#hope they came out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thevikingwoman · 11 months ago

Text

After dealing the with the Lakeland Light Warden, Meryta is feeling out of sorts, and runs to the first place she thinks of - to the Ruby Seas and Tansui. Neither of them certain of their feelings for eachother, or able to voice them, but still comfort is offered and given.

Beautiful, wonderful art to go along with this

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV | Words: 2969 | Read on Ao3

Meryta Khatin x Tansui | Early Shadowbringers | romance/comfort Rating: Teen. Spoilers up to MSQ 'Warrior of Darkness', fluff, angst, emotional comfort, feelings are hard, wol having a no-good time in msq

Solace and Breakfast

The first thing Meryta does, once the hum of the aetheryte quiets behind her, is to look for Tansui. It wasn’t a conscious thing, to grab the aether current to Onokoro, but it worked and now she’s here. She has no real reason to, other than a strange wish to Tansui’s face, to see that the people here are alive and well. Tansui is not in sight, however, and she finds she has no desire to find Rasho and ask, or for idle chatter with anyone else.

In the end, she decides for a walk along the beach, the quiet rush of waves against the shore calming her. Maybe she could fish, an excuse as good as any. She keeps walking though, until she sits, the warm light (normal light, fading light) of the sunset casting long shadows from the cliffs. Everything is calm and quiet, and she can almost pretend there’s no extra aether still buzzing beneath her skin.

Tiredness wars with the bright unease within her. She barely slept last night, she couldn’t. She tossed and turned in the room in the Pendants, after the ghost – Ardbert – left. Trying not to think of the horrors she’d seen, of how it felt when the light was flooding into her. Even the return of darkness hadn’t helped her, her mind too busy. Too sad. Too angry. She had no desire to see if the Exarch had any messages for her the next morning, no desire to confront him on all he didn’t – and doesn’t – tell. She’d rushed into the lifestream, a vague notion of testing the Exarch’s reassurances that she could teleport to the Source. Grabbing on to the first beacon that sprang to her mind.

Running away, she supposes.

The sun is setting, casting a rosy glow over the sand. The waves sighs gently against the shore. She tries to calm her mind, and push all thoughts away, focusing on the waves and the wind.

Why is she here?

Tataru and Krile must be out of their minds with worry, and since travelling to the Source is possible, she should have thought to go there, to reassure them. But she didn’t want to go to the Rising Stones, it was Onokoro she thought of. The sea and the sun and sand. And perhaps a cheeky smile and dancing eyes and nights under the stars. She doesn’t have the energy to examine it too closely.

She lies down on the sand, and it’s still hot from the day. She digs her fingers deep into, the grains running across her skin and scales and claws. Beneath the surface where it’s cool, where the light doesn’t reach it. She wants to be buried in it, heavy and cool and deep. She breathes, and digs.

A hand brushes against hers, warm and calloused. She didn’t know she closed her eyes.

“Do you need help with that? I can almost guarantee there’s no buried treasure here – that’s more the style of your friends in Limsa Lominsa as I’ve come to know.”

She lets out a huff of silent laughter, a breath she held too long.

“No, I – I’m not –” She stops digging, and holds his hand in hers. She feels brittle, like she’ll fly apart at any time. “Can you – hold me, please.”

Tansui does, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her up and out of the sand and lifting her to him. She lets herself relax into him. He is not a large man, but he’s still broader and bigger than her, and wraps himself around her, heavy and fast.

“What’s brought this on?” he asks, and rubs his cheek against her horn, familiar and far too intimate and not intimate enough.

She shrugs, as best she can. Still not sure what compelled her here, of all places, her aether stretched thin from travel for no need, and yet so full, bursting at the seams. But his arms around her is the best she’s felt in days, in weeks. She’s entirely unsure what to do about that. She buries herself deeper in his arms. She breathes in the scent of him, sweat and seawater and tar.

“Relax, relax,” he murmurs, sweeter than she expects. His arms move up her back, kneading the knots he finds there. She breathes and tries to do as he says, to relax into his embrace.

“So, are you on your way to reckless, life-threatening troubles again? Or on your way from them?” He kisses her gently. “I am truly glad to see you again after such a while, Meryta, but I do hope you don’t bring trouble in your wake.”

“No –” not this time, she wants to say, but her thoughts are too scatted to argue, too occupied with her current woes. “It cannot come here. Or – it cannot follow me here, though the danger is… everywhere. To everyone.” She halts and goes on slowly, telling as well as she can of the First, the Sineaters, the Lightwardens. The apparent looming Calamity. Tansui’s arm stays around her, faltering only briefly, his fingers momentarily digging into her shoulder.

“I know this all sounds queer –”

“— even for you.”

She smiles into his chest and gives and halfhearted chuckle. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t burden you, I know you’re not – I’m not good company, I just – so much has happened.”

“This is … quite outside my experience, but it’s alright. If you need to talk, talk. Let it go. I can listen.”

He squeezes her hand tentatively, and keeps her close. It’s comforting and intimate, the waves and the stars their only companions. The customary spark of want between them is absent, and yet he does not leave. He waits patiently, and lets her continue, telling of the scions, souls transported and the relief of seeing them again, mixed with despair of them being stuck. She forces the bitterness out of her voice and goes on.

She breaks when she tells about Tesleen, the kindness repaid by sorrow. Alisaie’s quiet grief, and her inability to prevent it. The villagers of Holminster, all turned to sineaters, bright and empty. She sobs, and buries her head in his chest and barely makes sense, words coming in stuttering hiccups. The Light Warden. The Light she absorbed. She doesn’t know when she last cried like this, but Tansui just holds her, his strong arms around her; hand gently stroking her back.

She wakes when she’s jostled, and realizes Tansui is carrying her, walking along the beach. She must have fallen asleep in his arms.

“I can walk,” she mumbles, embarrassed she fell asleep on him. Her head is swimming with tiredness, and she fights against it, against the comfort of his chest.

“Do you want to?” he asks. “I know you’re capable of incomparable feats – even walking while dead tired – but you don’t have to.”

His voice rumbles against her, his tone the jesting bite she knows, but his care earnest and kind. Does she want to? This makes her eyes water again, as she’s trying to hold herself together. Perhaps she’s been running ragged for days, exhaustion finally catching up with her. So much for the grand savior the Exarch wants her to be.

“Are you certain?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if not.”

“Alright.”

Something gives, and she allows herself to soften into him and let him carry her. She’s snug against his chest, held with a care she shouldn’t need.

The lights of the village come into view soon enough, but he makes no motion to put her down. He carries up the stairs as if she weighs nothing, mumbled protest shushed you weigh less than a boat. It almost lulls her asleep again, until he kicks the door open to the small room of his. He gently puts her on his bed, soft pillows surrounding her.

“Sorry, I’m not much good company.” She yawns. “No fun.”

He’s tall and handsome in the lamplight, and there’s the flick of desire she always feels around him, but she’s just so tired.

“Shhhh, Meryta. You can barely stand on your feet; you need the sleep. Even heroes don’t work without it, I surmise.”

Undressed, he helps her out of her shirt, and tucks himself behind her underneath his blanket. His arm work in steady patterns up and down her back, avoiding her tail and the spot above it that makes her squirm. All she can do is accept the comfort offered, her weariness fueled by anger and grief giving way to sleep as he gently holds her.

---

Tansui wakes before her. She’s curled up next to him, her tail across his legs and heat radiating off her. There’s a new scar on her back he didn’t notice last night in the dark. Long and straight, some kind of blade, probably. He hovers a hand above her skin, before he gets up without disturbing her.

Meryta looks tired, and somehow smaller than he recalls, curled up like this on his bed. She looked worse yesterday. She’s a warrior, and he’s seen her fight – Garleans and their war machines, tearing them apart. He knows she’s fought other things, things he can barely comprehend. Right now, she just looks young and worn out.

Feeding branches to his stove, he sets to work, soaked rice and water and dried meat. He chops scallions and considers fetching eggs, but opts against it. She could wake any time. So, he goes on and chops and cooks and lets the smell fill the room.

He’s seen something like this before. Perhaps he’s even experienced it himself so very long ago. When recruits, eager and fresh-faced and ready to start a new life run into their first trouble. Someone who won’t pay, someone who attacks. The Confederacy tries to avoid violence, but they’re pirates and at some point reality sets in, and there’s no turning back from this life. You draw blood, you kill your first man. The recruit comes back shaken and pale. And then he’ll feed them and tell them to get a good nights rest, and he’ll send them back out again until they’re used to it.

He looks at Meryta’s still sleeping form, and the way she shook in his arms last night – she’s no recruit, young as she is. He’s heard enough of her deeds of heroism, and he’s seen her bold and fierce on the battlefield. But something’s unsettled her. He wonders if she has anyone to feed her and tell her it will get better – or at least that she will get used to it. If anyone can get used to what she faces. He’s comforted countless recruits, but he’d also had the luxury of telling them to rest, to slow down and get help. It sounds like people tend to expect her aid instead.

Adding salt to the pot, he stirs the porridge and wonders if it will get better. Well, it’s the illusion that matters. He can’t help her with her fights, and barely her fears, with what little he understood of different worlds and beings of terrible light. He slices a handful of mushrooms finely.

She stirs as he’s frying the mushrooms, stretches and then sits up suddenly, as if she’s surprised. Her eyes dart across the room.

“You’re in my humble dwelling, Meryta.” He grins, and takes the mushrooms off the stove. He sits next to her. “I know you’ve been here before.”

“Oh I – I apologize, I – I do recall. You carried me here. I’m afraid I’ve been taken advantage of your hospitality, falling asleep with nary a word.”

He resists the urge to wrap his arms around her, just as he resisted tumbling her on the bed the moment she woke up.

“Were I supposed to have left you on the beach?”

That gets him a smile, and a frown. “I did not sleep well, after – after I absorbed all that aether, even with the night returned. There was…” She stops and he does not pry. “I’m afraid I was not good company.”

“Did you sleep well here?”

“Verily.” She smiles, beautiful and bright, and he can’t resist that, he leans in and kisses her, and she kisses him back warm and soft until she draws back, frowning. “I’m afraid I can’t linger – the time – I barely understand it but time may pass at different speeds, and –”

“You should at least break your fast. You must have time for that. No matter your power, you still require sustenance.”

“It does smell good, Tansui.”

Kami preserve him, he still likes his name on her tongue and if that isn’t enough, making the whole thing worth it.

She eats hungrily and he’s glad he took the time to cook. Glad his small kitchen can offer succor and she smiles and he remembers suddenly – a stolen sweetcake, shared with his siblings, the little ones asking for more, far too hungry. No one should go hungry. Tansui shakes his head. No need to be sentimental or think of things too far in the past. But there’s a reason no one goes hungry among Confederates.

He sits and eats with her in silence. She looks far less tired than last night, the weariness no longer clinging to her. The sun comes through the window in the kitchen where he’s pulled the curtain aside, highlighting her green and yellow hair to a crown of blazing spring. Beautiful. He found her beautiful from the moment she and her friends showed up like strays on their doorstep, determined to win their aid – as they did. But she’s more than beautiful sitting here, sunlight in hair. It’s the first time she stays for breakfast, and yet seems like the most natural thing in the world. The wooden grain of the table, the warm food, the beautiful woman, the unbeatable hero. Go forth and come back, he wants to say.

“More?” he asks instead.

“I can’t tarry.” She looks at the pot. “Perhaps a little.”

“I wish I could stay,” she says, when she’s done with the second portion, “but – and I should help with cleanup,” she continues as she puts her dish in the sink, and he waves her off.

“I understand. World saving can’t wait and all.”

She gives a tight smile, and he knows her weariness will creep back before too long.

He follows her outside, where she finds her sandals. Fastened, she reaches for him, her palm cupping his face and her fingertips scratching his beard. Her eyes glow, large and bright purple in the shade of the building. He bends and kisses her, compelled by her nearness.

“I have to leave,” she says again. “Thank you.” She looks away from him, lowers her eyes to fixate on his shoulders. “For your kindness, Tansui. I didn’t expect – you didn’t have to.”

“You’re welcome anytime,” he says, and kisses her hair. “When you can – if you can.”

He doesn’t fully understand her troubles, but he knows enough to realize the world hangs in some sort of balance, and of course her, and her friends, are part of it. She takes a step back, and engages her anima, the hum of the teleport spell filling the air. He stares at her as she leaves, and the space left behind. The complexities of crossing worlds confound him, but it does not change his hope that she’ll be back again, in his bed and in his kitchen.

“Inviting her back, I see.” Rasho’s voice booms behind him. “Did you even charge the tithe this time?”

“If it’s a problem, you can take it from my private share.”

“That’s not what I mean, Tansui. You cooked her breakfast, didn’t you?”

“And what if I did?”

“We’ve had plenty of new recruits, and yet I’ve not seen you take any to your quarters. Save her. It makes one wonder.”

“Are you keeping tabs on my private life now, captain?”

“As your friend, perhaps I am.” Tansui bristles, but Rasho just steps closer, taking advantage of their familiarity. “She’s not quite like us, Tansui.”

“And is that a problem?”

“Hm.” Rasho drops a hand on his shoulder. “Be careful, old friend. She must go where you can’t follow.”

“We’re just friends enjoying each other’s company, that’s all.” It comes out more defensive than he’d like, and the memory of the way her face softened after she cried herself to sleep in his arms comes to his mind, unbidden. So, he cares for her, and wishes her back hale and well and victorious. That’s not unreasonable.

Rasho lets go of his shoulder and regards him solemnly. Tansui wants to leave, but he’s not backing down. He holds his friends gaze fiercely.

“I see.” The big man shrugs with indifference, and Tansui knows him well enough to know it’s anything but. “Mayhap you should consider what you are to each other. For your sake and for hers.”

“I – “ He doesn’t know how to respond. He hates it, suddenly and fiercely, that she goes to her friends and danger, and he’s here with only dirty dishes in the sink and her scent in his bed. No matter her closeness, he holds no claim on Meryta, just a hope to see her again, his hands on her skin, his name on her tongue. Smiling and eating at his table. He’s not ready to face what that means, nor talk with Rasho about it.

Rasho nods and walks off. Leaving him to his thoughts roiling in his head. Naught he can do about those thoughts and desires, so he pushes them to the back of his mind. It does not matter - he will wait, and she will be back. There’s still more than a half-bell until he asked the recruits to muster for training at the Coral Banquet, and he should have time to clean up after their breakfast.

17 notes · View notes

kakushino · 1 year ago

Text

The Queen

Ryomen Sukuna x F! Reader

He never orders you around - rather, he requests.

Tags: slight gore, suggestive, fem reader, true form Sukuna Word count: 1,7k

Masterlist

AN: Fanart used in banner made by the amazing @innaillus - be sure to check out their divine fanart Written as a Secret Santa's gift for @zoyakuna - Merry (early) Christmas! (and pls stop slandering Giyuu, it's causing me undue stress)

There was little to amuse you in your secluded throne room underground.

Correction - there had been little to amuse you out of your throne room, so you had retreated back into your palace - and even then, was it a palace, when there were no servants, no great halls, no music, and no consort?

Just you - the Supreme Sovereign - and your throne made of roots and vines.

Which made it odd to hear a sound echo in your chamber. You feared nothing, no one, and your heart remained steady, not a beat out of place, your eyes closed as you rested from lifetimes of exhaustion.

“Who goes there?” you called out, not moving from your reclined position.

You were it to him, the holy grail of his searching - the Queen of Curses. Your name was feared enough that it had been scratched out from all written sources, the feats accredited to you terrifying… yet thrilling to Sukuna. He had needed to meet you, though he knew not why… A deep hunger for companionship, another who could stand at his level, who could reign with him from his Shrine, a craving so consuming he nearly went mad with his searching.

And he did find you, though hardly in the condition he thought he would.

“This is what You have become? The cynosure of all mortals reduced to a wretch.”

The voice was rough, forceful - distinctly male - though the tone held a hint of remorse and confusion. “All beauty is short-lived,” was all you said, a slight irritation churning your stomach for the first time in - decades, centuries, millenia? Who knows?

“Not for curses. We are eternal.” You felt the way cursed energy swirled around him - violent, and intense. It lashed out at your own, but like water parting around a blade, yours did too, accepting and redirecting the angry force, dispersing it, and eventually absorbing it. It was like taking a deep breath of fresh air after being suffocated under the weight of the world, a drop of water quenching a soul-deep thirst in the desert of life.

You opened your eyes and sat up properly as you studied him.

The man - curse - was tall, broad, and regal. A king would be a title befitting his posture. His hair was a light color you could hardly make out in the darkness of your abode. The dark marks adorning his face stood out starkly against his skin, as did the shape of the disfigured flesh on the right side of his face. Four gleaming eyes were focused on you, four arms relaxed at his sides.

This man was fascinating, and beautiful; he could easily sway the hearts of humans, bring them to their knees. Too bad you were not human.

“Join me, your Majesty.” Despite the wording, it was a plea. How odd.

“Who are you to ask anything of me?” You blinked slowly. You felt the way cursed energy swirled around him - violent, intense, … defensive, lonely. It enticed you, spoke to you in a language you understood all too well. It wasn’t in your nature to deny an honest request.

“Ryomen Sukuna, your Majesty,” he introduced himself. There was a sense of pride in the way he spoke, as if his existence was created, carved out, into the world by his own hands.

Perhaps Ryomen Sukuna would be the cure to your continued boredom.

You stood up from your throne, your figure hardly atrophied as your cursed energy kept you in peak form. The roots and vines retreated into the cave walls, leaving no trace of your royal seat, the chamber empty again for centuries to come.

“Very well.”

Living with Sukuna was hardly boring. Each day, you felt your apathy falling away as you spent time with the King of Curses, until you smiled freely in his presence. The day you realized he softened you to this degree came all too suddenly.

His cruelty to humans who sought to undermine him was but a flimsy curtain of who he truly was. Like a displeased cat, claws exposed, he scratched up those daring to approach him, but with you -

With you he was as playful and borderline affectionate as the tabby you used to feed back in your human days. It warmed your heart, and your cheeks, to feel his eyes on your figure. It made you feel unsteady on your feet. It made you question who was the ruler of the other, who held the power over the other; the power imbalance slowly became a balance - your energy dimmed by the way he could play you like a puppet.

All these feelings weaved together and knotted around your heart, snaring you in a complex web too tight to escape, exposing your throat to him like a delicacy to be gorged upon.

Only if you let him know, that is.

You somehow felt that a man like him wouldn’t settle, and more importantly, he was a man; just another one of the hordes who wanted a demure consort, you could bet. You were not a dainty flower he likely sought; you were a weed - growing strong despite the harshest of conditions, clawing out a place for your existence where there had been none before. The Curse of Curses.

So you buried those feelings like a female buried herself under layers of junihitoe - though you refused to wear that monstrosity despite the latest fashion in Japan, as all the fabric was too heavy for comfort. You made do with the yukata you stole from Sukuna’s wardrobe. It was definitely not because it smelled like him.

You kept away from the humans and the ruling in his Shrine, spending time with Uraume, him, or alone in the gardens - until you could not. He’d left you in charge of his Kingdom when he had business to do.

Human men were deplorable, thinking you were just a weak curse to be manipulated and slandered. You didn’t raise your voice at all, yet it shut everyone up in the hall - save for one local lord thinking himself too mighty to listen. No amount of flattery would have kept him alive after that. A wave of your hand made vines grow out of his guts - burrowing through his flesh as easily as tearing paper apart; sweet-smelling white flowers bloomed from the mess of red-coated plant matter in the middle of the chamber.

You sat in Sukuna’s throne of bones, regal and untouchable.

That was how he found you - presiding over his subjects like the Goddess you were, and bloody Spring sprouted in front of him, rubies glinting upon the stone floors like a grotesque decoration.

At first, he had wanted to study you - the Queen of Curses, the Supreme Sovereign, older than him, wiser, more powerful. Forgotten, yet not forgotten enough for him not to find any sources mentioning your title. He had been curious about you, and then he became curious about the feelings you evoked in him. Your presence in his home converted from an adornment into an emollient to him, smoothing the rough edges and softening the spikes of his defenses against you, yet you remained the centerpiece of his attention, even when you weren’t in his presence. He found himself thinking about you in all his waking moments.

“Everyone, out.”

He could not hide his devotion to you if he tried now - it had grown roots in his soul and fed off of his life-force, yet strengthened it twice as much. His heart was set ablaze every time he laid eyes upon your form, the blood in his veins searing hot, branding him from the inside - a slave to you forevermore.

And so he knelt at your feet, the bottom two of his arms supporting him as he leaned forward, his top pair carefully reaching for your foot and raising it to his face.

The King of Curses kissed your ankle, closing his eyes in silent worship to his Goddess, his World.

“Your Majesty,” he greeted you in a whisper, his lips caressing your skin.

Your eyes grew soft as you studied him, your posture proud but your expression fond. “Sukuna.”

Wet, hot tongue darted out to taste your skin, making you jolt and tear your leg from his grasp with pursed lips. The tabby was particularly impertinent today.

“You have no respect for your Queen, do you?”

“On the contrary, I hold all the respect for you.” His smirk was mischievous, he knew as well as you did neither of you were serious about this. Just a harmless teasing, if a bit skewed.

You used your foot to lightly push against his chest to tip him over onto his back - which he let you do, for he could have as easily resisted. Even falling down, he looked graceful. It made you feel warm inside your ribcage as you pushed a joyous smile down.

Sukuna turned the fall into a backwards roll, ending up on his knees again.

“At least you know your place - on your knees before me…”

“I-” he licked his lips, “I would gladly be on my knees for you all day, Your Majesty.”

Oh? It was your turn to give him a smile full of mischief as he slowly moved back to you. You remained silent.

“Has a cat got your tongue?”

Sukuna shuffled forward on his knees, his top pair of arms resting on the bones of his throne as he came even closer. Palms trailing to your thighs and covering them with his hands - an easy feat with his size.

You could do naught but marvel at the contrast of your limbs and his - each powerful and deadly in their own right, each in a different way. There was no tremor of fear in your muscles, only anticipation, even while he lightly spread your legs to fit his torso between them as you lounged on his throne.

“Let me feast on your nectar.” His voice, smooth like silk, a plea rather than an order, the nuance of his tone telling all you needed to know. He appeared unreadable to others, but he was as exposed and vulnerable as a newborn babe to you at this moment.

Even so, your lips parted in surprise at his request for you didn’t expect him to say it out loud at last. “Forward, aren’t you?”

His carmine eyes - all four of them - focused on yours with an intensity you were only just getting used to with him. Sukuna said nothing as he waited for your response.

The devil didn’t bargain, after all.

“Very well… Show me how you would worship your Queen, my King.”

dividers by the divine @benkeibear

network: @enchantedforest-network

3K notes · View notes