and squeals, it’s voice loud and agitating on the ears. Yet the person responded. In fact, they laughed.

“Yes, I have.” They pause, the next time they speak, their voice is closer. It’s a man, you realize.

“I do apologize. Though I pity the suffering you endure in this form, it is fit for the horrible sins you have committed against humanity, against The Seven, and now, against this woman.” His voice is rather soft, as his tone grows deeper before dropping off. Silence following his words.

“I mean, surely you understand that there are consequences to your actions.” His voice is even closer now, a deep sigh into your ear. A shudder wracks through you at his tone, among the threat’s implications, fear grew within you instantly.

It's then that you hear a morbid squelch, followed by an ear-splitting shriek from the Yokai holding you. There's a thud before more sounds of aggression can be heard. You have difficulty following what goes on after that. With no sight or feeling in your body, it was nearly impossible to gain any sort of clarity as to what was happening around you.

Reliant on your ears, you listen on as sounds of exertion from the creature can be heard. The man, however, was almost silent.

However, after an abrupt crack, the Yokai fell silent too.

. . .

“Hello there.”

It was the man; and he was right next to you.

“I know you can hear me. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you make it back to the shrine safely.” He murmurs softly, his voice gentle but reassuring. Though his voice remained the same, the underlying tone in his voice was stark from before.

You aren’t sure what’s to come, until you hear a shuffle beside you. Sounds of rustling are heard for a moment before being followed by the steady thud of footsteps from beneath you.

‘What is going on?’

Forced to silently listen to the quiet breathing of the man and his footsteps, you were carried. You weren’t certain where, but you knew that the moment you’d be able to open your eyes, you wouldn’t be where you’d been before. Not that you wanted to linger there anyways.

Eventually—you weren’t sure when—you began to feel again. It started from where his hands slipped beneath the crooks of your knees and arms, then spread to your hands and feet, and working it’s way to your torso and very dislocated shoulder. Throbbing in accordance to your heartbeat. But even yet, you couldn’t open your eyes. It frustrated you to no end.

It was then that you felt the gentle shake of the man’s chest, paired with a breathless laugh. His hands tightened around your limbs, holding you even closer to him.

“Ah, ah. Don’t do that.” He chided; a gentle smile woven in his voice. “You opening your eyes won’t help you heal any faster. After all I can’t have you straining yourself, now can I?” You could feel the vibrations of his neck as he spoke quietly.

Against your better judgement, your muscles released their tension, and you seemed to sink slightly into the man’s—rather firm—chest. Your side remained pressed against his solid figure, softened by the warm linen drapes he wore.

“There.” He murmured.

At that, the world seemed to fall silent.

Thanks for reading. - Animetrashbox.

#izuku midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #deku x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #izuku midoriya #mha #bnha #god au #deity izuku midoriya #deity mha verse

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sweepingboy · 6 months

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That new temple of Xuan Zhen drives Feng Xin mad.

Extravagant, filled with ivory and gold, it stands at the very Southwest, bringing people from all over the land to pray there. "Only here will your prayers be heard. The god is among us today" - the sign says.

Feng Xin's expression gets darker. The said god lately has been acting like an emperor rather than a general. He doesn't attend meetings, never answers his communication array, and his deputies claim that to see him, you need to make an appointment, and he's full for the next few weeks. They all look jittery when he corners them individually, but keep telling him the same thing. Yet something doesn't sit right with Feng Xin, and hearing a voice in his communication array weakly calling his name the other day makes everything even more suspicious.

Feng Xin strolls through the blooming garden, singing cicadas unbothered by his godly form. He enters the main hall and winces from the sight; Mu Qing has never liked gold, claiming it screamed vulgar. His richest temples were usually built with expensive wood and touches of silver, elegant and dark, just like the god himself. Still, some emperor spent fortune to build that golden casket of a sanctuary.

He doesn't know why he's there. Probably he believes the stupid sign about heard prayers and he needs to shout at Mu Qing real bad. Or because he knows that the deputies of his rival's palace are desperately trying to hide the disappearance of their general (of course he spies on Xuan Zhen. They both have their agents at each other's palaces and pretend to not know about them.).

Feng Xin keeps walking, studying the hall. At this time of day, the people who normally flood the temple are peacefully asleep, and he has a chance to explore properly. Feng Xin scowls once more. Whenever Mu Qing went he keept doing his job.

His gaze glides over the sumptuous paintings, over the altar with fresh fruit and incense still smoking, and lingers on the statue. Huh. That's weird.

A porcelain statue. Infuriatingly accurate, yet very unusual for Mu Qing's temples. Usually it's him with his ridiculously big zhanmadao, standing proudly or moving swiftly in the heat of battle, but this one is kneeling; his hands are outstretched. The head of the idol is tilted to the side, eyes closed, and lips curled upwards; its expression is sad and distressed.

He keeps studying the statue, finding it more and more unnerving. It’s too accurate: the hair, the robes, the scar of a bite on his wrist.

He touches a white palm and feels a spiritual energy, weak, restrained. “Feng Xin” - whispers someone into his ear.

He topples the statue over.

The idol crashes with a thud; in shards of porcelain, there's a body lying on the floor.

Only here will your prayers be heard.

The god is among us today.

#mu qing #tgcf mu qing #fengqing #tgcf #feng xin #tgcf feng xin #tgcf headcanon #mxtx tgcf #tgcf sketch

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kdmiller55 · 1 year

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Purified and Repurposed for God’s Glory

10 He also made the table of acacia wood. Two cubits was its length, a cubit its breadth, and a cubit and a half its height. 11 And he overlaid it with pure gold, and made a molding of gold around it. 12 And he made a rim around it a handbreadth wide, and made a molding of gold around the rim. 13 He cast for it four rings of gold and fastened the rings to the four corners at its four legs.…

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#altar of incense #Exodus #Exodus 37 #glory #God #God’s dwelling place #golden lampstand #Holy Spirit #Israel #Moses #righteousness #Tabernacle #table of shewbread #the house of God #transformation

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extra-v1rgin · 1 year

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.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Your wedding is a beautiful event.

Everything is arranged just so. Although it’s a small affair, only your own family joining you, it’s a grand event. You suppose that if your father has the money to spend he can do as he pleases. You don’t feel like you’re being held prisoner, or forced, but there isn’t much you have a say in about all of this.

You decide on smaller things. Carefully selecting the flowers that line the ceremony room. The scent of incense floats through the air. Natural, slightly muskier smells complement the florals. The candlelight bathes the room in softer yellow shades. It does little to battle the cold outside, though your heavy layers of cloth do well to warm your skin.

The robe, and accompanying headdress, are made from piles and piles of silk. They are hand-painted with soft pink camellias, outlined with a subtle silver. The pale colors melt perfectly into the rest of the white fabric. Your tsunokakushi accompanies it, made in the same expensive silk. The white stays perfect and pure, though fresh flowers are helping to accent it. The uniform weighs you down and helps to keep you from squirming. Nerves would get to anyone on a day like this.

Your husband is beautiful as everything else.

His raven hair is combed back, bangs brushed out from his face. The color blends in perfectly with the dark kimono. All the black points your focus towards his pale face and crystal blue eyes. They stare forward at the priest and paintings behind the altar.

He is a complete stranger to you.

Though you’ve only met the man once there’s a strange lack of apprehension. The first meeting didn’t even count, not really. It was negotiations and talks of money while you bowed timidly in the corner.

Despite the lack of any sort of acknowledgment you have some admiration for him. Silent and solitary he carries a sense of dignity. Knowing his occupation only makes your heart grows fonder.

The first time you touch him is as you exchange saki cups. His fingers barely brush against yours as the cups get passed over. The tiny touch sends electricity racing up your arm. Eyes softly evade your own piercing look.

Warmth makes its way down your throat with each sip. The alcohol isn’t enough to do anything more than heat your blood, but it’s a welcome feeling. Glancing over at Tomioka you admire his reddened cheeks. The thought of his lips touching the same cup that yours now linger on is embarrassing.

You wonder if the same feelings pass through the man as you drink from the second cup first.

Once more the cycle goes around. Giyuu drinks from the cup, his fingers brush yours, and you linger on the taste of his lips.

As each cup is whisked away you grow more and more nervous. The ceremony rushes by before your eyes. On the table, alongside other offerings, lie your wedding rings. They’re simple woven bands, a subtle golden white.

Giyuu’s mouth opens to recite his vows. His flat and quiet voice is soothing. The words disappear in your mind the moment they’re spoken. You don’t mind that the vows are simple and standard, inspired instead by the music of his tone. He never hesitates as he speaks the pages of words all tucked inside his mind.

The rest of the ceremony holds the same kind of quiet reverence.

Everyone performs their duty exactly as instructed. It passes by quickly without you even noticing. Offerings are brought forward, rings are exchanged. Your head is filled with rushing blood. As you’re shuffled the world around you warps and rushes.

Within a few moments, you have become a married woman.

A thin band sits on your finger. You can hardly remember the hand sliding the ring onto yours. The feeling grows until it nearly bursts your heart open. It’s a combination of joy and apprehension and a million other things that race through your mind.

There is not a single moment for you to rest. Even though there is no celebration afterward, you don’t get time to focus on anything that’s happening. Once you have completed all pieces of tradition, sent offers, and exchanged every bit of your life, you are whisked away to change. The excitement of all the women around leaves no room for a proper conversation. The dress you’re pulled into is simple, less intricate though just as elegant. It’s a softer blue, a strange combination of modern and traditional styles. Finally, you have graduated to shorter sleeves that don’t weigh down your arms quite as much.

Your hair is still done up in an awful complicated mess. Pins don’t quite stab your skull, but they come close. Later tonight you’ll have to spend hours undoing every decoration on your head and skin.

There is little to keep you distracted now. The tender hands of your mother and sisters continue to run over the fabric of your dress. It stands a few inches above the floor, unlike your wedding kimono which had to be carried. There is little they can do now too.

Outside the engine of a car roars to life. Your father should have loaded most of your luggage by now. Most of it is frivolous material possessions, clothes, trinkets, and anything else deemed important enough to carry into your next life.

Your husband is already seated. He does not glance at you as you exit your home.

The goodbyes are short. Your family already spent much of last night saying everything that could be said. There’s little to do now except hug and be sent off.

You climb into the seat beside Tomioka. He does not greet you. Hesitance floods through you for a moment, but in the end, you make no effort either. His silence is unsurprising.

In fact, the ride home is silent, as equally expected. A thousand questions are racing through your mind. Despite the excitement buzzing underneath your skin your lips stay sealed shut.

Holding your hands in your lap you force yourself to gaze out the window. It’s not your first time inside an automobile, but you find it fascinating how fast the scenery moves by.

Tomioka does not hold the same kind of interest. His eyes burn holes into the headrest in front of him. The stiffness he sits with is nearly funny. The man’s spine is perfectly straight, hands folded in front of him. If he notices your eyes occasionally flicker over to trace his face, he doesn’t say anything about it.

The driver in the front remains quiet too. He’s some friend of a friend of your father’s. Which makes him a complete stranger to you. You’re still glad for the company. You haven’t been alone with a man, only boys when you were small enough to not understand the importance of anything.

It occurs to you that you’ll have to get used to it. There’s a myriad of new experiences that you’ll face within such a short period of time. You don’t know whether to be excited or terrified.

—-

The car ride passes much too quickly. Although Tomioka’s estate is a good ways away from your smaller town, the car travels over the terrain with ease. Even as you pass through rural areas and up the large winding path to his home the machine never stutters in its ascent.

Just before you disappear into the small grove of trees, you pass a small town. Several of the residents look up into the car as you go by. One small child waves to you. Though you can’t particularly focus on anything, you try to map out the businesses and homes you see. Within the blink of an eye, you’re carried into the forest, eyes shielded from the town.

The last stretch of the journey is as grand as the house itself. A long pathway leads up to the gate, lined with stones and tall skinny trees. As you grow closer the flora only grows more spectacular. Bamboo begins to rise to accompany the rest of the scenery. It shoots up and stretches backward until you can’t see where it ends.

The gate hangs open, showing off a glimpse of the estate. It’s several floors tall, balconies coming off the side. The building leads perfectly into the stone garden, intertwined with a small river. Everything is grand and perfectly groomed. It looks like something out of a photograph rather than somewhere a human could live.

The car stops just beyond the front door. You remain immobile even as the engine shuts off. Without the rumbling of the automobile, it is completely silent. It’s engulfing. Every rustle of your clothes and shift against the seats is loud.

“I can take your bags inside.” It’s the first thing Giyuu has said to you, directly to you, all day.

Your lips grow suddenly dry. No response can be mustered other than a quick nod of your head. Internally you curse yourself.

Leaping down from the car you feel the stones move beneath your feet. With only a small second of delay, you make your way to the entrance.

The door would slide open easily. Your hands rest against the thick wood. Looking back Giyuu is still unloading your luggage from the trunk. Despite the size and volume of the bags, he manages to balance everything within his arms. Hoping to be at least somewhat helpful you decide to slide the door open.

Holding yourself off to the side you let the man pass you. His eyes still don’t stray even close to your face. Looking straight ahead he slows his pace slightly, just until you perk up and follow behind him.

Giyuu is still dressed in the dark and elegant groom’s kimono. The wide legs and arms obscure his true figure. You had seen a glimpse of it during your first meeting, less hidden underneath the form-fitting demon slayer’s uniform. His broad shoulders stretched the sleeves of the shirt, visible even below his unique haori.

Suddenly it occurs to you what most couples do on their wedding night. Almost dizzy you brush the thought from your mind. The idea of his muscular body is as enticing as it is terrifying. Those kinds of ideas should be saved for when you’re absolutely alone and can’t be caught in your shame.

Tomioka opens the door to (presumably) your bedroom with such force that you nearly scamper backward. If he was surprised by the clanging of the door he shows no visible reaction.

Looking around the space it’s… empty.

There’s a bed in the corner, covered in plain gray sheets. It’s accompanied by an equally boring nightstand and matching dresser made from dark wood. They’re perfectly square with perfectly round handles.

Everything is completely devoid of personality. You had noticed the blank hallways only accented with an occasional floral arrangement but assumed such a personal place would not carry the same stale feeling. This looks like the kind of place only a psychopath could live.

“This’ll be your room. It’s rather empty now, but you’re free to do what you’d like with the space.”

Again you can only nod.

He only stays for a mere moment to stack your luggage neatly in the corner. Without a word of goodbye, he disappears around the corner. The man only acknowledges you with a dip of his head. You have the feeling that this time you aren’t meant to follow him. You close the door slowly, silently, as he makes his exit.

Down the hallway, you hear another door open and shut. It feels like the period at the end of a sentence. The action effectively marks the end of your wedding day. The large window in the center of his room shows you the dark moon rising.

Though the thick layers of makeup on your face feel like they're melting and the kimono you wear is slightly too tight, you make no action to undo anything. You move carefully, making your way to the bed instead.

It’s almost frigid when you sit on it. The mattress is stiff beneath you, a clear lack of use. There’s a nightstand to your right. The drawers you check are all empty. When you move off the bed, it’s chill clinging to you, you check the dresser drawers as well. Those are empty too, it’s clear the place has not belonged to anyone else.

Following the outline of the your bedroom you find nothing other than plain white walls and dark trim. There’s a door that connects to a bathroom. In theory, it’s as grand as your bedroom, in the fact that it’s wide and spacious. The tub is large enough for a few people, sunken into the floor, and surrounded by stone. Snooping around the cabinets you find basic amenities and not much else.

As you fiddle with the faucet it sputters before spewing forth scalding water. You’re hand turns an angry red for a minute until the temperature shifts to something bearable. Watching water cover the pebbled bottom you sigh and turn back to your room.

Opening your luggage you sort through the piles of clothes until you find a soft cotton robe. You unbutton your dress slowly. In some way, you wish you could’ve been putting on a show for someone. Underneath your kimono, you wear a sinful chiffon slip. It’s hidden below several other layers of fabric, that you slowly reveal with no one to see.

The light pink fabric casts a light shadow over your breasts. Along the edges, it’s patterned with frills and ribbons. The slip was one last gift from your mother, opened only in the privacy of your own room. Stripped down almost bare you can feel the air tickle your skin.

Making your way back to the bathroom you remain in the gentle slip. As water crashes down to continually fill the tub, steam rises to warm your chilly skin. Though the small set is beautiful, it does little to keep heat in.

The only other article of clothing remaining is your thin socks. Slipping them off you test the water again, perfectly heated. Soon after the translucent slip disappears too. You’ll banish it to the back of your drawers soon after, no reason to try it on again.

Sinking into the tub you rub at your face first. White and red and pink mix with the water. As heat and steam engulf you, you keep rubbing until your skin feels raw. You pull pins from your hair after you’ve effectively taken off a few layers of skin from your face. They scrape over the fragile top of your head, hair coming undone in tendrils. There’s an awful throbbing behind your temples, blood rushing to the tender spots on your scalp. You can hardly touch the area without wincing in pain. It’s hard to decide whether putting on the ensemble or taking it off was more painful.

You soak until the water is barely warm and your fingers are wrinkled. The soft floral scents of whatever soap was under the cabinet have soothed you somewhat. Tears, from physical pain or emotional, have fed the bath and let its line grow up to your chin. It weighs down heavily on your chest until you push yourself out from the water and take a clean breath.

The shock of cool air is awful on your way out. It strips you of everything again, shivering as you stalk back to your luggage.

You pull on a heavier robe, something to protect your wet and naked body It’s mostly plain, only accented with patterned edges. You had a softer and prettier one right on top of everything. Seeing as you’ll be bedding alone tonight you choose what’s more comfortable. You haven’t heard a single noise from anyone since you were essentially dumped into your room.

The bed is still cold. It’s a Western-style frame, lifted up from the ground and leaving you aloft. Springs seem to pierce into you from below.

As you drag yourself into bed alone you finally feel something familiar. It creeps in during the quiet night when everything is perfectly still. You’re not quite alert, but nowhere near sleep either. No matter how much you try, your eyes can’t close. They stare across the bed towards the wall, an empty side waiting to be filled.

Lying on your side it squeezes wetness from your eye. It’s not tears, but feeling the water trace your cheeks, inspires real sadness in their wake. Stubborn, you refuse to curl up into the sorrow. With a stone face, you let the pillow soak up the tears. They haven’t dried by the time you finally fall asleep.

—-

In the morning you feel no grogginess. There are no clocks within the room, but the outside window tells you that it’s later in the day. You move quicker than last night, putting on a much simpler kimono, barely messing with your hair. You still bother with makeup, making sure you look at least somewhat proper.

It’s quiet as you peer out into the hallway. With no lights on it’s painted in a dusty blue hue. There’s only a sliver of light coming from the window, which fails to illuminate the edges of the walls. There’s a light switch towards the end of the wall, which you creep out to flip on.

The hum of electricity sparks to life a row of lights. They produce a warm golden glow that inspires you to wake up further. Looking down the hall you assume one of the doors towards the end belongs to Tomioka’s room. All the spaces look the same.

Turning away you trace your way back through the route Giyuu had taken you down the way before. As you walk nearly silently you keep your ears out for the sound of another human.

Yesterday’s tour, if it could be called that, only covered the most basic of rooms. Dragging your hand against the wall you trace your way to the kitchen.

Going through the cabinets you find a pitiful amount of food. It’s mostly dried materials, beans, and rice, alongside a few fresh vegetables that already look slightly wilted. The sight isn’t completely unappetizing on its own, but coupled with the empty feeling in your stomach you wish you had something already done. You start some oats right away and chew some dry carrots in the meantime. They do nothing to fill you.

Almost immediately you’re already visualizing a list of things to buy. More veggies, fresh fruit, and probably a treat or two to try and satisfy your insatiable sweet tooth. Thinking about food only serves to make you hungrier, for now, you try and distract yourself with thoughts of anything else.

Listening quietly you hear nothing besides the sizzling of the porridge. There’s no creaking of wood down the hall. As hard as you try you can’t sense the presence of any other person. The idea that Giyuu has already left the house seems unlikely, but it also seems that you don’t know much about his habits at all.

Still, the silence remains throughout breakfast. The porridge is bland despite the brown sugar and cinnamon you’ve mixed in. Fresh fruit is definitely at the top of your list. The paste moves down your throat at a slow pace.

You barely finish a few bites of the meal before brushing it off to the side. Your stomach is still empty, but you can’t bring yourself to eat anymore. Though you should force yourself to eat more, something substantial, you can barely push the food around in the bowl.

Instead, you stumble around the house trying to find anything. Each room is blank and empty, and that’s without even traveling upstairs. It’s not anything different than what you saw yesterday, white walls and dark wood and nothing else.

You don’t bother with looking around more, expecting to find most of the same. Instead, you wander back toward the direction of your room. There’s not much waiting for you there, but you can at least busy yourself with unpacking.

You find a note stuck to the door when you make your way toward it. If it was there before you must’ve missed it.

‘Gone on a mission, will be back.’

And you suppose that’s that.

—-

He’s gone for long stretches of time. Though nothing is ever explained to you, some things become clear through observation. A paycheck comes every few days, you assume whenever he’s finished slaying whatever creature he’s been sent after. Tomioka arrives home only once a month at most, usually after long stretches of silence. If you’re lucky his crow will be sent ahead to announce his presence.

The bird ends up being a better companion than his owner in many ways. The crow, Kanzaburou, is old. He’s senile in the way an old man is, sweet and a bit air-headed. In many ways, he has more personality than your husband.

None of that changes the fact that you spend most days alone. Every single one since the first seem both eternal and yet much too quick. With little to keep you busy once things are put into place, you feel as if you’re going insane. Cleaning only takes up so much time, and there is little you can dirty on your own. The two or so dishes you use in a day take a week to fill up the sink. There’s no point in changing, not most days, but even then your laundry doesn’t fill up often. Sometimes you purposefully spill something just to have an actual purpose to your scrubbing.

Nothing changes when Giyuu comes home, not the first time or second or third. He hides inside his room. The only sign he even exists is the food that disappears from the freezer and cabinets. You always make extra meals, things with real substance, and those disappear too. Whether he actually enjoys your cooking is a complete mystery.

At first, you try to remain in common areas, with the small hope that he’ll stumble across you. You save most of your cleaning for the time he is home, simply for appearing useful. Standing outside to hang up sheets or sitting in the living room to rearrange the florals could entice him out.

Within the first few months, you give up.

If Giyuu does ever stumble upon you he’s quick to mumble an excuse and exit. Every time you feel scorned and scolded, despite the man’s gentle nature. You resign to hiding within your room. Despite your attempts to bring some color into the area it still feels rather depressing in there.

For a long time, you coexist in that quiet sort of way. You hate it more than if he just admitted to despising you, or didn’t come home at all. It’s the barest hope that something will change, keeping you strung along and nearly begging that he’ll even talk to you one day.

Not even the small town can comfort your lonely soul. Most of the typical shop owners and citizens seem wary of your presence. They conduct business and make small talk, but do almost nothing else. Your shyness engulfs you before you can even consider reaching out for company.

The weeks pass in a bit of a blur. The only contact you get is from Giyuu’s crow. He comes unpredictably, and yet somehow remains a single constant within your life besides the loneliness. You look forward to the sound of his slightly too screechy calls more than you do the paycheck he brings.

Most of the money stays put anyways. It’s more than you could ever know what to do with. Even after spending an extravagant amount, you have piles of it left. The things you do spend it on go towards brightening up your home. Collecting anything that captures your eye has become a common practice. Tapestries and paintings and all kinds of knickknacks cover the walls of your home. You buy things in bright colors to contrast the pale walls and dark ceilings. Your room is the worst case of this, crammed completely full of anything remotely beautiful.

If Tomioka dislikes the changes he again says nothing. If you hadn’t heard him speak wedding vows you’d be convinced the man was mute. Almost nothing else gives away his emotions either. No longer above spying, you try to peek and see any sort of twitch in his features. On occasion, he’ll pause his trek down the hallway and gaze at a new addition to the area. Despite this, you can’t tell if his blank eyes express any kind of adoration or distaste.

Your mental state is much more apparent. Tears become a common companion. They creep up suddenly when you’re cooking or leaving the town or just trying to sleep. It’s annoying more than anything. You’re already painfully aware of the fact that you’re not particularly happy. A reminder does nothing for you.

It gets worse when Giyuu is home. You can’t help the way your sobs increase in volume when his shadow moves over your door. Sometimes you swear he lingers there.

After that, you try to rebel, or at least do something interesting enough to spice up your days. Sometimes you’ll buy hideous decor, clashing curtains that sit in the living room, or twisted vases. You even start venturing into Giyuu’s room.

It’s the one place you haven’t entered. As you push the door open you’re surprised by how crowded the room is. The walls are still relatively blank, but they don’t feel empty. There’s a desk in the corner, it’s covered in papers that you at least have the sense to let be. On the opposite side of the room sits a bookshelf, though the stories that lie in there seem almost random. There’s an assortment of genres, action and romance and tragedies, and an assortment of styles. There are a few books even written in English, alongside one in what you think is Mandarin, though that one looks untouched. Occasionally you’ll steal one for a night or two. Most of the stories are in good condition. When you stumble across a dog-eared page or wrinkled edge you’re pleased by the touch of humanity. Still, when you tear through each book you’re left much in the same position by the end.

His closet is full of mostly extra uniforms. There are a few casual clothes, mostly in dark blues. He seems partial to the color, though the haori he wears constantly is a shocking red. In the corner, his groom's outfit has been carefully folded and stored. You suppose there’s no reason he’d need to hang it, having fulfilled its use.

There’s not much else there. Tomioka uses a futon, that sits folded up in the corner. Your room came with a Western-style bed, and you don’t care enough to push it out somewhere and replace it. His is a simple black, with no pattern other than the small grid made from the stitches.

One night you sleep on it. The mattress in your room is slightly too soft, you prefer the firm feel of sleeping over tatami flooring. With your face surrounded by fabric, you catch the scent woven within it. It’s musky and a little salty but in a pleasant way. The smell is outdoorsy, not dirty, but rather a natural tone. Underneath all of that is the scent of wisteria. All of it wound together is rather pleasant. You feel slightly less alone, being surrounded by the warm fabric that’s different enough to be new without sacrificing the comfort of its familiarity.

It becomes a habit.

You creep into his room once a week or so to cuddle in the space. Often you enter with some excuse, to dust his shelves or pick out a new book or leave any trace of your presence. Shambling around for a bit and doing much of nothing you wait until the sun rests on the horizon.

Once you notice, you pull out the futon. It doesn’t carry the same scent the third or fourth time you tuck into the sheets, but it’s still warmer than your bed. You stick your face into the pillows to try and let the smell linger.

You’re terrified of him coming home to you sleeping in that bed. It’s not the thought of him getting angry, but the embarrassment of it all. You feel like a child sneaking into her mother’s room rather than a proper wife. The feeling is mostly constant, only ebbing away as you sleep.

—-

You’re surprised that life can be this stagnant. Wallowing in your sorrow doesn’t do much other than dig a deeper hole.

There is some quiet joy to be found. Beyond the house, there are calm gardens. When the sun is out and the wind isn’t strong you find more comfort outside than trapped within the walls.

Living so far away from everything has one advantage. Not only do you have acres of sprawling forest to explore, but it tends to attract all kinds of wildlife. The chatter of birds sounds human enough to keep you company. If you’re lucky they’ll come so close you can feel the beat of their wings.

As the weather slowly gets warmer your mood lifts as well. You turn your thoughts away from your husband's absence, the loneliness slowly easing its touch on you. There are still sudden pangs of regret when you get a coin bag with no letter, or the sound of his footsteps passing you, but the days without him aren’t so unbearable.

The habit of you sleeping in his bed isn’t broken, if anything you start to spend nearly every night there. There’s a certain pattern to when he comes home, usually a week or so after his crow gifts you his paycheck. It’s a gamble if he’ll return or simply be set off on another mission, but either way, you learn to hide away in your own room.

You’re careful to leave his room mostly alone. Though you dust the few shelves and scrub the floors you strive to make your presence there unnoticed. It appears to be working, but again you’re mostly left in the dark about his thoughts.

The town remains just as wary, though more used to your presence. A few of the shopkeepers who you visit often enough smile as you sort through the wares.

Routine builds a softer kind of comfort, one that doesn’t brush away any of the other sorrows, but mutes the noise of them somewhat.

—-

And just as you settle an abrupt change knocks you off your feet. Tomioka coming home isn’t a particularly new development. You’re in the middle of preparing dinner, barely looking over as he passes by the doorway. You don’t even move until he’s out of sight, moving to peek at his back beyond the door.

As you approach you notice the spattering of blood sinking into the tatami. Looking upwards you notice his shamble of a walk. His uniform is missing a sleeve, arm wrapped sloppily with bandages. Blood has soaked through as it's slipping down his hand, leaving a trail behind.

If he hears your loud gasp he doesn’t signify it in any way. Instead, the man wanders towards his room while you retreat back into the kitchen. You stare at the pot of curry sizzling over the stove. You can’t focus on the food, although the smell of it is incredibly enticing. With shaky hands you attempt to stir the meal, even raising a spoon to taste it. You hope the spice will entice you more and attract your attention, but the combination of meat and curry powder is a beautiful deep red color that looks a little too much like blood.

Eventually, you have to force yourself away, your stomach twisting in knots. Still striving to be useful, even after months of being ignored, you instead fill a bowl with cold water and grab some washcloths. You move far too slowly, held back by hesitance. There’s a clear line of red that points you toward his room. It pulls you forward slowly. In the back of your mind, you mourn the freshly cleaned flooring.

Without knocking, slight fear in the response you’ll get, you nudge the door to the side. Barely peeking through you spot him laying in the corner of the room. He hasn’t unfolded the futon, rather leaning against the block of fabric.

As you move in slowly his eyes flicker toward you. Even from his far position in the corner, you can hear his labored breathing. Holding back a whimper at the sight of blood you approach the man more like you would a wounded animal.

Absolute silence engulfs the room, even as you sit beside him. You’re worried that you won’t be able to speak at all, throat sealed shut from misuse. Words bubble up until they finally loosen the cement keeping your lips closed.

“Can I help?”

The words are deviously simple, quiet, and barely audible. Despite the dry whisper that struggles out from out, the noise seems to take over everything else. The only other thing you hear is your heartbeat within your ears.

Giyuu seems to consider your question earnestly. As he shifts you can see the way his brows knit together, drawing closer whenever his arms shifts. “I admit that bandaging the wound was much more difficult with only one hand.” It’s not exactly a direct answer, but the way his body relaxes slightly seems to indicate a yes.

You still move a little too slowly. Watching the ground you’re careful to not let the water spill, while also trying to stop yourself from staring too hard at the crimson staining. Your sleeves are already pulled back, hands dipping into the bowl of water to grab the towel within it.

The warmth calms your nerves only slightly. It emboldens you to find the edge of the bandages and unwind. You’re surprisingly unbothered by the sight underneath, a mass of blood and flesh that is mostly unrecognizable.

The wounds are long stripes that wind down his arm. They don’t seem to be particularly deep, or even wide, but there’s a myriad of them stretching down the limb. Some of the smallest ones have already clotted. The largest are still spewing out red.

“You should get stitches for these.” It’s amazing that he even walked home in this condition. You’re not very aware of the inner workings of the demon slayer corps. Some knowledge was granted to you by your father, other things overheard in conversation. At the very least you know that they are prepared to treat injuries.

Despite your light chastisement (which receives no response) you still pull the soft cloth from the water. Fresh blood oozes out as you rub away the dirt and slightly crusted scabs. The sight gets worse to look at when it’s not hidden behind gauze.

There’s absolute silence taking over again. You’re too nervous to look up and possibly meet his eyes, instead focusing solely on his arm. Though you’re no professional you manage to wipe off most of the blood. It’s slowed down to a weak dribble, that stops when you put a slight amount of pressure on it.

You’ve piled the old bandages off to the side. They don’t look very old, but considering the state they’re in, you’re not very inclined to reuse them.

“There’s more in the bathroom.” Tomioka gestures off to the side. “2nd cabinet below the sink.”

You trot off with your head low. It's tempting to snoop, already having indulged in the bad habit plenty. Brushing the thought away, you dig through the medical supplies until you can find the roll of bandage.

He hasn’t moved a single inch in the quick minutes you’ve been gone. Tomioka’s eyes again look anywhere that isn’t where you are. Even as you hold his arm and feel the warmth of blood rushing through it, he acts more like a doll than anything.

You work slowly. Though you don’t have much experience, wrapping the gauze around his arm isn’t too difficult. At the very least it’s leagues better than the sloppy job he did himself.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Internally you’re begging for a reason to linger. His skin is still hot against your fingers. The pale skin is deceptive, giving him a cool appearance. Your eyes are tracing his hands, imagining them pressed against your own.

As your sight flickers towards his other side, you notice the fabric balled up in his fist. It’s the two-toned haori you normally see the man wearing. You hadn’t noticed its absence earlier.

He still hasn’t answered. You dare to prompt him a second time. “Or I could clean that for you.” You’re surprised that the man chooses this moment to look directly at you. For once you can read the emotion on his face, see the surprise in his blue eyes.

“It’s fine.” His voice sounds a little dry. “I’m sure the fabric is ruined.”

It’s easy to keep talking, now that you’ve dared to open your lips. “Oh, I’m sure I can fix it! If it’s blood you’re worried about then that’s no problem.” The tone you chose is perhaps too cheerful, but you feel a bit excited and the prospect of being truly helpful.

Tomioka’s fist loosens slightly. “I’m sure it’ll be a struggle, but there’s not much that could make it worst at least.” He’s not very encouraging, which you try to not let dampen your mood.

As you pull it from his grasp you can already tell the fabric is in tatters. The soft maroon sleeve has turned into strings of fabric dyed burgundy from blood. Some parts are crusted together, other pieces are barely attached by a thread. You certainly have your work cut out for you.

With one last smile, you carefully fold the haori and leave his room.

—-

You still can’t tell if you like the change or not. Tomioka still seems set on seeing you as little as possible. You bring him dinner and on occasion rewrap his bandages, but other than that he likes to hole up in his room.

His haori keeps you busy most of the time. It takes 3 washes just to get the blood out, carefully peeling the red free from the thin threads. As you wash you ultimately decide to chop off some of the strings that barely cling on. Anything thinner than the width of your finger gets discarded, a pile to find its place somewhere else.

Weaving the salvageable pieces back together is a near-impossible task. Trying your best to make the seams invisible you carefully line up each thread. Staring so intensely at the woven pattern makes your eyes water. It’s hard work to make sure the needle punctures exactly where it needs to so the flow remains. Several times you puncture the skin on your fingers. It’s never deep enough to pull blood out, but it turns your skin a bright throbbing red.

Even with the careful work only about a fourth of the sleeve can be salvaged. It’s a pitiful sight, strings hanging from the short shoulder. Days of work and sore thumbs have amounted to only a few inches of fabric.

You try to color-match the piece so you can fix the rest. It’s a difficult color, softened with years of use and age. Even when you bring the hoari along with you all the colors you find are too bright.

It’s twice as expensive to get something custom dyed, but you don’t have the expertise to do it yourself. You certainly have the money for it, coins and bills shoved away in the back of your drawers. Though the order adds a few weeks to your small project, you can’t settle for anything less than perfect.

Tomioka says nothing about the piece. He spots you once scrubbing away the blood outside. At that moment he stays for a few short seconds, watching your hands work. They’re dry from the rough cleaning chemicals and wrinkled from the soapy water.

—-

Just as your hands stop twitching and aching the replacement fabric arrives. Tomioka leaves sometime while you’re waiting for the package. The briefest contact keeps your heart light, even as the solitude creeps back in. There’s an actual purpose to your actions now, something to take up hours of your time.

The few short yards of burgundy fabric that arrive are still slightly too bright. It’s the shine of new cloth that differentiates it from the well-worn pieces. Regardless you go through the same tedious act of lining up the woven fabric and sewing it together.

There’s a thin line that marks the transition. Once you step a few feet away it’s harder to mark where the difference begins. The work is good, but you can only scrutinize it with the patterns burned into your eyes.

Several mistakes are clear over the rest of the fabric. They’re not your own doing, more likely Giyuu’s attempts to fix earlier tears. It’s cute to see the fumbles stitches, done in a hideous dark black. In most places, it stands out clearly from the pattern, even more so with the blank side.

You decide to fix those pieces, using a gentle green or maroon when appropriate. Though the seam holding the two pieces together makes you cringe, you don’t touch the threads. It’s uneven, both in length of the stitches and space between them. The other “fixes” were clumsy too, but the lines here seem childish almost. You’re sure that the pieces of Giyuu’s haori were bound together by the man himself.

As tempting as it is to make the piece look brand new, there’s history in its torn edges and paling fabric. You wonder if he’d tell you the story behind it.

Probably not.

—-

You haven’t entered Tomioka’s room in quite some time. After he was home for a few short weeks you grew too embarrassed about the actions. In your arms, you carry his carefully folded haori. After giving it one last wash you have no more reason to mess with it. If anything, picking at your work will just ruin it.

Ultimately you let it rest atop his desk. You think for a moment about hanging it up in the closet, but it feels too embarrassing to let him know about your snooping, even inadvertently.

Back inside the room, warmed from the sun and painted in a low gold, you’re tempted to wrap yourself up in his futon again.

For some time you repeat your old routine. After over a month without indulging yourself in old ways, the process comes a little unnaturally. You dust his shelves, fingers dancing over his array of trinkets. They seem almost random, stuffed dolls and broken pieces of painted wood. You’re extremely careful as you move them to clean.

It’s hard to keep yourself busy as you did before. You entered his room earlier in the day, not expecting to be tempted again by the lull of sleeping enveloped in traces of your husband’s warmth.

Still, as you manage to keep yourself busy the sun slowly drifts downwards. It’s on the opposite side of the window, but you can see the moon rise in turn. Though the sky isn’t particularly dark, your quick to pull out the futon.

Before you tuck yourself fully into bed you draw another book from his small shelves. For a few hours, you’ll be able to keep yourself busy with stories. Once it gets truly dark you can simply slide under the sheets and fall asleep.

—-

Beyond the edges of your consciousness, there’s movement that grows steadily louder as it urges you to wake. Eyes open slowly, useless in the dark. Instead, you wave a hand in front of yourself, which is also mostly useless.

It takes a moment for you to adjust to the dim room. As your pupils dilate there’s a sudden figure standing on the edge of the futon. With your position on the floor, he towers over you, face invisible still.

Thinking through the sleep you let your hand sweep over the floor. It bumps into the man’s ankles, forcing you to pull back.

A startled gasp leaves your lips as you move further into consciousness. You don’t scream, but you’re immediately on edge. Panicking, you mostly flail around for a bit until you realize it’s Tomioka standing before you. He’s tilted his face down to stare at you, letting you recognize him even within the darkness.

Instead of the tired fear you felt before, you’re mostly filled with shame. It’s the worst amalgamation of all your fears, caught cuddled up in his sheets.

For a moment you’re unsure of how to proceed. You’re mostly frozen for now, clutching his blankets against your chest.

“S-sorry!” The word comes out quietly, muffled by the lingering sleep in your head. It’s hard to think, brain muddled by all sorts of different things. If Giyuu would speak for once it’d let you put your thoughts in order.

You don’t know why he’s still staring at you. It’s hard to find his eyes, clouded by darkness. The dim lighting masks any emotion you could hope to find on his face.

As the adrenaline leaves your body you’re left feeling tired again. Rubbing your eyes, it seemingly prompts him to move again. The situation had somewhat halted in the pauses between your words.

“I’ll leave.” There’s a certain air to his voice, not angry, but certainly not welcoming either. You’re still not fully awake, a glance towards the window tells you that it’s too early to be awake. There’s possibly a shimmer of pale blue that signals the sun's arrival, but it won’t develop into an actual light until much later. It explains the bleariness in your eyes.

You look like a ghost as you sit up, fabric wrapping around your form. Hair hangs over your head, reaching downwards.

Halting his actions you mumble a combination of words that doesn’t really make sense. There’s a “wait” buried somewhere in there, which is what makes the man pause. You have nothing to follow the sentence up with, still trying to figure out exactly what’s going on.

You’re still shocked by embarrassment. Giyuu has finally stumbled upon you hiding in his bed. The habit was bound to get you caught eventually, so of course it happens right as you start up the trend again.

The room is filled with silence as you try to jumpstart your brain. “I’m uh-“ You pause again. Averting your eyes you find the words again. “I’m the one who’s intruding. I shouldn’t have…” Trailing off you stare at the ground again.

Your chest fills up with something akin to shame. It’s slightly less painful than before, but as your hands hold your face you can feel the blood rushing to your cheeks.

He completely ignores your blubbering. “You fixed my haori.” The sudden topic change catches you off guard. It brings your eyes back to him, despite the fact that your heart is still racing.

Furrowing your brows you nod. “I said I would.”

“It was ruined.”

Your brain is working very hard. “It was hard, but I didn’t mind the work. I don’t think that excuses me being so intrusive.”

“Thank you.” His voice is hoarse, barely audible. You can see that he holds the cloak in

his hands. They grip the fabric so tightly you’re worried it might rip again. The show of emotion renders you silent.

As the room settles back down you shuffle your robes around you and move to stand up. “I can um-“ You lick your lips. At a constant loss for words, you vaguely gesture toward the door.

Tomioka moves back to the conversation at hand. Though his fingers continue to skate over the fabric his eyes turn back to you. “You can stay where you like, the house is as much yours as it is mine.”

That really isn’t true at all. Tomioka pays for everything, in money and blood. Your only contribution is decorating and occasionally throwing a fit in one of the rooms.

“I didn’t think you’d want me here. I should’ve asked but I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me either.” The truth slips through your lips easily. You can’t quite look him in the eye, but you don’t hide from his gaze either. Stepping self-consciously off the futon you shiver at the cold wood against the soles of your feet.

When you steal a glance at the man you’re surprised at the confused look on his face. Giyuu’s mouth is pulled into a slight pout, head tilted. It’s an attractive look, a distracted part of you points out. It’s times like this that you don’t mind being married to him.

Shaking off the thoughts you open your mouth again. “You gave me my own room, so I guessed that you wanted me there.” You dig your nails into your palms. “And you didn’t talk to me after or anything.” Remembering the feeling makes your heart squeeze. Tears well up in the corner of your eyes.

“I thought you hated me.” He admits it so simply. There’s no regret in his voice about the sentiment. The thought forces a whimper from your throat.

“What?” Your voice is wobbly.

Carefully the man sinks to his knees. guiding you down with him. One fist clings to his wrist. The other ends up wound in the fabric of your sleeping gown.

Tomioka at least seems softer about this bit. “You cry often.”

Calming down you try to focus on the feeling of his arm on your back. You’re glad you’re wearing one of your worse kimonos because the sleeves have become impromptu handkerchiefs. With the sudden onslaught of your tears, you’re left unprepared. You’re not sure whether it’s the result of your body begging to go back to sleep or the wave of months of emotions catching up on you. It’s probably a combination of both. Using the piles of fabric you wipe at your nose and under your eyes.

“I thought you hated me because you didn’t talk to me at all, ‘nd you made me stay in another room, ‘nd you’re always gone.” He looks a little pained, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. “And you never sent letters. So I was just stuck here all alone and I thought I would die.” The last part isn’t true, but you’re small tears have started to turn into full-on sobs.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Giyuu sounds much more unsure of himself. His fingers on you twitch whenever your back shakes. It’s horrible reasoning considering that he’s already married to you in the first place. You say as much to him.

Tomioka is showing the biggest amount of emotion possible. His face is twisted into an expression that suggests deep thoughts. It’s nearly enough to shock you out of the sadness, but not quite.

Under his breath, he mumbles an apology. It’s not very meaningful, but you suppose he’s at least trying. You continue to rub at your face, trying to stall your tears.

For a moment you simply sit, facing each other. Though you can’t bring yourself to look anywhere other than your lap. A hand finds its way to your back, creeping hesitantly. You can’t think of a time he’s willingly touched you otherwise.

Finally, overcome you fling yourself into his side. With the sturdiness of his uniform, it’s not particularly soft against your face, but heat radiates from his body. Tomioka doesn’t hold you particularly tight. His other arm wraps around your back, though the grasp is loose and hesitant.

Whether he cares about your tears or not he doesn’t seem to mind that you’ve seated yourself in his lap. Your crying shows no signs of stopping anytime soon, built up behind months of feeling stuck. It’s a horrible mess of wet and snot and a very ugly grimace that you’re glad is hidden.

His hands eventually wander up to your hair, ghosting over the top of your scalp. You can feel how rough they are now, covered in callouses. They’re warm against your head. Almost fiery hot they brush back stray hairs.

Focusing on the repetitive feeling of his hand, alongside the steady beating of his heart, you’re able to stop the tears. A small hiccup or gasp manages to leave you every few seconds, but it’s much less intense than before.

Not very inclined to move, you’re content to keep your face buried within the body in front of you. His hands don’t stop their gentle motions even as you stop your small noises. It’s perhaps the most comfortable you’ve felt in a very long time. Giyuu smells like his futon, but a thousand times more powerful.

As your eyes dry they also begin to drag downward. It’s the inevitable end to every single one of your emotional explosions. Your arms are drooping, their grasp loosening. Distantly you realize that you should move, excuse yourself to your room or do anything to move. Instead, you bury yourself deeper into his chest.

As he begins to move you almost pull yourself back from him. Arms flex around you and tighten their hold. Just when you muster the energy to uncurl your fingers and force your eyes back open, he lifts you up. You’re not surprised by the strength, you’ve seen it before, but it does set a little shock through your stomach.

Suddenly you’re not very inclined to do much of anything.

If he notices the way your hands dig back into his shirt, he doesn’t say anything. You’re pleased by the feeling of muscles flexing around you. Giyuu’s actions aren’t entirely discernible, not from your position, but the way he moves is slightly soothing. It’s reminiscent of being rocked to sleep, his movements graceful.

You let yourself remain in the limbo between rest and wakefulness. The edges of the world ebb away until you’re sat back down, nestled within his futon. It’s been smoothed again, rustled from your whining. It offers the same comfort it always has once you’re enveloped within the warm sheets. As his arms pull away from you, your lips form a ghost of his name.

—-

In the morning you keep your eyes shut for as long as possible. Your mind has snapped awake, reminding you of last night's events. There’s a dryness around your eyes from where your tears have evaporated. As tempting as it is to reach a hand up to rub away the grogginess you keep them in place for now.

Feeling your surroundings gives you almost no clues. All you know is that it is very warm, and you are very comfortable. Slowly you let your eyes barely peek open, a small slit to peer through.

Giyuu is lying next to you, in the sense that he is curled up in on himself at the opposite end of the futon. It’s not a very great length, but the gap between your bodies stretches endlessly in your mind. His back faces you, to which you let your eyes open almost fully. There are small imperfections to his posture, his spine shifting with his breath. It's a slow movement, a reassurance that he’s still slumbering.

You don’t trust yourself to escape without notice. Every sound you make as you settle seems to make the man pause. You’re not sure what that might accomplish either, the events from the night before too embarrassing to accept, but too poignant to ignore.

Softly you let your body relax again. For now, you’re content to watch his body move slightly with each breath. It’s convincing to reach across the gap and feel the warmth you’ve longed for more directly.

Is peaceful, the sun still low enough to not pierce through the window. It still allows faint light inside, illuminating the area.

You’re feeling surprisingly well-rested. There’s a deep calmness in your bones. Lazing about in the bed feels nice, natural. It reminds you of celebrations back home when you were free from responsibilities. There are whispers of summer streaming through the window.

For a few moments, you bask in the light starting to make its way across the floor. lt caresses your face and finally prompts you to move.

Slowly you rise upwards. Tomioka seems to rest still, unmoving. Slowly you creep out of the room, and back towards your own.

It’s chilly in your room, making the hairs on your neck stand on end. With the window facing West, no sun will warm it until the evening. The temperature makes the changing process nearly impossible. Your holding your chest, shivering before you can slip on another dress. Bouncing on your feet you shuffle around until you’re fully clothed again.

It’s easy to move around the house with a light heart. Whether Tomioka has awoken yet or not is a thought that hardly crosses your mind as you cook. Mostly you hope he’ll dine with you, tired of eating in months of silence.

Your hands move quickly as you shuffle around rooting through cabinets. Over time you’ve switched to much more appetizing meals than rice porridge. For today, with your want for a quick breakfast, you mostly work with eggs and fried rice. Throwing in a couple of diced peppers and onions your stomach growls as the sizzling veggies.

The presentation is important to you too. It feels like you’re actually doing something, being a wife. Maybe. You still don’t know if this is right, but you shared a bed last night with your husband. He wasn’t particularly close, but closer than a hallway and walls that separated you before.

So you balance the plates on your arms and move carefully back towards his room. The sense of nervousness creeps up again but isn’t as fierce as before. It at least isn’t enough to deter you from using your foot to slide the door open.

Tomioka has finally risen. His hair is sticking in all sorts of directions, sleep evident in his eyes. You’re surprised at how late he’s slept in.

“Good morning.” A blush creeps back onto your cheeks. It raises your temperature by a few degrees at least, bringing warmth to your face.

“I uh-“ Your mouth is suddenly dry. “I brought food.” The words come out a shy squeak. For a moment the plates wobble in your hold until you square your shoulders and regain control.

He regards you with a surprising amount of warmth, what you think is warmth at least. It’s not indifference, or anger, something kinder.

“Thank you.” He doesn’t smile as he talks, not exactly a frown either. The man exists in the crevices between emotions, which is how he manages to be completely indecipherable most of the time.

You manage to look somewhat graceful as you lower yourself, plates still balancing in your hands. Once you’re close enough he swipes one from your hand, instead letting it sit in his lap.

“You can eat with me,” Giyuu says in a matter-of-fact way that makes your eyebrows raise. He waits for only a second, letting the silence hang, before continuing. “I thought I should be more direct.”

His explanation forces a small light laugh from your lips. “Right, I’m glad. I’ll be sure to do the same.” The corner of his eyes curl up, even though his lips don’t form a smile quite yet. You’re not even sure if he can smile, maybe the man has some sort of disease.

He eats though. And though he’s careful there are little bits of rice stuck to his face. In the corner of his mouth is a little line of ketchup. It’s such a human sight, a clumsy eater that doesn’t know anything about romance or women. There’s some sadness too, the lack of proper social understanding, formed by a life dedicated to fighting.

Realizing the fact that you’re staring quite obviously (something that he somehow does not notice) you look down to eat your own food. The sound of chewing is slightly grating on your ears, but you cannot muster up anymore to say.

Within just a few moments, when you’ve only finished a few bites of food, his fork is scraping against the plates. There’s a decent amount of rice still scattered over his face, some on the floor and his shirt, but most seem to have made it into his mouth. It’s hard not to laugh at the sight, of crumbs sticking to the corner of his lips. Though you’re able to remain silent, your nose scrunches up, eyes narrowing as your lips tug upwards.

“I can make more if you’d like.”

Tomioka still seems half-asleep as he turns to you. “It’s fine.” Despite his appearance, the man’s voice is soft and even. “But I did enjoy it.”

Your lips move into an even bigger smile. It’s half hidden behind your hand, fear of food stuck in your teeth, but the message is still translated clearly. “Did you like the egg too? I don’t know your tastes, so I’ve mostly been guessing.”

His eyebrows furrow again, that concentrated look crossing his face. “I like salmon, salmon daikon. Though I don’t know if that’s appropriate for a breakfast.” He answers quickly.

“Dinner then,” you offer.

He shakes his head. “I’ll have to leave for another mission tonight.” Your shoulders deflate slightly. At least a warning is more than you’ve gotten before. “But I can send you a letter before I arrive back.”

The offer brings your smile back. “I’ll make sure to buy some things for Salmon Daikon. It’ll be the best you’ve ever had!”

—-

He lets you spend most of the morning bothering him. Tomioka says that there’s no point leaving for a few more hours, which you don’t really get, but he probably knows best. While you anxiously watch the sun climb higher into the sky Giyuu gets ready. He doesn’t give you any warning, or tell you to leave, before stripping off most of his clothes.

His back is covered in long strips of scar and muscle. You’ve once again tucked yourself into the folds of the futon, content to watch from there. It’s pleasing the way his shoulders move as he strips the shirt off.

As he moves to remove his pants too, you have the decency to look away. The man doesn’t seem concerned with your presence, but even the thought of seeing him mostly bare makes your eyes screw themselves shut. They don’t crack open until the rustling of fabric and movement stops.

He’s donned the common uniform once again, haori placed overtopped. Tomioka looks so normal again, like he used to every time he flew in and out of the house. You’re staring at the junction where you fixed the sleeve, wondering if he too has noticed the shift.

“I think it looks good,” he tells you. “Much better than anything I could do. I’m not very good at mending things.”

“I can tell,” the words slip from your lips easily. It’s a careless comment, meant to be taken as a joke, but sounds a little too cruel. Your eyes widen, mouth quickly covered with your hands. “I didn’t mean, I uh-“

“You’re fine.” His mouth has quirked upwards just slightly. “It’s true, but I do like to think I’ve improved over the years.”

A hand is still raised over your lips, hoping to keep another dumb comment from slipping through. Once you’re sure you’ve stopped yourself from spoiling the moment you let your hands drop back to your lap. “I’m sure you have.”

He takes sword from where it’s stood carefully in the corner. You watch as he slides the sheath into place along his belt. It completes his ensemble, making him look like a proper soldier. If it were possible (which is to say, if it didn’t put you in mortal danger) you’d like to see him in action. Maybe he’ll let you watch him train sometime.

“Are you going then?”

He nods. “It’s not too far. If I’m lucky I can come back before getting another notice. So you won’t feel so lonely.”

His concern makes your heart throb. Biting your lower lip you try not to let it quiver. “I’ll make you something, give me a few minutes. That way you won’t starve.” Without waiting for his answer you leave the room and rush to the kitchen.

The truth was that you had already prepared some onigiri earlier, tucked away inside the fridge. It’s stuffed with tuna and onions are you’re trying hard not to eat them as you tuck them into a bento. There’s plenty of extra, and you can leave the more… unsightly ones for yourself.

Tomioka comes down the hall just a few moments after you finish. It’s perfect timing. There’s a small sack on his back, which he lets you tuck the lunch into. “Don’t wait too long before eating it though,” you instruct. “I don’t want it to go bad.”

“Right.”

“And be safe!”

“Ok.”

“And-“ You have to curl your hands into fists to force the words the words out, “Iloveyou.”

You’re prepared to turn tail and hide back in your own room (and probably cry—or die—from embarrassment). Before you can even point your feet in the right direction he’s caught your wrist. Though you can barely look at him, you are welcomed to the sight of his pretty pink cheeks. He pulls you toward him, perhaps with more force than necessary, and plants a kiss on your own fiery skin.

You’ve barely registered what’s happened when he’s disappeared beyond the doorway. You don’t know if you’ll be able to drag your feet anywhere else until he gets back, scared of loosing this feeling.

#kny fanfic #Tomioka Giyuu #tomioka giyuu x reader #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #tomioka x reader #giyuu x reader #Tomioka giyuu x you #fem!reader #mxf #this took so long #too long #reblogs appreciated

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