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meadow-of-daisies-and-lavender · 1 month ago

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Summary: The winter ice has melted, and the spring blossoms have bloomed. But as the elders continue their tyranny over your village, your gods seemingly disappeared. Or had they? Eventual Poly 141.

A/N: Please comment and reblog. Thank you to @ethereal-night-fairy and @wildflower-and-honey for feeding my brain worms. I love you three and cannot thank y'all enough <3 Thank you, @saradika, for the beautiful dividers I use in everything.

CW: (18+) Children begone! PIV smut, swearing, a Dyslexic wrote this, Religious Kinks, some violence. Let me know if I missed anything!

NO AI

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There was something in the air that had come with the visiting traders. Perhaps it was the joy of seeing fresh faces or new goods for the village, but you knew it was the change of winter melting into springtime, coaxed by the longer days and warmth of the sunshine peaking hopefully from between the rain clouds. Who couldn’t help but stretch their arms and sigh as if waking from hibernation? Even the trees reached their blossoms to the sunshine, eager to play in the rays of light, drink from the rain once more, and splash in the mud.

The melting waters came with the waking warmth, opening the trade routes in time for the Spring Festival. What once was a holy holiday to celebrate the addition of Kyle Garrick to godhood, the creation of youthful spring, was now a feast to celebrate wealth, trade, and alliances between villages.

You sat beside your neighbor, adding your dish to the feast to share, before twisting in your seat to watch the village elders light the bonfires for the evening’s celebrations. After a week of trade, your village offered a feast and celebration on the night of the holy spring festival as thanks to those who had traveled far and wide to come to the village. You only remembered the Spring Festival being a sacred holiday as a young girl. Somewhere along the way, the spring celebration had fallen from the gods and landed on mortals' laps, becoming a jovial, insignificant matter.

“Why do you look so sour?” Elder Sheppard spoke with a stern face. You would have turned, but his hand clamped down on the back of your neck, squeezing until you grit your teeth.

Elder Sheppard jostled you around like a kitten who needed scuffing. He was known for a forest fire of a temper, flaring into dangerous territory when he was the one who wanted you dead in winter.

You stumbled to your feet as he pulled you from the bench, holding you closer to his body. It was one thing for the elders to plot your murder in the wintertime, to speak ill of you until you had a reputation of a rumored curse. It was another to dehumanize you into their little doll, playing with their food until they decided it was time to eat. He shook you, squeezing your neck until you whimpered, speaking words you couldn’t make out over the ringing in your ears.

The hand disappeared as Elder Sheppard was pulled away by a trader in white, leaving you stumbling onto the table bench, shivering. You rubbed away the touch of Shepard until your skin felt hot.

A mouse had more fight than you did when Sheppard rattled you around. It was how the elders had managed to get you into the woods in the first place, even when you knew it would be your death. Being around the elders left your mind limp and your body frozen in fear, unable to breathe in the fumes of their reign, poisoning you slowly to death. A slow death was still a death- and the miracles to save you were used up and dried out.

The wind picked up as the clouds gathered overhead, threatening rain the next day. You ate silently as musicians began to play, dancers gathering around flames, emboldened by the flowing alcohol. Since winter, the elders made it known you were being watched. You were supposed to be a frozen corpse in the snow or a slaughtered woman at the hands of the gods.

Instead, you had been saved by the gods and granted a miracle of one more day alive. You had slept with the god of winter, partially in thanks, partially because you wanted to. John Price left his marks on your skin as the winter ice marked the rocks, splitting them over time. Apparently, even the gods wanted nothing to do with you now that John had his fill, leaving without a word or answered prayer over winter.

“Look!” Your neighbor gasped. Turning, you covered your mouth as Elder Sheppard hobbled from the trader in white, spitting insults at him as his broken nose gushed blood. The trader, who wore a hood and a mask, glared at the man oozing blood while he remained spotless. You quickly turned to your meal as if you saw nothing and took a drink of wine.

“He will have to leave in the morning as soon as dawn comes if he wishes to leave alive,” Your neighbor spoke. “Elder Sheppard is not a forgiving man.”

“He deserved it. A right bastard, treating people like animals on leashes like that if you ask me.”

A man’s voice from behind made you jump, nearly spilling your wine. With a sigh, you turned in your seat, looking up at the trader in white. Now, closer to the firelight, you could see the golden sparkle gliding through his gaze.

“Punching a stranger from a different village with high standings is like asking for war, trader,” You spoke, rubbing the back of your neck. “Doesn’t do much of anyone good to irritate the elder more than necessary.”

“Well, if he knows what is good for him, he’ll keep his hands off of a pretty bird like you,” The man’s eyes crinkled as if he was grinning under his mask. “Care to dance?”

“No. I only came for the food.” You stood to go home for the evening, appetite lost for the night. “Besides, you already have enough of a death wish with your hot-head actions.”

“Hot-head actions?” The man scoffed. “What he did was a right improper thing. What kind of leader treats his people like that? Yet, I’m the hot head?” The man spoke as he followed you away from the fires, his thumbs looped in his belt pockets. He walked side-by-side with you, only brushing your arm on occasion.

“It is said to be bad luck to speak ill of the elders around here, trader. A man died last winter because of it,” You scoffed, thinking of the soldier who traversed into the woods before you. “I’m lucky to be alive and do not wish it jeopardized, nor should you.”

“Pity. I heard dying is in fashion nowadays,” the man joked.

“Only for those lucky enough to be immortal,” You blandly replied. The man did not respond, deciding to pluck a blossom from a tree and examine it between his fingers. You kept walking, leaving him behind.

“I don’t remember the Spring Festival being a thing about trade.”

You rolled your eyes before stopping to respond, “It’s more lucrative to twist the meaning to bring trade opportunities in. They believe the old gods are dead, and only the new god of power reigns over their hearts and minds.”

“And do you, Fawn, believe the old gods are dead?” The trader spoke, making you squint in the darkness. You hadn’t been called Fawn since...

Tears welled in your eyes, and you unexpectedly felt your stomach drop. The whisper of John’s care still hovered in the memory of your body, keeping you awake and praying for his return. You had tried returning to the woods so many times over winter. But the elders were always there, watching and waiting for your failures. Your prayers echoed in the temple's vaults, responding in a puppet of your voice, mocking you. The gods had gone silent. For whatever reason, they did not want you anymore, casting you aside to deal with your mortal issues alone.

“There,” You swallowed thickly before clearing your throat. “There is a difference between the gods being dead and the gods not caring. Why should the gods not care for what has not cared for them?”

You furiously wiped at your eyes with your sleeve. Your village did not care for your gods anymore, but did it mean nothing that you still cared for them? That you still prayed nightly to John, Kyle, Ghost, and Johnny? That you tended to your altar within your home out of your love for them? Was it all for naught?

“Have you stopped caring for us, Fawn?” The man whispered.

Whirling around, the man had removed his hood and mask to reveal the god of spring, Kyle. His brow was knit low, the bud he had picked now plucked to parts on the road by his boots, and the golden sunshine in his eyes dark to match the reflection of the moonlight. Memories of waking in the north and east gods' presence were cloudy. Of Gaz, you only recalled his bright grin and his brown eyes. The shapes had gone fuzzy in your recollections, lost to time.

“I,” You paused as a light flickered in the distance, growing larger as the shape of an elder grew, walking down the road. Kyle turned, huffing once he caught what you saw.

“You would think your village elders had nothing better to do,” He huffed, placing a gentle hand on your lower back.

“They won’t bother me at home. I’ll make you some tea,” You offered, slipping your hand over his bicep and guiding him to your little home.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” You confessed as you deposited your muddy boots on the porch of your home. “I haven’t heard from you since winter, not even John.” You opened your door and began to busy yourself with illuminating the space.

“John wanted us to wait for you to come to us. He didn’t want us to overwhelm you,” Kyle mentioned as he followed suit, removing his boots. Standing, he moved to enter before pausing, holding the inside of your doorframe.

“What’s wrong?” You questioned, shucking off your outerwear.

“Well,” Kyle chuckled, fingers tapping along the oak, feeling the smooth surface. “We were waiting for you to come to us, but we never saw you enter the woods without the elders following you. And it seems whatever prayers you prayed had been blocked by… this.”

He tapped the top of the corner frame, where a very small sigil had been quickly etched into the frame. It was sloppy, the smooth curves of letters jagged in the rush. Such magic practices were unfamiliar to you but not unfamiliar to your people. However, very few still practiced the magic.

“It is made to keep anything from the spiritual realm out. Prayers, offerings, ancestors, everything is cast out,” Kyle informed you. “Even the fuckin’ gods.” Kyle reached into his belt, pulled out a knife, and whittled away the sigil until it was a scarred, scratched patch of splinters.

“I didn’t do that,” You muttered, fingers hovering over the spot. “Such magic must be an old practice if it works.”

“And it works all right,” Kyle spoke as he crossed the threshold, a gust of fresh air following him into the home. It was as if you had opened all the windows to chase away the stagnant build-up of air, a sudden wash of rejuvenation breathing new life into your space.

Glancing at Kyle, who had entered your home and leaned on the closed door, savoring the fresh air with his eyes closed, you couldn’t help but admire the scars on his cheeks and his tilted smile. You took a step forward, fingers itching to touch his cheek, to trace the plush swell of his lip and the divots of scars to the bridge of his nose. His eyes flickered open, and you froze, heat gathering on your neck. Stepping back, you retreated into the kitchen, rubbing your cheeks.

You loved the gods as a devotee. Out of that love, you let the god of winter, John Price, kiss your skin and cradle your love in his hand as if porcelain. Setting the kettle to boil, you jumped as Kyle settled his hands on your hips, but he waited to see if you would step away before slowly pressing his chest to your back.

“If we had realized the elders were keeping you from us, we would have done something,” Kyle confessed, lips moving as he spoke against your neck. “Price thought you wanted nothing of us after having you in our bed. That didn’t make sense to me, so I came to find you; figure out what’s happening.”

“Wanted nothing to do with you?” You scoffed, turning in his arms. “That’s the most absurd thing I’ve heard.”

Kyle chuckled, squeezing your hips. You reached to cup his cheek, finally being able to brush your fingers over his scars. He melted into your touch, his shoulders hunching as if the world's weight had been shucked from him.

“That’s why I came to see for myself, Fawn,” he grinned, pulling you closer. “We can’t let you slip that easily.”

“We?” You questioned, leaning closer to his face.

“We. Who do you think allowed me to go?” Kyle’s eyes drifted down to your mouth, and he leaned closer.

“I didn’t realize it was a group decision,” You breathed.

“It’s always a group decision, love,” Kyle brushed his nose against yours before kissing you softly.

Kyle kissed you as if committing the taste of your flesh into his memory, unrushed and slow. He did not bother to move his hands when yours traced his shoulders and biceps and scratched the back of his head, urging him to devour you. He seemed fearless of the coming dawn, blind to time and her urgency.

Coaxed by his ease and gentleness, your impatience soon melted away. Becoming lax in his arms, you conceded to follow his pace. His hand slowly slid lower on your hips, reverently smoothing over the bumps of fabric and fat to palm your ass. Your hips jilted forward, bumping into his, making you moan as he swiveled his hips teasingly against yours.

“Fucking, take me to bed already, Kyle,” You huffed playfully against his mouth.

“I don’t know where your bed is, love. Your home, not mine,” Kyle teased back. You rolled your eyes, making him chuckle as he took your hand to follow you into the bedroom. He removed his clothes as you removed yours, eyes darkening as he took in your form.

Asking you to lay on your back, he kissed down your neck, reverently cupping your tits in his hand. He did not pinch or twist; he simply squeezed and caressed the softness in his hands. You rubbed your thighs together, but he settled between them, forcing your wetness to drip down and cool your aching cunt.

“Kyle, please, hurry up!” You huffed, tugging at his short curls.

“Fawn, we have all night,” the god of the north grinned, nipping at your nipple. “Let me enjoy you.”

“What if I’m not enjoying your teasing?” You countered, mouth dropping as his hands covered the icy scars of John’s creation over your womb just as he sucked at the sensitive side of your neck.

“Tell me you aren’t enjoying my mouth on your body, Fawn,” Kyle goaded into your ear, dropping his hips to grind his length against your wetness. He grunted, letting out a moan in your ear. “But it doesn’t seem like you hate this, love.”

No, you did love it. Reaching to grip his pert ass, you tried to coax him inside your cunt, but he swatted your hands away, pushing you up the bed as he spread your legs even wider. Staring intensely at your cunt, he licked his lips, easing a leg over his shoulder.

It tickled as he brushed his lips over the inside of your ankle, made you shiver as he licked the back of your knee, had your hips bucking by the time he sucked the skin of your thighs into his mouth, biting the flesh or rolling his tongue against it.

The only reason for your existence was to give his mouth your supple flesh to consume and drink from. His hips shuttered against the sheets as he ground his cock into the mattress, his back and hip muscles rippling with the motion. You moaned, throwing your head back into the pillows and pushing your hips against his cheek.

“Absolutely soaked for me, aren’t you, Fawn?” Kyle hummed as he dragged his tongue over your pussy, drinking you up. He avoided your clit, deciding to agonizingly insert a finger into your heat, rubbing against your walls until you relaxed enough for a second finger.

“I want to suck your cock, Kyle,” You whined, gasping as his other hand rubbed circles on your clit. “Probably as pretty as the rest of you,” You babbled, thinking about being on your knees for him, reducing him into as much of a flustered mess as you were at the moment.

Quietly, you heard the shlack, shlack, shlack of him fisting his cock before he licked at your cunt. Squealing, your bucked hips were shoved back to the bed as he wrapped his arm around your body to anchor you to him. With one hand around his cock, and one now playing with your clit as he ate you out, you gushed, knowing your wetness was wrapped around his cock.

“Are you going to cum all over your hand for me? I want to see you cum- so good,” You couldn’t stop talking, rolling your hips in time to his hand around his cock. “Shit, I’m,” You groaned, grabbing the back of his head, but just as you neared your orgasm, he pulled away, panting into your thigh.

Your body dissolved into the bed with a frustrated squeal, your cunt still pulsing for attention. You sputtered out curses at Kyle before feeling him hoist your legs in his arms and pull you down the bed to his waiting mouth, building you back up.

Over and over again, he teased you. Bringing you to the brink of the edge, he’d ruin your orgasm until you were babbling and thrashing beneath him. Finally, as he sucked your clit and pushed three fingers inside your cunt, he pressed down on your lower stomach. He let you cum then, bursting and gushing with a cry over his hands, feeling a very small stream of liquid escaping you.

Ears ringing, you went limp, feeling your pussy pulse with distant contractions. Your chest rose and fell with each pant as Kyle gingerly set your legs on the bed, rubbing at your sore thighs.

“Feel good, Fawn?” He whispered, leaning down to kiss your temple and brush his nose against yours. You nodded, letting your heavy eyelids fall, sinking into blissful warmth.

Kyle had fucked you before he left that morning, entwining his arms with yours as he worked his cock in from behind, spooning you in the morning hours. After, he fed you berries and nuts from his altar, which you had chastised him for.

“What’s the point if I can’t share?” He countered. “Besides, I don’t want them to go to waste when you need energy after last night.”

You had managed to wobble out to the door to see him off, kissing him one last time before he tugged up his white mask, making his way north to his woods. The birds sang from the blooming trees, and even with the morning chill, you couldn’t help but melt against the doorframe and inhale, exhaling into the stillness of the morning dew.

But even in the stillness of the morning darkness, tinged with the dusty blues of dawn’s hatching, you could feel the eyes of another raking over your skin. Peering down the road, you glared at a neighbor staring intensely at you from their porch and returned inside your home for more rest, knowing the elders would hear of your guest by sunup.

When you were woken by the mid-morning sun, you were not surprised to discover your arms wrapped in silver scars shaped like ivy and vines, the god of Spring, marking you as his.

a/n: Please comment and reblog!

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