#to something inflicted by beast claws

[peachdues]

THE GREAT WAR

PART I ♤ SECRET PREGNANCY AU

A/N: After seven months, it's finally here. Part I of Giyuu's Bundle of Joy. This fic involved a ton of research and tears. I hope you all enjoy. Special shout-out to @squishybabei @kentohours @homo-homini-lupus-est-1701 @ghost-1-y and @xxsabitoxx for letting me bombard your DMs with endless snippets from this fic for feedback. Note that this is a multi-part fic, and it will be a non-linear story.

CW: explicit sexual content ☼ MDNI ☼ loss of virginity ☼ unprotected sex ☼ protective/possessive Giyuu ☼ canon-typical violence

LISTEN TO THE PLAYLIST HERE

January, 1915

The moon’s rays filtered through the sparse canopy of the trees from above, bathing that small portion of the forest in its silvery glow. There, about twenty paces ahead, Giyuu locked eyes on his target.

A demon; one he’d been pursuing through the dense forest separating his Manor from the base of a great mountain for the last several miles

The demon had yet to notice him, for it was focused entirely on its own prey — a human woman, who was frantically zigzagging as she ran in a desperate effort to evade its clutches. 

She was succeeding rather well in her endeavor, managing to dart out of the beast’s reach right as it snapped its sharp, deadly claws at her back. But the girl then miscalculated her movements and stumbled over something — whether it was a tree root or her own feet, he could not say — and she went airborne. For one, sickening moment, Giyuu feared he would not be fast enough to save her from falling victim to the demon he was readying to kill.

The girl squealed as she fell, just narrowly managing to avoid the swipe of the beast’s claws as they cut uselessly at the air where her back had been only seconds before. Something long and wooden flew from her hand as she sprawled across the forest floor – a broom.

Odd. 

Steps quick and even, Giyuu’s thumb flicked his sword free from its scabbard. Within seconds of him drawing his weapon, the Slayer’s blade sliced seamlessly through the demon’s neck, its head thudding pathetically to the forest floor before the beast could comprehend the threat.

He landed swiftly on the balls of his feet, the Water Pillar quickly shaking his blade free of the demon’s blackened, rotted blood before sheathing it at his hip. A quick job – that was how he liked it; free of fuss. 

Behind him, he heard the leaves coating the frozen ground of the forest shift and crack as the human girl he’d rescued rose to her feet. He grimaced; while helping rid the world of the blight inflicted upon it by demons was his life’s sole and true purpose, and one he fulfilled without hesitation, he was little more than a fish out of water when it came to talking to those he helped. 

The girl had yet to flee; Giyuu suspected she might be in shock, if not a bit simple, and he sought to prod her along. After all, the sooner she left the forest, the less likely she’d end up a demon’s meal and waste his efforts in preserving her life. 

“You should be fine now. Please return to your ho-,” The dark-haired Slayer’s words were cut off with a sputter as the head of the woman’s broom whacked him sharply up the side of his skull. 

Giyuu stood there for a moment, dazed and slightly confused as he turned towards the woman whose life he’d just preserved. 

The Water Pillar had not paid her much mind upon discovering her seconds away from becoming the slain horned demon’s newest meal, his attention having been entirely focused on eliminating his target. But now, without the distracting threat of a man-eating beast, he could see she was clad in the traditional attire worn by Shinto priestesses, though she looked far too young to have achieved such a status. Instead, she appeared to be much closer to himself in age. The front of her red hakama pants were streaked in mud and dirt from her fall, and several strands of hair had fallen loose from where they’d been gathered in a ribbon just below her shoulders. 

And she was glaring at him. 

“What are you?” She demanded, and the Water Pillar noted the faint tremor in her voice that she worked to conceal behind her defensive stance, her broom braced in front of her like a blade. 

A slow blink. “I am Tomioka.” 

It baffled him that he let his name slide so freely when he’d never been one particularly keen on sharing it. Yet, he’d thought that perhaps the exchange of names would get the wild woman before him to calm, and perhaps lower the sweeping tool —-

“What the hell is a Tomioka?” 

Giyuu wondered whether the — Miko, that was what young priestesses in training were called — had hit her head in the fall. “My name.” 

A faint dusting of red spread across the Miko’s cheeks as she realized the absurdity of her mistake, though she still did not lower her weapon. Rather, she jutted it towards him in what Giyuu thought may have been an attempt to be threatening. 

“And what was that thing just now, Tomioka? And what are you?”  Quickly, her eyes swept behind him, scanning. “Are there more?”

Idly, Giyuu wondered why he was bothering to indulge in such a silly conversation to begin with, chalking it up to the mere fact that they were still in a dark forest, with dawn still several hours away. 

The foolish girl would end up a snack for another demon if she did not turn around and go home. 

“It was a demon. I’d been tracking it for several miles when it stumbled across you. You can count yourself lucky — do not hit me again.” He cut off with a warning, eyes narrowing as the Miko drew the broom back up over her head. 

There was a tense moment as the two regarded one another, Giyuu’s eyes locked on the Miko’s trembling arm as she stared distrustfully back at him. 

The girl’s hands twitched as the broom cleaved through the air once more, but Giyuu knocked it easily away, sending the cleaning tool flying uselessly to the side where it rolled under a bush. 

“Are you finished?” Giyuu asked, irritation creeping into his tone as he stared coolly at the flustered Miko. 

“You’ve stripped me of my only weapon, so I suppose I have no choice,” the young woman sniffed, her tone as frosty as his glare. 

Giyuu grimaced. “You would not have lost the privilege had you simply done as I asked.” 

The Miko folded her arms stubbornly across her chest and glowered at him. “You would truly leave a woman defenseless in the woods? With nothing to protect herself?”

Giyuu scoffed. “You are not a woman; you are a menace.” 

The young woman’s mouth opened and closed several times as her face flushed several shades deeper. “Y-you!” 

A crack! somewhere in the woods made the sputtering Miko fall silent with a small squeak, and Giyuu was bemused to find that the woman’s hands shot to him for safety, when only moments before she’d tried to clobber him away from her. 

“You said that…that thing earlier was a demon, yes?” She whispered and Giyuu nodded, tense as his eyes swept through the shadowy line of the trees, searching. 

“Do you think there are more?”

“So long as we continue sitting here like a pair of lame ducks, more are bound to come sniffing.” The wary Pillar replied. “Which is why I suggest you return home — without bludgeoning me further.”

The young Priestess continued to cling to his arm, her eyes wide and anxious. Giyuu cleared this throat, and when the woman’s attention snapped back to him, he pointedly glanced down at her white-knuckled grip on the sleeve of his haori. 

“Apologies,” the Miko blushed, and her hands quickly relinquished their hold on his sleeve. She wrung her hands nervously before her. “Might you escort me back to my Shrine? It’s not far from here – less than two kilometers.” 

Still within his territory — albeit at the opposite end of the forest where is own Manor stood. He grimaced, but nodded stiffly. His efforts to save the woman’s life would be in vain if she walked away from him and straight into the waiting, eager claws of another beast that lurked in the shadows.

The Miko smiled brightly at him and offered her name. Giyuu elected not to reply, and the girl settled into step at his side, a small frown pulling at her lips.

“I’m sorry for earlier — for hitting you with my broom.” The girl — Y/N — said a short while later, the faintest trace of shyness in her tone. 

Giyuu did not think the apology warranted a response, and so he gave none, but the chatty little devil prodded him once more. 

“Did I injure you?” She gestured to the side of his head where her broom had caught him. 

Giyuu snorted, raising an eyebrow at her. “The day I am hurt by a mere broom is the day I retire from the Demon Slayer Corps.” 

Y/N hummed in contemplation. “And what exactly is the great and mysterious Demon Slayer Corps?” 

The Water Pillar’s eyes remained forward. “I should think the name is self-explanatory. There are demons who eat humans. We slay them.” 

Inwardly, Giyuu cringed at the harshness of his words. It did not happen often, but there were times when he wished he was better with them, when he wished he did not come off quite as aloof and callous — 

“You do not know how to talk to people very well, do you Tomioka-sama?” Y/N’s tone was not judgmental; it rather had a mild curiosity to it, as though she were merely commenting on the weather or the quality of a cup of tea. 

But the Water Pillar did not know how to answer her. Kocho once told him that others disliked him, but Giyuu wasn’t sure that was entirely true; after all, no one had ever said so much to his face. 

Then again, if the young shrine maiden’s words were anything to go by, then perhaps the Insect Pillar’s scathing assessment hadn’t been too far off the mark. 

“What even brought you into the forest so late at night?”  Giyuu did not know why the question needled at him, but he found the pressing silence of the trees more disconcerting than the Miko’s voice, and so he was desperate for the distraction. “And why a broom?”

Y/N herself seemed surprised at his sudden interest. “Night-blooming herbs,” she said plainly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “They are critical for certain rites and medications. And I cannot collect them any other time. The broom was for protection, obviously.” 

“I wasn’t aware shrines still performed rituals,” Giyuu pushed an errant tree branch out of their way, and ahead, faint lights began to swim into view. The Shrine. “Are you not a mere relic of a time long since-passed?” 

“I’ll have you know that we still perform basic cleansing rites for those in the village,” Y/N bristled. “And we provide medical aid, since there is no hospital nearby.”

She shot him a cold look. “Modern medicine would not have developed but for ancient practices such as ours.”

Giyuu frowned. He hadn’t meant to insult the woman. “Be that as it may,” he said flatly. “Demons prowl at night. You wandering into the forest none the wiser  is akin to you waltzing into their territory with a giant sign that says ‘Eat me.’”

Y/N grimaced. “Then what would you have me do? Neglect my duties?” 

He could sympathize with that. “No, I’m not saying you should forsake your obligations,” he furrowed his eyebrows at the thought. “Perhaps it is simply a risk you must take. But you should at least be aware of your surroundings.”

Y/N looked upon him with a miserable expression. “You’re of little help, you know that?” 

Giyuu only frowned, perplexed as to why she couldn’t understand the import of his words.

An awkward silence ensued, punctured only by the faint hoot of an owl. For that, the established swordsman was grateful; noise meant the absence of predators, which meant they were safe – for now. 

“You mentioned tracking the demon earlier – how long had you been doing so?” 

“A while.” 

The girl was relentless. “And you just so happened to track it here? Where it was conveniently chasing me?” 

“I patrol this region. Your rescue was nothing more than coincidence and luck on your part.” 

“My gratitude is endless,” the shrine maiden said drily. “Forgive me for not falling to the ground in prostration.”

At that, Giyuu fell silent and refused to engage in any further conversation. The shrine maiden, for her part, seemed to take his cue that he had no interest in her or exchanging meaningless pleasantries, and so she too, went quiet. 

The forest floor eventually began to slope gradually up, and before long, Giyuu found himself walking along a carved rock path that curved through the trees until it widened at a great set of stone stairs. At the very top of the steep incline, he could spot a great Torii gate.

Y/N turned to him with a beaming smile. “Allow me to introduce you to the Shrine." Tomioka opened his mouth to protest, but she quickly added, “You should at least know who it is you have dedicated your life to protecting.” 

“I’d rather not.”

But she was already leading him up the stairs, his wrist pinched delicately between two of her fingers. Realistically, Giyuu knew it would take him no effort to shake the woman’s hold and disappear into the night. But to his own bemusement, he allowed her to tote him behind her as though he were little more than a useless pet. 

The pair passed under the Torrii and into a sprawling courtyard. Though night sky was a deep, inky black, the perimeter of the courtyard was dotted with several stone lanterns -- toro -- each of which had been lit with a generous flame. Giyuu's quick perusal of the Shrine, however, was cut short as the Miko led him into the Shrine's main structure -- the honden -- and tugged him down a narrow hallway. Based on his rough appraisal of the building, Giyuu surmised she was taking him to the center of the honden, likely where the girl's master was.

His theory was proven correct when Y/N drew up to a great slat of shoji panneling. The Miko knocked softly on one of the wooden beams before she slid the door aside, revealing a great, open room that was littered with scrolls, half-dried pots of ink, and burned incense sticks. There, in the center of the room, knelt the head Priestess of the Shrine. She was an old, shriveled, wrinkled thing. The white hair that she’d gathered into a knot at her neck was as wispy as the thinnest clouds, and a quick glance over her hands revealed swollen joints covered by skin spotted with age.

But the Priestess did not appear to be a gentle elder by any means; her thin mouth was curled down into a sneer that was directed at the Miko at his side, and her eyes were hard and cold.  

"Head Priestess," Y/N bowed to her elder. "This man is called Tomioka, and he helped save me tonight in the forest."

Giyuu resisted the urge to snort. Helped, indeed.

The old woman's eyes shone bright with an emotion he could not name as the Miko continued. "A creature attacked me as I was returning home. Tomioka says he is a swordsman whose occupation --"

“I know what he is, girl,” the Priestess snapped at her student before she turned those beady eyes to him. “A member of the Demon Slayer Corps will always be welcome at this Shrine – particularly one as esteemed as yourself.” 

The Water Pillar straightened at the old woman’s casual mention of the Corps. “I was not aware that of any Shrines so affiliated with the Corps.” 

“There was a time when the Demon Slayer Corps would partner with shrines such as this to carry out its mission,” the Priestess replied evenly. From his periphery, Giyuu spotted Y/N’s head snap toward her mentor, her jaw slack. “Once, priestesses were akin to shamans who offered a variety of rituals for cleansing and protection. You slayers relied on our connection with our communities to operate more effectively, and we in turn, counted on your protection to fight what we could not.”

Despite the distinct scent of sake that clung to the elderly shrine keeper like a cloud, her eyes remained sharp and fixed upon him, and her wrinkled mouth pulled into a rueful smile. “Now, it seems, our wise and benevolent government has forced us both to retreat to the shadows to operate in secret.”

She bowed her head. “You have nothing but my respect, Lord Hashira. You are always welcome here.” 

Giyuu did not respond, but he inclined his head toward the Priestess in polite acknowledgement. 

Y/N gaped at her Master. "Lord --?"

The old woman poured another generous serving of sake and brought the choko to her lips. “Though we are honored by your visit, young Lord, I’m afraid your presence is nothing more than a calculated effort by this one,” she nodded pointedly at the young shrine maiden at his side, whose cheeks pinkened. “To keep herself out of trouble. My apprentice was not permitted to leave the grounds, you see.” 

“Oh hush you old drunk,” Giyuu’s eyes snapped to the irate Miko in surprise. “I told you earlier I was going to the village market –” 

“Telling me while I am in the middle of lessons with the younger girls and sprinting off before I can respond is hardly me giving you permission,” the Priestess’s mouth curled into a sneer. “You’ve defied me for the last time, girl.” 

The old Priestess turned away from her apprentice, dismissive. “You will take the rice bundles and hang them in the drying shed – every last one, for the next three days.” 

“You hag!” Y/N fumed, her face pinched in outrage. “I was on rice duty all last week without an ounce of assistance –” 

“And you apparently have yet to learn your lesson,” the old woman retorted bitterly, shooting the seething Shrine Maiden a withering glare. “Considering you still think it seemly to mouth off at any and every opportunity –” 

The Miko spat a curse at the elder Priestess so filthy and colorful that even Giyuu could not mask his surprise, raising his eyebrow. But if Y/N’s outburst shocked the Shrine’s head, the old woman gave no sign. Instead, she only glowered at the young woman as the latter turned and shoved the shoji door harshly to the side. Giyuu, ever the unwilling observer, was left to be pulled by his wrist back into the hall behind the young Miko before she whipped around to face her senior once more. 

Giyuu had thought himself stunned by the crassness of the Shrine Miaden’s language before, but nothing prepared him for the sight of the obscene gesture she made at the old woman before she slammed the door firmly shut. 

A telling crash on the other side of the wall signaled the Elder Priestess had hurled her empty sake dish at the door with all her might. “And work on your aim!” Y/N snapped before turning sharply on her heel to stomp out of the honden, tugging the Water Pillar helplessly behind her. 

“She seems unstable.” said Giyuu once they were a safe distance away from the main Honden. 

Y/N brushed aside his concern with a flippant waive of her hand. “Granny is harmless. As her charge, I suppose I instigate her nearly as much as she torments me.” 

Granny. It made sense, then, the curious affection the girl held for the rancorous head Priestess, even if he could not bring himself to fully understand it. 

“You are more than welcome to stay the night,” the Miko’s mood lightened considerably the more she put distance between herself and the drunken head Priestess. “We serve breakfast at sunrise, but of course, you’re not obligated to attend.” 

The ravenette’s mouth quirked down in a faint grimace, the only sign of his discomfort. “I should return to my own home.” 

“It’s quite late,” Y/N glanced up at the night sky, now awash with stars that surrounded the fat, glowing moon like thousands of glittering jewels. She turned back to him with a radiant grin. “At least allow me to show you around.”

—

If anyone had asked him, Giyuu Tomioka would not have been able to explain the series of events that had led him here. 

He distinctly remembered telling the vexatious young Shrine Maiden no, that he could not stay the night, yet somehow he’d found himself in the Shrine’s old, musty guest house, already prepared for his stay, a lantern flickering merrily in the corner. 

He glanced warily at the fresh sleeping kimono folded beside his futon. The possibility of him actually sleeping in such an unfamiliar place was nil and while the Water Pillar certainly had no issue in appearing impolite to others, he thought that perhaps the Shrine was affiliated with the connection of Wisteria Houses dotted throughout the land, and he didn’t want to risk offending the head Priestess and cause her to shut her gates to other slayers in need of lodging. 

So, Giyuu paced the floor of the small guest house, restless. Though his eyes remained carefully trained on the window of his room, waiting for the slightest hint of movement that would give him an excuse to leave without offending his hosts, no sign of either his crow or any demonic threat  manifested. Though, he supposed with a frown, it shouldn’t surprise him that he’d not heard from Kanzaburo; the ancient bird was likely flitting about the forest, lost.

He continued to pace until finally, the sky in the East began to lighten signaling that dawn was fast approaching. Stealthily, he slipped out of the small hut that had served as his temporary accommodations and made his way toward the Torii under which he and that Miko — Y/N — had passed upon their arrival.

He’d almost cleared the gate when he saw the elder Priestess standing beside the Torii, apparently waiting for him. Giyuu nodded his head at her, the only expression of courtesy he was willing to give, but he was halted as the old woman flung out a single arm in front of him, her hand flat and palm turned up, waiting.

And that was how Giyuu learned the Shrine was not, in fact, a Wisteria House; not as he was forced to fork over a considerable sum of his earnings into the Priestess’s expectant hand. 

Wisteria Houses meant Corps Members stayed free of charge; the price the Shrine’s keeper demanded in exchange for his brief stay bordered extortion.

At least he’d had the money; if he’d been of any lower rank, the old woman would have cleaned him out.  

He scowled as he departed but his irritation quickly fell away as he finally laid eyes on Kanzaburo, who nearly collided with his Master’s head as he struggled to pant out his orders. 

And so, as the Water Pillar trekked through the forest and toward his new assignment, the view of the Shrine faded behind the dense canopy of the mountain forest, and so too, did any final, sparing thoughts of it, or its inhabitants.

———-

Nearly a month passed since Giyuu stumbled across the strange shrine maiden in the forest separating his Estate from the old Shrine, and the Miko had nearly faded from his memory. Not that such a feat was difficult; the raven-haired Pillar’s mind was far more occupied with tasks like patrol and chasing down leads that could potentially lead the Corps to an Upper Rank demon to focus on much else. 

He’d intended only to find a decent meal and then depart the village before nightfall to investigate rumors of women disappearing in a small town to the south. Night was rapidly approaching, however, and he’d yet to find any vendor that sold anything he liked, much to his chagrin. He was about to cut his losses and continue on, when he spied a familiar blur of white and red idly perusing one of the stalls, apparently oblivious to the impending sunset. 

Without thought, his feet carried him toward her, his annoyance sparking to life. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

The Miko’s – Y/N’s – head turned back and her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the Pillar standing behind her. 

“Tomioka-sama,” she greeted with a polite bow. “I did not expect to see you so soon.” 

He ignored her greeting, choosing instead to take a step closer. “I asked what you were doing.” 

If she was taken aback by his terseness, she didn’t show it. “I am returning to my shrine after an afternoon of errands,” she replied smoothly. “As is usual for me.” 

“It is nearly dark.” 

“An astute observation,” and to his annoyance, he saw an amused twinkle in her eye. “Do you also know that tonight is also a full moon?” 

Said moon had already made an appearance above them, growing brighter and brighter as the sky faded from twilight to night. 

Giyuu had never been one for rolling his eyes, but the young woman’s knowing smirk grated at something inside him, made him feel as he often did whenever Kocho would make a sly comment with that smile of hers, that for some reason made him feel like he was the butt of some joke only she knew. 

He grimaced. Teasing; that’s what the shrine maiden was doing. She was teasing him. 

“It is nearly dark,” he repeated. “And I did not think you’d be naive enough to risk traveling after sunset.” 

“I believe it was you who insisted I did not have to ignore my duties, so long as I paid attention to my surroundings.” She replied coolly. “So that is exactly what I am doing.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Fine. If the stubborn girl wanted to be bait for whatever awaited her in the forest once the sun finally set, then that was her choice. He’d saved her once, and he’d given her sufficient warning; what she did from then on did not concern him. 

He was about to bade her farewell when a slurred, boisterous voice boomed her name from across the market. Several heads turned toward the source, including Giyuu's, until he found a round faced, piggish man stumbling away from a sake stand, his cheeks flushed a bright red.

The man repeated the Miko's name in that grating, sing-song voice of his. "Whe're you goin' all by yourself so late?"

He didn't know what possessed him to ask, but Tomioka turned to the shrine maiden. "A friend?"

“His name is Susumo,” she said airily, though she could not conceal her scowl as the man drew closer. “He’s merely the village drunk who forgets to keep his hands to himself.”

The shrine maiden’s eyes narrowed accusingly at the villager, and the Miko remarked, in a raised voice, “And he is not welcome at the Shrine, though he pretends to forget otherwise.”

Susumo only held his hands up, as though in surrender. “You can’t blame a man for wanting to know what lies under all those layers,” and as if the implication of his lechery wasn’t clear enough, he gave the Miko a leering once-over. “Can’t say I was disappointed.” 

“But your friend is right,” he slurred, a smirk forming on his lips. “The dark is too dangerous for a pretty thing like you to risk walking back alone —“

“I shall escort her,” Tomioka said abruptly and she whipped back to him, her mouth falling open. “After all, I’m welcome at the Shrine.” 

Susumo, too, gaped at the Swordsman. The Miko recovered quickly however, unwilling to allow the opportunity to pass or for the Slayer to suddenly come to his senses and realize he’d rather leave her to fend for herself in the forest. 

“You have my gratitude, Tomioka-sama,” and she gave him a small bow of her head. Relieved, she flipped her braid over her shoulder and smiled warmly up at her raven-haired companion. “Shall we?”

She did not wait for Tomioka to answer, nor did she give any further acknowledgment to Susumo, who only continued to stare at the Hashira, his face bright red. With a feigned indifference, she breezed past him, but a sudden yelp from behind caused her to snap back in alarm. 

The first thing she noticed was the proximity of the back of a dual-patterned haori as it stood between her and the village drunkard. The Water Pillar’s shroud nearly brushed the tip of her nose, forcing her to step back. Cautiously, she peered around Tomioka’s rigid form, and her eyes widened at the sight before her. 

Susumo, it appeared, had tried to grab her, only to be cut off by the Water Pillar himself, who snatched him by his wrist. Though it did not appear that Tomioka was using a great deal of effort to restrain him, it was clear Susumo was struggling — greatly so — against the ferocity of the Slayer’s hold, given how a vein bulged in his forehead, his face,  rapidly turning purple. 

Her gaze flicked to the Swordsman’s hand, and she felt herself blanch at the odd angle of Susumo’s wrist. 

She was no doctor, but she knew wrists weren’t meant to twist as his did in Tomioka’s crushing grip. 

“Leave.” the Water Pillar ordered coldly, and there was a darkness in his eyes that matched the brutality of his hold. “Your presence is unnecessary and unwanted.”

“Y-you! Susumo sputtered.

But Tomioka’s grip only tightened. “Now.”

And then he released him, Susumo half-stumbling back from the Swordsman. His eyes were wide with both fear and loathing, and he muttered incoherently under his breath as he massaged his rapidly-swelling wrist.

The Water Pillar, however, did not pay any more attention to the red-faced villager. He turned only to the shrine maiden, who remained frozen in place, her eyes wide. "Shall we?"

Numbly, Y/N nodded and the two set off down the path that led back to the Shrine. Dimly, the Miko noted that the Slayer kept noticeably close to her as they walked, as though he was unwilling to let her wander too far away. The air between them as they traveled was thick and tense. She was on edge enough thanks to Susumo and his oily words, and she was desperate to do anything to distract herself from the buzzing mounting under her skin. 

She cast a sly, sidelong glance at the Swordsman walking at her side. He’d not been receptive to her small-talk the last time he’d escorted her back to her Shrine, but saying something — anything — would be better than this stifling quiet threatening to choke her.

“How old are you?” Before the Swordsman could decide whether to answer, she continued on. “If I had to guess, I would suspect you’re around my age, and I just passed my nineteenth birthday.”

She hummed aloud. “You seem quite young, yet you’ve achieved some level of status as a swordsman, according to Granny.” Her eyes fell to the blade secured at his hip before she lifted them back to his profile. “Yet you’re as withdrawn and taciturn as an old man.” 

Her words, thankfully, seemed to irritate him into responding. “Are you always so forthright?”  

The Miko grinned. “Perhaps I am like you, Lord – what was it? Hashiba?”

“Hashira.” 

“Yes, that. Perhaps I am like you, Lord Hashira – utterly lacking in social ability.” There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she brushed her shoulder against his bicep. “But at least I make up for it by talking.” 

“Talking is a distraction,” Tomioka monotoned, his eyes fixed resolutely on the hidden path of the forest before them. “It only serves as an interference to one’s duties.” He looked pointedly at the Miko’s profile, but inexplicably found himself unable to look away. “Or an excuse to ignore them.” 

But she was unflappable. “And yet you are the one who decided to escort me all the way back to my Shrine – so who is the one ignoring their duties, Tomioka-sama?” 

“I think you enjoy diverting my attention,” the Water Pillar retorted, though Y/N could see the rising annoyance in his eyes. 

She felt his gaze bear into her as she flipped her loose hair behind her shoulder. “It’s not possible to distract someone unless they find the diversion in question captivating, Tomioka-sama.” 

The Water Pillar almost looked amused. “And you are certainly that, Y/N.” 

The Miko ducked her head to avoid that piercing gaze, so that the ravenette would not see the faint rosy blush creeping across her cheeks. “I did not think you had the constitution for teasing, Lord Hashira.” 

Tomioka looked at her fully then, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I do not jest.” He hesitated for a moment, eyebrows furrowed as he scrutinized her. “Nor do I lie.” 

Y/N’s lips parted. There was something about the way the Swordsman beheld her that made her stomach flutter. In her last encounter with the enigmatic Slayer, she’d been so rattled by her close encounter with the demon, that she hadn’t truly noticed much about the man who’d saved her life, apart from his bland detachment and rather unfortunate social skills. 

But now, the Miko was struck by how handsome the raven-haired Hashira was; she was mesmerized by the deep azure of his eyes, as vast and deep as the sea. His skin was a delicate alabaster, and, contrasted with the flesh of his hands which were calloused and scarred, his face had not a blemish in sight.

She blinked, clearing away some of the fog that had crept into her mind, put there by the vexatious Slayer. “I must return to my duties,” she said softly.

They spent the remainder of their journey back to the Shrine in silence. She was quick to break away from him the moment they passed under the Torii, though not before she muttered that he was welcome to stay, should he so choose.

She busied herself with her duties, but even the neediest obligations could not fully distract her from feeling the burning heat of his stare as the Water Pillar’s watched her fiercely from across the courtyard. And nothing, nothing at all could have prepared her for how he eventually  joined her in carrying out her duties, 

The Water Pillar stayed the night once more, departing sharply at daybreak. Later, as Y/N swept the courtyard free of loose brush and clutter long after his departure, she noticed a crow sitting high in a tree, its black eyes watching her every movement. Though its gaze was sharp, the presence of the great, sleek bird did not disturb her, though not as much of a feather twitched from its perch upon the branch as the Miko continued through her day. 

As she’d readied for bed later that night, she realized she’d felt oddly comforted by the crow. She imagined it a silent protector, a new guardian of the Shrine, no different than the statues of the gods which dotted its grounds. 

She settled into her futon with a great yawn, the image of a certain dark-haired Swordsman flickering in the back of her conscience until she was swept into sleep’s sweet embrace.

Just outside the Shrine’s sleeping quarters, the bird remained, eyes carefully tracking every shift in the shadows, waiting. 

And then the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, and the threat of night receded once more.

But the crow remained. 

———

Spring, 1915

The crow became a permanent fixture at the Shrine, though it always seemed to keep strictly to a single tree at the edge of the property, one that gave it a full view of the courtyard and structures surrounding the main honden.

Despite the bird's constant presence, more than a month passed before the Water Pillar returned, though he'd seemed even more sullen and withdrawn than he'd been during their previous two encounters. Y/N did not consider herself a friend to Tomioka by any means, but she was the only one brave enough to approach him as he'd lingered by the Torii, apparently unsure whether he should seek out their hospitality or return to the forest.

"You are welcome to come and sit for a hot meal," she called cordially, though she maintained a tentative distance. She frowned when he did not respond. Instead, the Water Pillar continued to stare unseeingly at the cracked stone path leading to the Shrine's courtyard.

"Tomioka-sama?" She pressed gently and the Swordsman's attention finally snapped to her, as though he'd just become aware of her presence.

The haunted look in his eyes sent a chill up her spine. The Miko cast one, cautious glance up at the sky, and her eyes narrowed at the wall of black clouds steadily rolling in from the east. A shift in the wind brought forth the distinct, metallic scent of rain, and if she listened hard enough, she swore she could hear the distant rumbles of thunder. “You know, there will be a storm tonight — please consider waiting it out here, where it’s safe.”

Tomioka only stared at her for a moment before he nodded. His hand twitched into a vague gesture inviting her to lead the way, and Y/N escorted him to the Shrine's elder, in search of her permission.

Granny Priestess agreed to let him stay, but on the condition he paid for his imposition. The Water Pillar had silently agreed, producing one small money bag from his pocket and placing it squarely in the Priestess’s outstretched, waiting hand. 

The heft of the bag had made Y/N frown; it seemed a great sum in comparison to their meager lodging offerings, but the Swordsman did not object, so she held her tongue. To comment would only serve to irritate her Master, and the old hag was scornful enough to assign her to duties that would isolate her from the raven-haired Slayer.

Only after the old Priestess sauntered off, leaving behind nothing but the lingering, bitter stench of sake, did the Miko speak again. 

“I’m glad to see you in good health, Tomioka-sama,” she bowed, though she thought she spied the corner of his mouth twitch down at her formal greeting. “I trust your patrol went smoothly?” 

The Water Pillar’s expression was tight; dark. “It did not. The demon I was tracking managed to get away.” His jaw clenched tight. “But not before it slaughtered an entire family in the mountains.” 

All at once, the world around her seemed to slow. It had been easy to assume the dark-haired Swordsman before her always managed to find his target just in time, before it could slaughter its victim. Now, as she beheld the lethal coldness that had settled over his features, Y/N knew her assumptions had been wrong. 

Perhaps, she noted with a shudder, her rescue had been the exception and not the rule. 

Beneath the icy stoicism limning the Water Pillar’s eyes, the shrine maiden noted a distinct heaviness that weighed down his shoulders; made them curl slightly forward, defeated.

She resisted the urge to reach out to him, in comfort. “I won’t offer you empty platitudes,” she murmured. “But I can invite you to offer your prayers for those who were lost.” 

He looked at her, brows drawn, and she knew his instinct was to decline, so she added, “I will do it regardless of whether you join me.”

All at once, any protest he had was snuffed out within him. Instead, he was left with a curious softness as he regarded the shrine maiden, so assured and earnest in her invitation. 

He didn’t know why he’d sought out the Shrine.

He’s been angry; angry at himself for not being faster, for allowing innocent people to die on his account of his failure.

He still felt angry. Yet, as he followed Y/N into the Shrine’s haiden to light incense, he also felt a solemn gratitude for the Miko, who’d not let him indulge in his self-loathing but instead requested he act, and act with her. 

So he had; and somehow, the weight on his chest, the one that threatened to suffocate him, lightened bit by bit until Giyuu felt like he could breathe once more. 

Later that night, Giyuu spotted the shrine maiden from his window as she darted around the courtyard to light the tōrō to illuminate the Shrine grounds. A deep rumble of thunder, however, signaled the spring storm had finally arrived. Y/N, however, only continued with her task, huddling over herself to strike the matches needed to finish lighting the lanterns as rain began to dampen the landscape around her.

He was about to go outside and demand she return to the warm, dry haven that was the girls’ sleeping quarters lest she catch a cold, but then the last of the lanterns were lit and the shrine maiden straightened.

And then she tilted her face up toward the sky, allowing the rain to wash over her. 

And she grinned. And Giyuu was mesmerized; so much so, that he had not stopped staring at where she’d stood, laughing in the rain, even long after the Miko retired to bed.

-

Y/N awoke well before sunrise the following morning and spent hours laboring over the hot stoves in the kitchen. By the time the sky finally lightened, she'd only just finished her task and was in the process of boxing up her creation when she spotted one of her fellow shrine maidens passing by the entryway.

The Miko called out her name. "Has Lord Tomioka awoken yet?"

Her sister trainee lingered in the doorway. "Oh yes, he's been up for a while," and the girl looked back over her shoulder. “But he is already on his way out —“

The Miko swore viciously under her breath as she slammed a lid atop the small bento and hastily wrapped it in the small cloth she’d swiped from the laundry. 

“Move,” she barked at a small group of trainees that had gathered in the hallway outside the kitchen. The girls flattened themselves against the wall as Y/N sped by. She hurtled up the stairs, nearly tripping in her haste. Just as she burst into the courtyard from the honden, panting and winded, she spotted him.

“Tomioka-sama!” Y/N called, hurrying after the retreating form of the Water Pillar before he could pass through the shrine gates. “I have something for you!” 

The raven-haired slayer turned back to her, his face neutral, though Y/N could tell, by the slightest raise of his brow, that she’d piqued his interest. 

“Thank goodness you hadn’t left yet,” the Miko said brightly, holding out a small bundle wrapped in furoshiki cloth. “I was worried this wouldn’t be ready before you did.”

Tomioka’s eyes dropped to the parcel in her hands. “What is it?” 

Y/N motioned for him to take it, and to her slight surprise he did, holding it slightly in front of him as though it were liable to burst open. “A meal for the road. Granny and I prepared it this morning — as thanks, for everything you’ve done.” 

But the Water Pillar was already shaking his head, trying to press the package back into the shrine maiden’s hands. “I need no thanks; I do my job, and your shrine happens to be part of it.” 

If his words disappointed her, Y/N did not show it. “And yet we are grateful all the same,” she said firmly, arms crossing in front of her chest to avoid taking the small bento back. “Besides, it’s salmon; it will only go bad if you don’t eat it.” 

Had she not been watching him, Y/N would have missed the slight widening of his eyes, or the way his hand twitched back towards himself, bringing the packed lunch closer to him. 

Cerulean eyes watched her for a long moment, before dropping as Tomioka tucked the bento into his pocket. 

“Thank you,” was all he said before he turned away and continued through the gates of the shrine, setting off on the path which would lead him through the forest. 

If she hadn’t known better, she would’ve sworn the Water Pillar looked happy as he departed. 

———

The Slayer returned exactly one week after she’d given him the home-cooked salmon – but he did not return empty-handed. For there, wrapped in the same furoshiki cloth, was a strange, oblong object, sitting in the palm of his hand though if he thought it heavy, Tomioka gave no indication. 

“What’s this?” Y/N leaned curiously over the Pillar’s outstretched hand and squinted, trying to discern what the cloth could have been concealing. 

Tomioka pushed his hand toward her, beseeching her to take the parcel from him. “A knife.” 

The Shrine Maiden looked up at him in alarm, pulling away from the Water Pillar. “Why on earth would I need a knife?” 

He rolled his eyes. “Protection.” 

“From what?” The Miko wrinkled her nose down at his offering, though there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “As I recall, I walloped you just fine with my broom.”

Tomioka shot her a dull look. “Be that as it may, cleaning tools are useless against demons. Without the sun, the only thing that works against them is decapitation with this — its metal is unique.” 

He parted the folds of the cloth to reveal a simple blade, though Y/N found it daunting all the same. The hilt was basic, an unembellished metal handle wrapped in plain black leather. The blade itself was an unassuming silver, slightly longer than her hand. 

The Slayer motioned for her to take it, though she only shrunk away. “You know how to use one, yes?” 

The Miko’s eyes met his, wide and anxious. “For domestic uses, of course, but not –” 

Tomioka’s fingers closed around her wrist and lifted, guiding her hand toward the dagger. His hand moved to cover hers, wrapping them both around the hilt of the blade before squeezing. “Grip it like this,” he held their joined hands up for her to inspect. “Keep your hand in a fist; do not lift your fingers away from the grip – that’s the best way to injure yourself instead of your target.” 

But the shrine maiden could hardly focus on the Pillar’s instructions. Her attention was directed entirely at the way her hand was swallowed by his, his skin warm and his grasp firm. She studied how his calluses – thick and forged from years of brutal sword training – pressed against hers; how, despite the roughness of his fingers and palms, and his solid hold still remained gentle. 

“-- and thrust like this,” he remained oblivious to her distraction as moved her arm in a sharp jab, a second and then a third time, before dropping her hand.  “Now do it yourself.” 

His command startled her out of her trance, a heat creeping up her neck from beneath the collar of her kosode. She held out the blade awkwardly before her as scrambled to recall the Water Pillar’s words. To her dismay, all she was able to conjure was the memory of his touch, and how cold she suddenly felt without it. 

Lamely, she mimed jutting the knife at an invisible enemy, the blade gracelessly wobbling through the air. Though she was by no means a swordsman, even she knew something was off, her movements disjointed and clumsy.

She glanced shyly back to the raven-haired Demon Slayer and deflated as she was met only with bemused resignation.

Tomioka shook his head in disdain. “Perhaps you would fare better with a broom.” 

The Miko bristled. “I am not a swordsman —“

“You’ve made that abundantly apparent.” 

“— and I do not have the basics you seem to take for granted.” She finished, glaring indignantly at her raven-haired companion. “So teach me.”

The Water Pillar considered her for a moment before he gave her the slightest, almost imperceptible nod of his head. 

“Watch me.” He turned his body toward the Miko and mimed getting into a defensive stance — feet ajar, his weight evenly distributed on each leg, and bent. 

He looked back to the Shrine Maiden expectantly, and she parroted his movements, crouching into what she imagined was the perfect mirror of his position.

It wasn’t.

“No — you need to—“ Tomioka straightened and huffed, impatient. He moved quickly behind her, and without thinking, his hands shot to grip her hips to guide them into the proper stance, until her weight was evenly distributed on both feet. 

“Like that — now bend your knees.” The ravenette pushed down on her hips until her legs bent, apparently oblivious to the way the Miko flushed crimson.

He was close; far, far too close. She’d never been touched the way the Water Pillar touched her. Tomioka’s hands were twin brands, burning her skin even through the layers of her shrine attire, and it sent every nerve beneath her skin buzzing.

She was aware of every inch of him pressed against her; of his arms, caging her in, his hands twin brands against her hips as he turned and pulled her into the proper stance. She was aware of how warm he was, of how formidable his presence felt, even though to her, he posed no threat. Every movement of his was precise and fluid, like the water he’d claimed to style his techniques after.

And if his touch wasn’t distracting enough, his scent threatened to overwhelm every last bit of sense she’d clung onto. Y/N didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed how good he smelled — like mahogany and citrus — so rich and so warm; a stark contrast to his otherwise cold and aloof nature mask.

The swordsman, however, appeared to remain oblivious. “There,” he finally said, having satisfied that she’d achieved proper form. For moment, the two of them lingered there, with Tomioka’s chest against the shrine maiden’s back, his hands remaining steady in place on her hips. It was as though they’d frozen: Y/N, out of a mixture of shock and red-cheeked embarrassment, and Tomioka out of utter cluelessness.

Another beat passed before the Water Pillar finally realized the compromising nature of their position. His hands dropped quickly from her hips, and there was a rush of air at Y/N’s back as he swiftly stepped away, putting distance between them once more. 

The raven-haired Slayer gruffly cleared his throat. “You should also keep wisteria on you.” And Y/N gulped down her embarrassment to turn back toward him. 

Tomioka kept his face neutral and cool, but the tips of his ears had turned pink. “Check your perfumes for it or ask one of the other shrine girls if you can borrow theirs – oil would be better. More concentrated”

Any residual awkwardness that may have lingered fell quickly away. The Miko only stared blankly at him, her head tilted slightly to the side as her eyebrows pinched together. “Perfume?”

Tomioka blinked. “Yes. As all women have.” 

It was an effort to fight off the smile twitching at the corners of her lips. “Exactly how many women do you know, Tomioka-sama? Such that you would know their perfumery habits, that is.” 

His mouth thinned into a firm line. “Enough.” 

And though Y/N supposed he’d meant to sound self-assured and confident, the Slayer was betrayed by the slight doubt in his voice, as though he’d been questioning his own answer. 

The shrine maiden only continued to look at him, her eyebrow slightly raised, amused. The longer the silence stretched between them,the more awkward the ravenette grew, his discomfort plain from the way he shifted under her stare. 

“You seem like someone who would use it.” He finally offered, after another moment of quiet.

It was her turn to blink, taken aback. Her smirk quickly slid from her face and with a grimace, she felt her right eye twitch, ever so slightly. “Apologies, then, for disappointing you.” 

Tomioka frowned and he made like he was going to respond, but the Miko squared her shoulders and stalked briskly past him. 

“I must return to my duties, and I’m sure you need to do the same,” she paused in the doorway of the garden hut and cast one, sidelong glance back to where he stood, clueless. “Until next time, Tomioka-sama. Thank you for the blade.”

With that, the Miko paced briskly away from the garden hut, her spine stiff. The Water Pillar remained in place for a moment, stupefied, before he collected himself once more, before setting off back toward the forest; to his Manor.

And as Giyuu retreated through the rusting Torii gate, he could not quite shake the distinct impression he’d done something wrong, though he knew not what. 

–

The Water Pillar returned the following week, though to a decidedly cooler greeting than that which he’d steadily grown accustomed to receiving. 

That wasn’t entirely true — the majority of the Shrine’s residents had welcomed him warmly, their kindness always far more than he thought he deserved. Only one hadn’t greeted him as enthusiastically as the others, and to his annoyance, that one was the only person whose opinion of him mattered, even if he couldn’t quite articulate why.

She hardly stopped to acknowledge his arrival, only gracing him with a brisk nod, though she’d refused to meet his eyes. Bemused, Giyuu followed her across the courtyard as she made her way to the Shrine’s small storeroom. He leaned against the doorway and watched as the Miko began pulling jars of dried herbs from the rickety shelves lining the walls and stacked them on a sizeable work counter that cut halfway across the room. All the while, she continued pointedly ignoring him, humming lightly under her breath as though she could not see or hear him as he shifted against the doorframe, waiting.

Her obstinate silence grated at him. “May I assist you?”

“No, no, I am perfectly fine, thank you.” She turned away to browse the shelves once more, before finding what she needed: a stone mortar and pestle.

The grinder settled against the wooden counter with a heavy thud and the shrine maiden snatched up one of the jars she’d stacked and dumped its contents into the bowl, followed by another bottle of herbs. Pestle in hand, she set to work grinding the leaves together, mixing in a vial of fragrant oil she’d kept in her pocket to create a thick paste.

Giyuu watched her quietly as she worked. “You’re…” he frowned. “You’re behaving strangely.”

Y/N glanced up at him. “In what way?” 

“You’re trying to avoid me.” 

“Am I?” She straightened, rolling her shoulders. “Only because I’ve not yet bathed today. I didn’t want to risk offending you with my stench.” 

Giyuu paused. “Why would that matter?” 

“You made sure to point out you thought I needed perfume during your last visit.” 

He pushed off the doorframe, eyebrows knit together. “For protection.” 

The shrine maiden rolled her eyes. “Yes, and apparently, because you believe I am the type to need it.” When Giyuu only continued to stare at her with that same, mildly lost expression, Y/N groaned, exasperated. “You implied I stink.” 

The Water Pillar’s jaw slackened as he gaped at her. “That is not –” 

“It is what you implied,” she repeated, turning away from him to focus on her task of grinding herbs, though the force with which she ground the pestle was perhaps greater than necessary.

Giyuu rounded the small countertop of the Shrine’s storeroom to face her head-on. “I like how you smell.” He insisted. “It’s nice.” 

The Miko’s irritated churning of the stone paused and her eyes finally lifted to his. For a long moment, she watched him, head slightly cocked. 

“You are very odd, Tomioka-sama.” 

But she said it with a small smile that he almost wanted to return. 

Before long, things between them returned to normal once more, with the Miko directing him to collect her gathering basket from where she’d left it in the Shrine’s infirmary and bring it to her. Once he returned, he helped her grind charcoal to make incense sticks as she chatted happily away. 

Surprisingly, Giyuu found himself not only engaged in her musings about daily life at the Shrine, but offering her small personal anecdotes of his own, though he was not nearly as proficient as she when it came to story-telling.  

Once the sun began setting once more, and he received no new orders from Headquarters, he simply sought out the Shrine’s head Priestess and silently passed her a small money bag. 

And then Giyuu retired to the guest’s quarters for the night. 

—--

As spring warmed into summer, the Water Pillar began making bi-weekly visits to the Shrine that quickly melted into habit; expectation. Once a fortnight, a thrill would settle over the young maidens in anticipation of the arrival of the stoic yet handsome Slayer, with girls of all ages eagerly looking toward the Shrine gates in hopes of spying him the moment he crossed beneath the Torii. The elder employees of the Shrine had learned to time Tomioka’s arrival by listening for their excited gasps, exhaled as a collective as brooms and rices sacks were dropped where their handlers stood, the girls far too interested in rushing to greet the exalted Slayer than they were in completing their tasks. 

“I do not see the reason for such excitement,” she sniffed, though even she wasn’t stupid enough to think her fellow trainees bought her bluff. “He is only a swordsman.” 

“A handsome one,” a wispy trainee named Miyoko sighed dreamily. “And no doubt strong and capable.”

The group of maidens dissolved into another fit of giggles, concealing their blushes behind their hands.

“His face is attractive, but his hair is odd,” another commented. “It looks like he’s hacked at it with his own blade.” 

“Oh, who cares about his hair? I’m far more interested in what’s beneath that uniform —“

“Enough,” Y/N snapped. While her friendship with the Water Pillar was tenuous  at best, the suggestive way her sisters-in-training spoke of him left her feeling decidedly discomforted.

Though, if she were honest with herself, she’d admit that she, too, wondered whether Tomioka’s strength was the product of a finely-hewn tuned physique. But she wasn’t, so she bottled that thought up and tucked it tightly away, where it belonged. 

Slowly, her cohorts all turned to look at her.

“You seem to spend a great deal of time with him, Sister,” Miyoko directed at Y/N, who felt her cheeks heat. “Is there anything you’d like to share?”

“Tomioka-sama always asks where Sister Y/N is, the moment he arrives!” A tiny voice chimed, and Y/N’s eyes slid shut in an effort to fight off a wince.  “Sometimes they even do chores by themselves!”

Komatsu. At only ten, she was the Shrine’s youngest trainee, and followed Y/N around like a shadow. Not that the shrine maiden minded all that much; she tended to spoil the girl a bit, when she could. But as pure as the girl’s intentions surely were, she’d yet to lose that childlike earnestness that made her prone to revealing information that Y/N rather remained a secret. 

“Alone with a man?” Miyoko repeated, her eyes shining with malicious glee. “How scandalous — even for someone without a family to embarass, dear Y/N.”

“Careful, Miyoko,” she warned softly. “Don’t go speaking on matters of which you know nothing.” 

“Or what? What would you do?” 

As fond as Y/N was of her sisters-in-training, one did not make it through the Shrine’s rigorous education and training without learning how to trade in the kind of currency young women valued most.

Information; specifically, gossip. 

So the shrine maiden only leveled Miyoko’s own smug smirk with one of her own. “Or I shall tell Granny how you spend your afternoons kissing the boys from the village, rather than tending to your lessons.” 

The other girls gasped, their stares turning back to the gossiping shrine maiden. She savored how quickly the girl’s prideful grin slipped from her face as the weight of the threat settled. 

While Y/N, parentless and thus without anyone to truly care about her propriety, was being primed to take over Granny Priestess’s position overseeing the shrine, her position was unique. She was parentless and thus, without anyone to truly care about her propriety or whatever other ridiculous expectations of modesty that were often attached to other young women her age. In being no one, Y/N was relatively free to do as she pleased, and that freedom almost made up for her lack of belonging.

But the other girls residing at the Shrine were different. Families across the region sent their daughters to the Shrine for training, not only in their cultural practices and arts, but also for education; to become well-rounded women who would then serve to be valuable marriage prospects once they returned home. 

Scandal would not affect her; but it would affect someone like Miyoko.

“How do you think your parents would feel, to know their heir was behaving so brazenly in public? Risking her reputation on the marriage market before she’s even entered it?”

Truthfully, she liked Miyoko; had gotten along well with her, in fact. But she would not risk those sacred few moments she spent with the Water Pillar in an effort to keep the peace with another trainee. Not when those few instances she spent in his company were the only times she’d felt connection — true, human connection and belonging. 

Her sister-in-training ruefully fell silent, and Y/N savored her victory. Later, when she was left with nothing but the company of her own thoughts, however, the exchange played back in her mind.

In all her posturing, she’d managed to avoid having to answer for Miyoko’s lofty observation. 

You seem to spend a great deal of time with him, Sister. 

She did; and, to her slight horror, she realized that she had no interest in stopping. 

She only wanted more.

–

It was past dawn when Giyuu trudged under the great Torii gate of the Shrine, exhausted and aching. 

It had been a long while since a demon was last capable of wounding him, but he’d been blown backward by a delayed attack that hit after he’d beheaded the damn thing. As a result, he’d been sent flying back, slamming through a dilapidated wall of the abandoned hut he’d tracked the creature to, resulting in a sizeable gash to his shoulder. 

He grit his teeth in mild annoyance. He would need some treatment of his wounds — not that they were deep by any means, but they were substantial enough that he knew infection could spell trouble for him, should it spread. 

Some small, irate voice in his head snidely reminded him he could have just as easily gone to the Butterfly Mansion for treatment — that, in fact, the Insect Pillar’s estate had been much closer to the location of his mission than the Shrine had been. He’d rationed that, as much as he admired and respected Kocho, he was still a bit raw from her mocking about how unliked he truly was among his comrades. 

Besides, he groused. Kocho was not the one he really wanted to see, anyway. 

He found Y/N in the Shrine’s storeroom, seated upon the floor with a detailed ledger spread out before her as she took inventory of various scrolls and texts.

Giyuu did not bother to announce himself. “You have medical training, do you not?”  

The Miko startled, the charcoal stick she’d been using to tally the ledger clattering to the floor. She blinked up at him in surprise. “Tomioka-sama — welcome, it’s been a few weeks — forgive me, I did not see you come in.” She quickly rose to her feet, shutting the store ledger and tucking it under her arm. 

Her eyes found the blood-stained shoulder of his hair and widened. “I have some; I can stitch and dress wounds —“

He nodded. “Then I require your assistance.” 

—-

Y/N led him to a small office inside the honden that served as the Shrine’s unofficial infirmary.  “Take a seat,” she nodded at a small stool that sat under the room’s solitary window, right by a modest working table. “Let me see what we have.” 

Tomioka sat upon the stool with his back to her as she busied herself sifting through cupboards in search of supplies. “What sort of wound is it?”

She turned back and nearly dropped a tin of medicinal salve she’d located as she beheld the Water Pillar strip himself of his clothing from the waist up. 

There, across his right shoulder blade, she saw it — saw his blood. Quickly, she located thread and a needle and she grabbed a roll of cloth that could double as wrappings and she crossed back across the room.  

She spread her bounty out across the table, right beside the neatly folded pile of his clothing. Silently, she set to work cleaning the gash, and she breathed a quiet sigh of relief when she saw that it was little more than a shallow flesh wound.

“Lucky you, this won’t need stitching,” she said lightly as she wiped away the last of the dried blood from the Water Pillar’s skin. “But I shall need to wrap it so it won’t become infected.”

Tomioka only gave her a curt nod. She stepped back to work open her tin of medical salve, and as she warmed the substance in her hands, she let herself fully examine the Swordsman sitting before her. Her eyes trailed over the sculpted planes of his back. It surprised her how muscular he was, given his leanness. Yet, without the layers of his uniform shirt and haori, she could see he was well-built, each muscle defined. 

She didn’t know why it surprised her that there was a man beneath the mask of the Slayer, but what a man he was. Her mouth went dry at the thought. It was an effort not to allow her eyes to wander lower; to ponder what he might look like under his uniform pants, stripped and fully bare before her — 

“What is that scent?” Tomioka’s sudden question startled her away from her increasingly treacherous thoughts. 

She’d never been more grateful to be facing away from him. That way, he could not see the blush coloring her cheeks as she hastily slathered the salve across his wound. “Anti-septic; I know it’s rather stringent, but — ”

The Water Pillar shook his head. “I know what antiseptic smells like. I mean you. The scent you wear.” 

She pursed her lips for a moment before she recalled the distinctly floral scent of her cleansing oils. “Sakaki blooms, I suppose.”

“What properties does it have — what are its effects on others?” He pressed. She was surprised at how insistent he seemed, and there was almost an urgency in his tone that unsettled her. 

“None, to my knowledge — why do you ask?”

The tips of Tomioka’s ears turned pink and he turned away from her, lips pressed into a firm line. “Forget I said anything.” he muttered after a moment, his shoulders and spine stiff.

Neither one of them spoke again as Y/N finished treating the Water Pillar’s  injury and wrapped it. 

“You're done,” she said after a moment, tapping him lightly on his other shoulder. 

“You have my thanks,” Tomioka quickly refastened the buttons of his uniform shirt as the Miko stepped aside, pointedly wiping her hands clean with a small cloth. She only looked at him once he lifted his haori from where he’d carefully laid it atop the small examination table, but her eyes narrowed as he rose from the stool, shrugging the material back over his shoulders. “I am happy to pay you for the resources you used —“ 

Y/N did not appear to be listening, not as she leaned forward and pinched the sleeve of his haori between her thumb and index finger. 

“You have a tear,” she frowned, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. “Right here, see?” 

There, on the side bearing his sister’s half of his haori, right where his sleeve met his shoulder, was indeed a small hole, the threads around it broken and shifting slightly in the wind. 

The Miko’s hand fell away, and she squared her shoulders, mouth set in a firm but determined line. “If you’ll give me a moment, I assure you I can have it repaired in no time –” 

“Not necessary,” the Swordsman said abruptly, twisting back from her. “I can figure it out on my own.” He would not part with it, would not so much as let another put their hands on it and risk ruining his most cherished possession. 

Y/N only stepped toward him, ignoring his attempt at distance. “There’s no need to be prideful,” she huffed impatiently. “Truly, it would take no effort at all –”

“No.”

“Why are you being so difficult?” She snapped, but her hands continued reaching for him, for his sleeve – 

Tomioka snatched her wrist mid-air and held it there, halting her. “No one touches this. Understand?” 

Y/N’s lips parted in faint surprise at the Water Pillar’s severity. Her eyes darted to where his fingers were locked tight – uncomfortably tight – around her wrist. When she glanced back at the stone-faced Slayer, she felt a chill lick down her spine. She’d known he could be intimidating against threats, even without saying a word. It was his eyes – his eyes would harden, with the lapiz hue of his irises darkening to something more akin to indigo, as he stared down an opponent. She’d witnessed it the very first night she’d met him. 

She just hadn’t thought she would ever be on the receiving end of such a cold glare. 

“I understand,” she said softly, and she began flexing her wrist against his grip in an effort to work herself free from his hold. “Please forgive my indiscretion, Tomioka-sama. I overstepped.” 

The raven-haired Slayer blinked and quickly let her go, her wrist falling limply back to her side. Just outside the infirmary’s small window, he heard the familiar, urgent cry of a crow.

He’d never been more grateful for a distraction.  “I must be on my way.” His tone was stiff; clipped. 

“But — you’ve only just arrived —“ 

“Farewell, Y/N.” Giyuu gave her a curt nod.

Helplessly, the Miko watched as the Water Pillar stalked out of the small office, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He did not so much as spare a glance back, leaving Y/N to wonder whether she would see that odd patterned haori again.

The thought she might not made something cold and heavy sink into her gut.

—-

(One week later)

It wasn’t often that Giyuu Tomioka found himself annoyed, much less angry. He much preferred channeling his existing emotions into slaying demons, allowing them to taste a fraction of the rage and hatred he felt deep within, a vicious fire he so rarely let bubble up to his service.

Until that evening. After the fiasco that was Mount Natagumo and the subsequent chaos at the Master’s mansion as a result of the Kamado boy and his demon sister, Giyuu had finally noticed that the previous day’s trials had resulted in the tear along the shoulder of his haori that he knew could no longer be ignored. 

He grit his teeth; the battle against the Lower Moon spider demon had hardly required him to exert any energy — yet the demon’s last ditch attempt to preserve its life had managed to enlarge the small hole in his most prized possession, and the Water Pillar was utterly without the skill to repair it. 

So, he’d been forced to sit through the meeting with the Master, the hole in his haori feeling more like a gaping wound that only festered with every passing moment, until finally, finally they’d been dismissed. 

Giyuu hadn’t wasted any time departing swiftly from his Master’s estate, though that hadn’t stopped him from catching the tail end of Shinazugawa’s biting remark of how fuckin’ typical it was for him to leave without so much as a farewell to his comrades. He tried not to let the Wind Pillar’s words get to him; but he was unworthy of their company regardless, so he supposed it really didn’t matter what they thought of him. It shouldn’t. 

And so, that was how Giyuu found himself padding silently along the cracked, stone pathway which led to the Shrine at the edge of his designated territory, ready to eat crow and ask for assistance from a particular Miko whom he felt certain would not hesitate to remind him of how he’d coolly rejected her help only days earlier. 

Hence, his irritation. 

So, his movements stiff and his mouth twisted into a firm grimace, Giyuu stalked under the Torii and into the main courtyard of the old Shrine. It was coming upon midday, though there was a thick cover of clouds overhead that threatened that open up at any moment and shower rain across the region. He ignored the respectful bows of the Shrine’s various inhabitants and staff, eyes sweeping over faces in search of her. 

He located her near the storehouse, chatting with one of her fellow trainees as the pair worked to clean vegetables. Giyuu trudged over to her, eyes locked unwaveringly on her serene, easy smile, as he tried to ignore the way it made something in his gut clench and churn. 

He drew to a stop right before her and her Shrine-sister, the latter looking up at him with wide eyes, her hands stilling over her work as she looked up to the Slayer in awe. 

Giyuu cleared his throat but Y/N only continued wiping the dirt from carrots with her cloth. 

The ravenette tried again. “I am in need of your assistance.” 

Y/N’s comrade nudged her with her elbow, but the Miko only continued to clean, pointedly ignoring them both. 

Giyuu pursed his lips. “With my haori. The tear has grown larger —“

“I am busy.” Y/N’s tone was clipped. “Perhaps there are others who might assist you.”

“Please.” 

The Shrine Maiden’s hands finally stilled and she lifted her chin to face him. The moment she beheld the pleading sincerity in his eyes, coupled with the hard set of his jaw that betrayed just how desperate he was, her gaze softened.

She sighed. “Very well then,” she rose, brushing her hands free of any residual dirt. She held her chin high and squared her shoulders, determined not to show him how he’d bruised her ego; how he’d frightened her. “Follow me.”

—

The Shrine sat at the base of a great mountain. But, nearly half a kilometer up the winding, twisting path leading up the mountain and carved into its side, was a grassy hilltop that then plateaued into a small overlook that boasted a phenomenal aerial view of the Shrine below. 

The summer grass had turned a vibrant shade of emerald, broken up only by dots of tiny white and blue wildflowers that had gathered in small clusters sprinkled throughout the overlook. At the back of the clearing stood an ancient willow tree, its trunk gnarled and knotted with age, its wisps swaying lazily in the wind.   

It was her favorite spot; a little ways away from the hustle and bustle of the Shrine, which meant they would have some privacy as she worked. Y/N settled down against the grass and pulled a needle and a spool of thread from her pocket. She turned her face up toward the Water Pillar where he stood over her. “I’ll take that haori, now, if you’ll please.” 

Wordlessly, Tomioka carefully slid the garment from his shoulders and handed it to her, though he hesitated in letting go as she took it gingerly into her hands. 

It was clearly very important to the Slayer, and perhaps that was why she felt the need to reassure him. “I promise to take care of it.”

He nodded stiffly and let go of the fabric and the Miko quickly set to work repairing its torn shoulder. The Water Pillar lingered awkwardly beside her for a moment longer before he too, sat in the grass next to her, though his back remained straight, his posture rigid.

She glanced at him as her needle wove the haori’s fabric back together. “I suppose this happened because of your occupation?” 

It was faint, but the shrine maiden swore she saw his mouth twitch into something reminiscent of a grimace. “Yes.”

“You should be lucky it wasn’t your flesh.”

At that, Tomioka scoffed. “I would not allow such a weakling to get close enough to try.”

“My, I’d not pegged you as the boastful sort, Tomioka-sama.”

“It’s not boasting; I speak only the truth.” He retorted evenly. 

The shrine maiden only hummed as she worked. “And what of your family? Do they support your path as a Slayer?”

The Water Pillar turned his head away, his form stiff. For a moment, the Miko feared she would be left to repair his haori in silence, with nothing but the faint whistling of birds to keep her company. 

“I have none,” Tomioka’s voice was soft, nearly swallowed by the wind. “There is no one left to object, even if they wanted to.”

Y/N’s hands paused their work as she thought. “You are alone?”

It would be nice, she supposed, to find another who, like her, belonged to no one; a kindred spirit of sorts.

“I suppose,” Tomioka spoke up after a moment, his eyes squinted in thought. “I have a mentor. But it was he who trained me to join the Corps.” 

“I should hope he’s more sober than mine,” Y/N drawled. “And less irritating.” 

The Miko’s attention was so fixed on her careful stitching along the hole in his haori, that she didn’t see his faint smile at her words. 

——

The Slayer and the shrine maiden continued talking long after she’d finished repairing the tear in his haori. It was only when Tomioka had realized nightfall was a mere hour away that the two reluctantly descended the hillside to return to the Shrine.

“I almost forgot.” The Water Pillar said, halting in front of the honden as Y/N escorted him back to the Shrine’s entrance. He dug into his pockets and pulled something free. “Here. For you.” 

The Miko gaped down at the fat red fruit that sat heavily in his palm. “This is -“ she said breathlessly, “A pomegranate!” 

He nodded, arm still outstretched towards her as he waited to drop the ruby fruit into her hand. 

She shook her head. “No, Tomioka-san, I cannot accept something so expensive-“

“I insist.” The Water Pillar withdrew a small knife and split the fruit in half, staining his hands crimson with the juice that spilled over its soft flesh.

Hesitantly, the young Miko accepted the half he offered her, and thumbed some of the fat, glistening jewels loose. The moment she brought them to her lips, Y/N sighed, contentedly, and for some reason, Giyuu found his cheeks heating as he watched her savor the sweet fruit. 

She lazily opened her eyes after swallowing her first mouthful, but she was startled to see the Hashira staring at her, unwaveringly, and she realized he’d moved closer towards her than he had been only seconds earlier. 

Tomioka’s azure eyes were fixed hard on her lips, as he leaned in close to her, Y/N flushing as he drew nearer. 

Is he going to kiss me? Her traitorous heart thundered at the idea, and it caused her no short amount of grief to know she was uncertain whether she wanted him to do so. As her emotions warred with her logic, the Water Pillar’s gentle fingers cupped under her chin, and his thumb brushed delicately across her lower lip. 

“Pomegranate juice,” he said, but Y/N could still feel the warmth of his breath still as his hand lingered under her chin. His eyes were wide as though he, too, could not believe what he’d just done. 

“Yes,” she breathed, before she felt her cheeks heat. “I – I mean, thank you.”

The Water Pillar’s gaze dropped to her lips and her stomach twisted violently. All at once, awareness seemed to come crashing down upon him, and he then stepped back, his hand falling from its hold on her face and back to his side.

The shrine maiden remained frozen in place for a heartbeat longer. “Are you certain you’re unable to be our guest tonight?” Her voice was little more than a pitiful squeak.

Her eyes lifted to his and she knew the answer before he spoke it. “I cannot,” and to her surprise, he almost looked as disappointed as she felt, but he added hastily, “But I will be back. Soon.”

“Soon,” she echoed, feeling rather dazed. “Yes. Of course. I — we — look forward to it.”

She was thankful that Tomioka had already turned away from her as he made his way down the long, winding steps that led to the main route out of the forest; that way, he could not see the way her cheeks burned crimson, or how she buried her face in her hands as she cursed her own embarrassment.

—

Giyuu was grateful his back was to the young Miko as he retreated through the Shrine’s gates and back to the path which would lead him home. It meant she could not see as he stared at his thumb – the thumb he’d used to clear away the small bead of pomegranate juice from her lips – or how his eyebrows pinched together. It meant she could not hear his heart as it beat wildly in his chest at the memory of how soft and full her lip had been beneath the pad of his thumb, soft enough that some treacherous part of his brain had urged him to lean in, to see if her lips would feel as good against his – 

He shook his head, trying desperately to dispel his wild intrusive thoughts. It was ludicrous; he did not think of the young shrine maiden in that way. Not when she frequently sought to needle him, not when she frustrated him to no end. 

His collar suddenly felt tight; his skin, far too hot. His gaze dropped back down to the hand that had touched her, and it clenched. 

A pomegranate. It was only a pomegranate; nothing more. 

“It was a thank you gift,” Giyuu declared, as though speaking the words out loud gave them more force. “It is nothing more than an expression of gratitude.”

And even his crow, ancient and dull as he was, scoffed at the obviousness of the lie.

——

Late Summer, 1915

Summer blazed hot and humid. But neither the sweltering heat of the sun nor the most arduous missions he took exhausted Giyuu more than the complicated, tangled mess of feelings that had taken root within him. Because with every day that passed, the Miko of the Shrine at the edge of the forest occupied more and more of his mind. And Giyuu did not know what it meant or what he should do about it. 

She’d not just repaired his haori or made him salmon; she’d somehow wormed her way into his every waking thought, and to his great confusion, he found himself almost unwilling to think of anything but her. 

Admittedly, Giyuu Tomioka did not have the requisite tools in his social arsenal to successfully navigate human interaction. He hadn’t quite known the extent of his ineptitude however, until the Insect Pillar had so cheerfully pointed out that none of his comrades, in fact, liked him. That revelation had made him doubt every interaction he’d had since, made him wonder whether even the lower ranked Slayers viewed him with the same apathy, if not the same outright hostility toward him shared by Shinazugawa and Iguro.

He’d come to doubt them all — except her.

Y/N was different; at the end of each visit to the Shrine, the Water Pillar did not find himself feeling drained or unwanted.  He felt lighter; rejuvenated, even. She was a breath of fresh air that Giyuu found more difficult to go without with each passing day. 

She still picked at him, but she did so without the malice he’d normally come to expect, even from those he considered friends, like the Kocho. The young Miko had a way of teasing him that did not leave him feeling decidedly othered. Rather, her japes only spurred him to respond with his own, though admittedly, they tended to fall flat.

He’d known, from the moment she’d attempted to bludgeon him with her broom, that there was more to the Miko than met the eye; but he hadn’t imagined he’d find himself as drawn to her as he was, unable to tolerate going more than a handful of weeks without paying her a visit.

And, given the way she’d blushed after he’d thanked her for repairing his haori, perhaps she was drawn to him, too. Perhaps he hoped she was.

But he would have to wait to find out, for his obligations to the Corps had taken him to a village a considerable distance away from his designated territory. He’d been tasked with investigating a series of disappearances of young women in the region, but his orders had come abruptly enough that he’d not been able to spare a visit to the Shrine before he departed.

He was anxious — eager — to return, though not before he took care of the demon likely behind the mystery plaguing the village he now patrolled.

Nightfall was still a little ways off, and so Giyuu found himself wandering the streets to pass the time. He made his way to a sizeable outdoor market, still packed with shoppers oohing and ahhing over vibrant displays of silk, crafted jewelry, and sugary confectioneries.

Idly, he too, joined other patrons in browsing the small vending stands that lined the bustling village streets, though his perusal was disinterested, if not bored. But his eyes snagged on one small bauble displayed on the merchant’s small stand upon a swath of silk. It was small; unassuming. But the carefully crafted decoration was painted in a startling shade of crimson that he found hard to ignore. 

The image of a certain Miko flashed through his mind. He couldn’t leave without it. he wouldn’t; not when its paint so perfectly matched the color of Y/N’s hakama trousers.

I spend the year longing for autumn. That was what she’d told him, that day on the hillside after she’d repaired his haori. 

He almost smiled to himself. This would be a way for her to enjoy her favorite season even in the scorching heat of summer or the biting cold of winter. 

He waited for the merchant to notice his presence, his fingers twisting around the small money sack he kept tucked in his pocket. His eyes flickered back to the small trinket. Idly, Giyuu wondered when he’d begun associating the color red with the shrine maiden and not with the blood he’d always imagined stained his hands. 

He continued to stare the merchant down until he finally managed to catch the vendor’s eye, who flinched at the intensity of his unblinking stare.   

Giyuu jutted his chin toward the small token. “How much?” 

—-

He found the Miko a few mornings later, relaxing on the hillside overlooking the Shrine. She laid amongst the late summer wildflowers that had bloomed, her form framed against the grass with petals of soft blue and bright marigold. 

Giyuu wordlessly settled beside her, and he tried to ignore the thunderous beat of his heart against his sternum as she rolled her head toward him to greet him with a sleepy smile. They exchanged pleasantries and settled into a comfortable silence, both content to watch the sun rise higher over the horizon.

Easy; it was so easy for him to sit beside her, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“So, you are to take over the Shrine, one day?”

Y/N’s head turned to the Water Pillar in surprise; though he’d grown steadily more talkative over the months since she’d met him, it wasn’t often that he initiated conversation. 

She settled back against the cool grass of the hilltop overlooking the Shrine, enjoying the precious few moments of quiet in the early morning before the chaos of the day called her away. “Yes,” though there was a slight uncertainty in her voice. “I’m sure it’s the expectation, after all. I have to repay Granny for her kindness.”

Giyuu frowned. “But is that what you want?”

“What I want is irrelevant,” the Miko folded her arms behind her head and tilted her face up toward the sky. Her eyes tracked the great, fluffy clouds that drifted lazily by, though the Water Pillar suspected she was attempting to avoid having to meet his eye. 

“It’s not irrelevant,” he countered. “If nothing else, you should be allowed to consider other possibilities.”

She did not answer him, and the silence between them stretched enough that he thought to drop the subject, not wanting to press her any further. 

“I think,” she said in that faraway voice that Giyuu had come to learn meant she was trying to conceal some deeply felt emotion. “I think should like to belong somewhere.” Her eyes shone. “No, that’s not it — I want someone to belong to me, and I to them. 

“A husband.” He said flatly. 

The Miko shook her head. “I have never belonged to anywhere or to anyone. I’ve no family to call my own - only an old woman who took pity on me as an infant and raised me. I wonder — what must it be like?” She laid back on the grass and closed her eyes. “That is the one thing I would change. I belong nowhere because I’m no one — nobody’s.” 

Giyuu frowned. “I don’t think that’s true—“

“It is true,” she insisted, though she said it with such ease and conviction, like it was the most obvious and natural thing in the world. “I am here for a moment and then I will be gone, and no one will ever know or remember that there once was a shrine maiden named Y/N here. I’ve made peace with that.”

I would, Giyuu wanted to tell her. I would remember and I would tell them all. 

“I am nobody as well,” Giyuu admitted quietly after a moment. “And I have no one left to belong to.” 

The image of her face, so kind and sad and full of understanding at his words, had stayed with him for the rest of the morning and even as he settled in for a few hours of sleep in the Shrine’s guest wing.  

And in his dreams, her face remained a constant.

—

The sky had turned a vivid shade of orange by the time the Water Pillar emerged from his guest lodgings, ready to depart and resume his duties.  Y/N had been helping another shrine maiden tote firewood across the courtyard when she heard a quiet call of her name.

She turned and saw the raven-haired Swordsman standing near the great Torii gate. 

She looked back to her fellow trainee, who waved her off with a knowing smile, and Y/N brushed her hands clean against her hakama pants before she approached him. 

“Leaving so soon?” And she tried to mask her disappointment at the shortness of his visit. 

Giyuu nodded. “We’ve been stretched thin, in light of a few…changes to our ranks.”

The Miko nodded grimly. He’d told her that a fellow Hashira had been slain a few months prior, and another had retired following a rather violent battle that had destroyed part of a far off city.

“But I wanted to give you this.”

She glanced down to his outstretched hand, where a small parcel was wrapped in plain furoshiki cloth. Stunned, she took the package from him, her eyes flicking between it and the Water Pillar watching her intently.

Gingerly, she unfolded the bundle and unveiled a long, but fragile metal and wood reed.

A hairpin, she realized with a soft gasp. Y/N could scarcely bring her fingers to run over the exquisitely crafted ridges of the leaves that adorned the top portion of the pin, afraid that even the slightest pressure from her touch would cause the Water Pillar’s precious gift to her to crumble. 

I spend the year longing for autumn, she’d told him. She hadn’t thought he’d been particularly interested in listening to her talk; but as Y/N cradled the delicate ornament between her palms, she felt a blush begin to creep across her cheeks. 

As her fingers traced across the delicate ridges of a cluster of maple leaves, lacquered in a thick coat of scarlet paint — a perfect match to the hue of her traditional Miko hakama pants — Y/N realized that perhaps Tomioka had been paying more attention to her than she’d realized. 

For the Water Pillar had given her a piece of autumn to hold onto year-round. 

“Tomioka-san, you do not-“ 

“Giyuu.” The ravenette interrupted her. “Please, call me by my name; it’s Giyuu.” 

Y/N’s mouth closed, but she smiled softly, considering. “Alright. Giyuu — please, you do not need to feel obligated to bring gifts for us — it was only salmon.” 

But Giyuu only shook his head. “I don’t bring gifts for everyone; just you.” 

Y/N turned scarlet. 

“Please, just-“ Giyuu frowned, and Y/N could have sworn she saw the faintest glow of pink coloring the Hashira’s cheeks. “Just take it.” 

“Okay,” her voice resembled a mouse’s squeak as she cradled the pin delicately between her hands. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.” 

“And it wasn’t just salmon.” 

Y/N looked to him in surprise, her head cocked in curiosity. “Pardon?” 

Giyuu exhaled harshly through his nose before stepping closer to her. “This is not only because you made salmon.” Her eyes tracked his hand as it rose to grip the front fold of his haori in his fist. “This – this is all I have left of my family.” 

“My sister,” he gestured to the red half of his haori. “She died protecting me.” His hand drifted to the green and orange patterned half of the garment. “And this belonged to a dear friend. He also perished protecting me – and others.”

The Miko’s lips parted, understanding and sorrow flooding her eyes. “Tomioka-san — Giyuu — I had no idea —“

“They both died because of demons – because I could not help them. And now this is all I have left to remember them by.” And then he did the unthinkable; he grabbed her hand and pressed it against the checkered portion of his haori, right over his heart. His hand was warm and firm. Gentle, though she could feel his callouses against her knuckles as he held it in place. “So it wasn’t just salmon.” He repeated, and there was a heat in his eyes Y/N had not seen before, one that stoked a fire in her belly. “And you are not just anyone.” 

A soft exhale blew past her lips at the sincerity of his words. For the first time in all her nineteen years, she wondered if this was what it meant to mean something to someone.

“Thank you,” she breathed, eyes wide and sparkling with unshed emotion. “I will treasure it.”

She swore she saw a faint blush creep across the Water Pillar’s cheeks, but she brushed it aside as nothing more than the shadows of the sky as twilight darkened the horizon. 

Tomioka nodded. “I must get going now; I will see you soon.”

She did not want him to go.

But the shrine maiden concealed the pang she felt in her chest with a breezy smile. “Farewell, Tomio-“

“Giyuu.” 

She blushed. “Yes — Giyuu. Until next time.”

—

“I cannot believe he lets the old woman charge him an arm and a leg to stay a single night,” Miyoko said in awe as the pair watched the retreating form of the Water Pillar through the shrine house gates. 

The hairpin clutched tightly in her hands suddenly felt like a stone weight. “I’m sure he stays here only for convenience’s sake,” Y/N replied airily, turning sharply away from the egress to the shrine to hide her warming cheeks.  

Miyoko snorted. “Hardly. The Demon Slayer Corps has tons of safehouses throughout the country. Corps members get medical treatment, hot meals, and lodging free of charge.” Y/N’s sister-in-training grunted as she heaved a hefty bag of rice flour from the storeroom to the girls’ side, no doubt hauling it out to prepare the evening meal. 

“I’ve heard of at least four such houses in this region alone. As a Hashira, Tomioka-sama could go to any one of them and be treated far more kindly than he is here.” 

Y/N frowned. “I wonder why, then, he continues to return here so often? Surely our shrine is some distance from his home, given that he stays the night each time.” 

Miyoko shot the young shrine maiden a knowing glance. “Perhaps he tolerates the Granny’s abuse because he is fond of the company.” 

Y/N only felt her face grow hotter as she ducked down, though she felt Miyoko’s amused stare burn through her back. 

—-

The Water Pillar had returned from his intel assignment and promptly journeyed to the Shrine, its inhabitants abuzz as they prepared for the arrival of autumn and the colder months, now only mere weeks away. 

He found the shrine maiden of his interest inside the main wing of the manor, back in the kitchen as she prepared herbs to be incorporated into various salves and medications. Y/N smiled brightly at him as he’d sidled up beside her, taking a handful of dried greenery from the bunch next to her and deftly pulling the leaves from the stem and handing them to her. 

“Is it your day off?” The Miko gratefully accepted the leaves he’d stripped and dumped them into the rocky mortar to join the others. 

Giyuu felt his stomach clench as his fingers brushed against hers. “I have completed my duties for the time being, yes.”

"You're welcome to help me, as long as you do not mind a bit of busy work."

He didn't; of course he didn't. In fact, as he accepted the heavy stone pestle from the Miko and set to work mashing the leaves she handed them into the mortar, Giyuu rather supposed he would do just about anything to remain in the shrine maiden's company, even if that meant assisting her in a task as banal as grinding medicinal herbs. And though the Slayer and the Miko fell into their well-practiced habit of quietly tending to Y/N's duties side by side, there was a notable absence of the bright chatter he'd grown accustomed to hearing during his visits.

The Water Pillar frowned. “You’re quiet.” It was not a question. “There is something on your mind.” 

“Is there?” Y/N hummed loftily, her hands continuing to strip leaves from their stems. “Perhaps I am simply focused.” 

Giyuu found his eyes wandering to the side to study the Miko’s face more often than usual. Though she maintained a pleasant smile as they worked, he could see that it did not fully reach her eyes. And even her sage expression could not conceal the way the troubled look in her eyes, hands pausing their work as she stared at something behind the walls of the small shrine kitchen. 

“Something is bothering you.” Giyuu took the bundle of herbs clutched in her hands and replaced them with his pestle, allowing her to work her frustrations over the paste forming at the bottom of the stone bowl. 

She blushed and refocused her gaze, grinding the pestle hard. “Nothing is wrong!” She chirped. 

“You are a dreadful liar.”

The Miko replied with an airy laugh that made his throat tighten. “So I’ve been told — often, in fact.” 

“There is…trouble in the village,” Y/N said carefully, though she kept her hands busy as she continued to grind herbs into a thick paste. “It is nothing we can’t handle, but it has put many of us on edge. Particularly Granny.” 

Giyuu frowned as he handed the shrine maiden another bunch of leaves from her basket. “What sort of trouble?” 

She hesitated. “It is petty village drama, nothing more.”

“You won’t give any further details?” 

The Water Pillar could not explain it, but he found himself troubled by the way the Shrine Maiden forced a smile and a far too casual shrug of her shoulders. “There are none worth re-hashing.” 

He frowned, but he did not press her further, resolving instead to poke around later. Perhaps he would see whether the Shrine’s head Priestess’s tongue was as loose with information as it was with vulgarity once she’d properly indulged in her sake; he’d make certain she was well-stocked in advance. 

Giyuu furtively glanced back at the shrine maiden’s profile, in part to see whether he could deduce anything from her expressions, but he found himself instead studying her, puzzling over a change in her appearance he hadn’t noticed before.

Sensing his stare, the Miko turned to him with a light smile that then  faltered. “What –?”

“You changed your hair.” It took everything within him not to reach out, to see if her hair would feel as silky in his fingers as it looked shifting softly in the wind. “I’ve never seen it down.” 

“Oh!” Her smile turned bashful, a pretty pink dusting spreading across her cheeks. “I wanted to wear my hairpin – see?” 

She turned her head, the long curtain of her hair rippling smoothly with the movement. With her back to him, Giyuu could see the pin he’d given her neatly tucked into the long strands of her hair, pinning half of it back. The red of the pin’s maple leaves posed a lovely contrast with the hue of her hair. 

Y/N was already quite beautiful, but with her hair partially down, he thought she looked softer; younger. She peeked over her shoulder at him, fingers nervously combing through her tresses. “It’s not practical for every day, of course, but I thought since you’d likely be arriving soon –” 

His eyes widened and Giyuu became acutely aware that his heart now thumped wildly in his throat as Y/N choked off with a squeak, apparently realizing what she’d revealed. Though she hurriedly turned back around, Giyuu could see how the tips of her ears burned bright red. 

Despite her efforts, her admission hung like a cloud in the air between them. She’d worn it – the hairpin – for him. 

Giyuu swallowed thickly. “I like it.” He cleared his throat and turned, allowing his own unruly hair to obscure his face. “On you, that is.” 

For once, the Miko had neither a quick remark nor barb to lob back at him. Instead, she only turned back to her task of grinding her herbs, a thick curtain of her hair concealing her face from his sight.

Once she'd finished bottling up her new medicinal salves, Giyuu helped her carry the tins to the Shrine's storage house, directly across the courtyard from its main wing. The shrine maiden remained curiously quiet, even in spite of his own lame attempts to converse with her. He'd finally given up after his dry comment about the weather went ignored. But every so often, he let his eyes wander to her as they returned to the honden, and that nagging feeling returned as he watched her gnaw incessantly at her bottom lip, a faraway look in her eyes. 

Giyuu was not a nosy man, but the Miko's clear distraction unsettled him. He was about to pull her aside, to demand she tell him exactly what it was that had chased away the smile he so longed to see when they were approached by Y/N's haughty Master.

“Lord Tomioka,” the head Priestess nodded curtly at him in greeting. “I am glad to have run into you — I am in need of your assistance.”

The old Priestess turned to her young protégée. “Go assist the younger ones; they need to give their offerings before dinner.” 

Y/N’s mouth opened to protest but the head Priestess cut her off. “Now.”

To his surprise, the shrine maiden did not argue with her Master, only turning to him to give him a helpless shrug before she began to make her way toward the Shrine’s honden. 

The Water Pillar grimaced. He tried to convince himself the pit in his stomach was only because her odd behavior gnawed at him; that he was only curious to learn what it was that troubled her.  But as the Miko cast one last, reluctant look over her shoulder at him, Giyuu found that he was as unwilling to watch her go as she was to leave. 

If the Shrine’s head priestess noticed his inner anguish, she paid it no mind. “You will accompany me in the kitchen.”

—-

The first thing he noticed was the conspicuous absence of the scent of sake, which he’d grown accustomed to following the Priestess around like a pungent cloud of perfume. He resisted the urge to scowl; he would have to find another way to get the old woman to talk.

Giyuu followed the woman into the small structure that stood adjacent to the honden that served as the Shrine’s kitchen. He watched silently as she pulled a cleaver, large and deadly sharp, free from where it was stored in a cabinet and laid it atop a butcher’s block. The elder stepped outside of the kitchen and returned a moment later, a recently de-feathered and skinned chicken in hand.

“Things around here seem…tense,” Giyuu observed carefully  as the old woman slapped the chicken on the counter for preparation. 

“Tense is one word for it, I reckon,” she bit, taking up her cleaver. “The world we live in is dark. I should think you would know that better than most.”

The corner of his mouth dipped down. “But even your girls seem unusually subdued; distracted.” 

Her eyes flashed to his, piercing and sharp. “You mean Y/N.”

It wasn’t a question. 

“She is always restless this time of year,” the old woman sighed. “Though she loves autumn, she despises winter — or, rather, she despises how it reminds her of what she does not have. And winter is well on its way.” 

He nodded, recalling what the shrine maiden had revealed to him that day, on the hillside.

“But your observation is correct — that is not all of the reason she is so distracted,” the old Priestess said darkly, and Giyuu was surprised to see how alert and focused the normally soused elder seemed. “A man from the village — Susumo — has been following her. Demanding her.” 

Giyyu straightened. “What do you mean by ‘demand?’” 

The haggard woman cursed below her breath as she broke down the chicken’s body. “I mean in the way that men often feel entitled to women — especially angry drunks like him.” 

Every hair on Giyuu’s body stood straight as the weight of the Priestess’ warning settled. 

“I have forbidden her from venturing out in the dark alone,” the Granny continued, harshly wrenching a joint on the fowl. 

“She is a Priestess in training; surely that status affords her some protection?” Giyuu’s knuckles turned white where his fists clenched at his sides. 

“I’m not sure the shrine is enough to keep him out for much longer. He’s been lingering — and threatening consequences, if I do not agree to hand her over to him for marriage.” The old Priestess grimaced. “Her status does her no good if he burns this place to the ground.” 

The old woman set her cleaver next to her with a heavy thud, her frustration palpable. “The girl is of age, and I am not her blood family; there is no one here who can claim authority over her, not like a parent or an elder sibling.” When her eyes lifted to his, Giyuu could see a hint of fear underlying the hard anger in her gaze. “These days, I half-expect to awaken and find that she’s been stolen in the night.” 

The Water Pillar felt his jaw clench. It was rare that he felt the burning flush of anger and it was not directed at a demon, but the idea that Y/N was being harassed and threatened by some village drunkard who felt entitled to her, lit something hot in his stomach. For as vexatious and confounding as he found the young Miko to be, no one deserved to be stalked like prey. 

Especially her. 

“I’ve had a crow stationed here to alert me of any demon attacks for months,” Giyuu began, and the old woman looked to him in surprise. “But I will assign more to keep watch during the day. If there is anything strange afoot, they will tell you.” He paused a moment before adding, “And they will alert me, too.”

The head Priestess laid down her cleaver to look at him, long and hard. “Then she may have a fighting chance yet, Lord Hashira.”

————-

By the time he found Y/N once more, dinner was over and the moon had risen high in the night sky, casting the shrine grounds in its pale, silvery glow.

He’d told her, rather tersely, that he was unable to stay the night, and he tried to ignore how his chest tightened at the crestfallen look that flashed across her face. Despite her tangible disappointment, she insisted on escorting him out of the Shrine, desperate to cling to every second that might be spared to them.

“You are rather quiet tonight,” the Miko observed, walking him to the grand Torii. “More so than usual.” It was an understatement; the Water Pillar had been downright sullen and withdrawn from the moment he’d returned from whatever takes Granny had insisted she help him with. 

Rather than give her any explanation, Giyuu halted his step and reached for her wrist, stilling her. “You did not tell me you were being harassed.” 

She looked up to the Water Pillar in surprise. “How did you —?” 

He released her from his grip in favor of drawing closer to her. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Y/N opened and closed her mouth, struggling to find her words. “I suppose,” she began, but her mouth quirked down in a frown. “I did not think you needed to be burdened by something so insignificant.” 

Giyuu stared at her as he mouthed the word insignificant, the look he shot her giving the distinct impression he thought her an idiot. “I do not think your safety is insignificant,” Giyuu’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, clenching it tight. “Nor do I think you are insignificant.” 

“Compared to your other obligations? I should think I’m very unimportant.” Y/N turned away from him, fiddling with a gathering basket she carried on her hip to avoid having to look him in the eyes.

But the raven-haired Pillar caught her wrist and turned her back to face him, not willing to be ignored. “If you call for me, I will come to you.” 

Y/N’s heart lurched at the Water Pillar’s words, spoken with such conviction and sincerity that it made her falter in her step. “Tomioka-san,” she said breathlessly, her eyes wide as she turned to him. “You have far more important duties to see to than to concern yourself with than mere village drama —“

But the raven-haired Hashira only shook his head as he took another step towards her, his expression severe; calculating. “You have the knife I gave you, yes?” His eyes dropped to her pocket, and Y/N felt compelled to show him that the small blade was indeed tucked safely within the folds of her hakama pants. 

“Giyuu,” she pled, and she noted the way that he twitched towards her at the sound of his name falling from her lips. “Please, don’t worry —“

“I do not make promises I cannot keep,” the Water Pillar cut her off, closing the distance between them until the tips of his zori nearly grazed hers, his head bent down towards her as the heat of his stare threatened to consume her. “So I repeat: if you call for me, I will come to you.” 

Any thought of arguing faded from her mind as Y/N became keenly aware of the lack of space between their bodies, of the way her hands, clasped in front of her chest brushed against the folds of his haori as it shifted softly with the wind. 

“I understand,” she breathed. Y/N held his gaze for a long moment, though it was in part due to the battle waging within her not to allow her eyes to drop to his lips.

She would not let herself acknowledge how close they were; how soft they looked, or how warm they might feel against hers; her skin. 

Giyuu lingered as well; after a pregnant pause, he finally stepped back, blinking as though coming out of a trance. “Good,” he nodded, and he glanced furtively over her shoulder. His eyes narrowed and he nodded as though satisfied before he turned crisply on his heel to begin his trek towards his duties and away from her. “Do not forget.” He called one last time over his shoulder, before the shadows of the woods swallowed him whole. 

As Y/N dazedly made her way back towards the shrine, a crow following closely behind her, she almost laughed at the suggestion she could. 

——-

Autumn, 1915

The weeks passed by without much fuss, and soon, the palpable tension that had settled over the Shrine as a result of Susumo’s lingering threats subsided. Soon, life at the Shrine returned to normal, and Y/N often found her mind wandering to thoughts of raven hair and endless blue eyes. 

Until that night.

It had been a normal evening at the Shrine; autumn, blissful autumn had arrived, heralding forth crisp winds and golden skies. Though the days were steadily growing shorter, Y/N found herself rejuvenated by the new chill, especially as she watched the leaves of the trees shift from green to gold to ruby. 

The leaves on her hairpin indeed had been a perfect match to those which were steadily drifting from the tall maples dotting the Shrine. Though she couldn’t wear her hair down the way she had the last time the Water Pillar paid the Shrine a visit, Y/N had found new ways to incorporate his gift into her daily life, weaving it through her plait or tucking it behind her ear. 

That night had been one like any other; after dinner, the girls of the Shrine had scattered to tend to their evening duties.  The shrine maiden had been walking alongside her Master, planning for the upcoming festival in the nearby village, during which the Shrine would seek new patrons to keep it operational. The women mulled over which families might be more inclined to assist them, and settled on a prominent merchant known to frequent other shrines on his travels through the country.

That was when they’d spotted the smoke.

“Fire!” A shrill voice cried, and both the old Priestess and Y/N blanched. “The honden is on fire!”

All at once, chaos broke out across the Shrine grounds as girls darted to and fro, frantic. Granny began barking at her charges, ordering the younger ones to gather in the courtyard while instructing the older girls to assist in putting out the flames.

"The granary!" Someone else cried. "The granary has gone up in flames!"

The elder Priestess snatched Y/N's wrist in her weathered hand. “The scrolls!” Granny's expression of horror was a sure match to her own. “They’re in the storeroom near the granary!” 

The scrolls in question had been in the Shrine’s custody for over five hundred years, carrying sacred inscriptions of the gods and prayers essential to its operation and legitimacy.

They were priceless; irreplaceable. 

“I’ll go!” And before her Master could protest, the Miko had already turned away and began sprinting toward the fire that was rapidly engulfing the granary near the back of the property.  

Thankfully, the storeroom had yet to catch fire, but if the one steadily consuming the granary was not dealt with soon, it wouldn’t be long before it spread to consume the small wooden hut. 

And Y/N knew it wouldn’t take much to reduce the storeroom to ash. 

Coughing, she pressed her arm to her nose and mouth, using the large bell sleeve of her kosode to block some of the smoke that burned her eyes and nose. She pulled her other sleeve over her hand to protect it as she pushed the storehouse’s door aside. 

Inside was dark; quiet. Though the nighttime made it difficult for her to see the scrolls and prints carefully rolled and tucked away into tiny cubbies lining the hut’s walls, Y/N wasn’t stupid enough to waste time searching for a candle to light. So, with only the flames eating away at the granary at her back to light her way, she began pulling handfuls of scrolls free from their storage, tucking them under her arm. 

She turned to take her first armload of priceless Shrine artifacts from the storeroom and nearly tripped over a collection of heated coal pans that had been stacked in the corner to keep the scrolls sealed within the room at a stable temperature. She managed to hold onto her scrolls, however, and she quickly moved them away from the hut, placing them safely on a nearby rock that was still far enough away from the storeroom should it catch fire. She returned to the hut to survey what else she needed to salvage, but a familiar, tiny yelp and the flurry of movement in her periphery made the Miko’s stomach twist.

“Komatsu!” Y/N turned and saw the anxious younger girl lingering at the storage hut’s door, her tiny hands trembling. “Get away from here! It’s not safe!” 

“B-but Sister,” the girl cried, hopping anxiously from foot to foot. “This is too much to do on your own —“

“You need to go find Granny,” the shrine maiden ordered. “I will join you in a moment.”

The girl’s lower lip wobbled. “But —,”

“Now!”

With a great sniff, the girl turned away, leaving Y/N alone once more. The Miko sighed and resumed her hasty perusal of the hut’s shelves, searching for anything else that could not be replaced. 

There was a rustling near the doorway and Y/N bit her lip in an effort not to swear in front of her younger peer. “Komatsu, what did I say —“ 

She turned to admonish the girl, but her reprimand dried instantly on her tongue. For there, in the entryway to the storeroom, was Komatsu, her eyes wide and her face bone-white with a terror that matched Y/N’s own.

Because the girl was not alone.

Wrapped around her bicep was a hand, as large as a small boulder, and tipped with long, wicked claws that threatened to pierce Komatsu’s bicep. The hand was attached to a forearm, inhumanly thick and muscled. Slowly, Y/N’s eyes dragged up the length of the monstrous arm to behold the sinister face that grinned at her. 

It was Susumo — only it wasn’t Susumo. Y/N recognized the vague features of the face that had once belonged to the village drunk and her personal tormentor. His hair was the same as was the general shape of his face, and the cruelty of his smirk, but that was where the resemblance to the Susumo she’d once known ended.

Now, he boasted a row of sharp fangs that distended nearly to his lower lip. And his eyes — no longer were they a cold, soulless black; now they were crimson red, and his pupils were cut into catlike slits.

Demon. A voice whispered in her mind. Demon.

“Enjoy my fires, Priestess?” Even Susumo’s voice had changed, forming a growl that matched his monstrous appearance. “I set them for you — I knew you would not be able to resist seeing such a spectacle.”

“Komatsu,” Y/N ignored him in favor of addressing the young girl, though her voice was unusually high though she fought to keep it as steady as possible. “Please go find Granny and help her with the honden.” 

The young trainee trembled but Susumo’s clawed hand only tightened around her arm. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that, sweet Priestess,” the demon crooned. “You have something I want, you see.”

The slick, oily look in his eyes made his desire clear.

Y/N’s eyes darted quickly around the hut, finally falling on a series of coal pans stacked to the side of the room, only a few feet from where she stood, paralyzed. Her quick, cursory glance at the pans revealed iron that was slightly red, and she swore she could see the air around them distorted by the heat.

Hot; they were still hot.

The Miko looked back to where the demon continued to leer at her, ravenous. “Fine,” she said coolly. “I will go with you, Susumo.”

Komatsu looked between her and the demon in horror, but Y/N only kept her eyes locked with the demon’s. She edged closer to where the coal pans were still burning hot, eyes not daring to drop his as she drew closer to the demon and the younger trainee. He grinned, revealing cruelly sharp and bloodstained teeth, and his yellow eyes shone with a triumphant smugness, believing the Miko was surrendering to him at last. 

As she brushed past the pans, Y/N furtively reached out a hand and closed her fingers around one of the handles. “Komatsu,” the Miko kept her eyes carefully trained on the demon. “Run.”

Her hand seized around the coal pan and with every ounce of her strength, she swung it toward the demon. The hot iron of the pan slammed into the side of his head, forcing him to drop his hold on the younger girl. There was a struggle between the older shrine maiden and the demon, who fought to wrench the pan free from her fierce grip, but Y/N would not relent. 

“Run!” She shrieked at the girl again, and Komatsu darted away. Y/N’s fingers stretched to close around the tiny lever on the handle of the coal pan, and with a snarl of fury, she managed to latch around it, squeezing it with all her might. The lid of the pan opened and red-hot coals spilled forth over the demon’s head. Susumo howled in fury, and Y/N dropped the pan, letting it crack against his head as she shot past him, desperate to escape the tiny storeroom.

The faster she got into open air, the better chance she had of living. 

But a claw, sharp and deadly sunk into her bicep, and yanked her back. She could not help the small scream that tore from her throat as she felt his talons rip at her skin and the sleeve of her kosode was shredded into ribbons beneath his nails.

“Sister Y/N!” Komatsu’s tiny, terrified voice cried out from several feet ahead. 

The shrine maiden swallowed her building panic. “Go!”

The little girl hesitated again and Y/N knew she could not follow after her, not without risking her safety once again. With a defiant scream of rage, the shrine maiden tore her arm free of the demon’s razor-like claws, fighting back the bile that rose in her throat as she felt blood run down her arm, hot and thick. 

The demon grasped wildly at her but found only air. Thinking only of the safety of Komatsu and her fellow trainees, Y/N turned on her heel and ran for the trees, away from the chaos unfolding at the Shrine. 

And the demon, still snarling and panting and undoubtedly enraged, followed her into the forest.

Shit, shit, shit!

Y/N hurtled over a snarled root as she ran, her life dependent upon every stride as she fled the newly-demented Susumo.

In the back of her mind, the Miko knew her efforts were in vain; because for every inch she managed to gain, the angry demon at her heels seemed to gain a foot.

“You’ve denied me for far too long!” The monster’s voice growled behind her, far too close for comfort. “I will have you!”

Y/N palmed the small nichirin knife tucked safely within the deep pockets of her hakama pants, and wildly she wondered whether it was possible to decapitate a demon with such a small blade. Perhaps the Water Pillar should have left her a sword. After all, a sword could not really be that different from a broom, and she’d walloped her fair share of handsy drunkards and would-be thieves with the cleaning tool.

If she lived through the night, she would tell him as much the next time she saw him.

Y/N’s musings did nothing to help her avoid the root of an old tree that jutted out from the earth, snarling around her ankle and sending her flailing to the forest floor. Angry tears of frustration clouded her eyes. Although she knew these paths like the back of her hand, that knowledge did her little good in the dark, as she fled for her life.

Scrambling up to her feet, Y/N caught sight of a pair of eyes watching her from the brambles, dark and inky.

A crow. The image of a certain Hashira flashed before her eyes, as Y/N recalled the way that the members of the Demon Slayer Corps used crows to communicate.

Perhaps this crow was so affiliated, and she was desperate enough to try. “Please!” Y/N begged, sobbing as the crow stared down at her with those black eyes. “Giyuu!”

———

The night had been unusually peaceful for the Water Pillar.

His ambling patrol around his territory’s perimeter hadn’t revealed so much as a whisper of demonic activity. But the absence of any conspicuous threat did not mean his guard was down; his eyes remained sharp, his ear finely tuned, listening for any shift in the wind, any sign that something was amiss and required investigation —

A sudden rustle of leaves sounded from his right, and Giyuu’s hand moved reflexively for his blade, bracing against its hilt in preparation. A small shadow burst from the canopy above him, its wings flapping wildly. He recognized it instantly as the crow he’d assigned to watch over the Shrine — to watch over her.

“Demon attack at the Mountain Shrine!” The crow squawked, circling above him frantically. “Demon attack! Go now — quickly!” 

He hadn’t hesitated to turn sharply on his heel, furiously making his way toward the Shrine. He broke through the line of trees at its edge in record time, and even he’d been taken aback by the chaos that had broken out.

“The honden is on fire!” the old woman cried out to the Pillar as he swiftly landed among the chaos unfolding across the shrine grounds. “The girls were still doing their evening duties – but then another fire was started near the granary!” 

“My crows said a demon had made an appearance,” Giyuu’s eyes carefully scanned the terrified, frantic faces of the Shrine’s residents, his hands braced against the hilt of his sword. “Has anyone been hurt?” 

The head Priestess stared at the Water Pillar in muted horror. “I have not seen – but I haven’t taken any headcount of the girls to know –” 

A piercing cry from near the south gate of the Shrine cut the old woman off, and both Priestess and Slayer whipped toward the sound. A girl, no more than nine, was half-running, half-stumbling toward them, frightened tears streaking down her face. 

“Komatsu!” the old Priestess blanched as she caught sight of the small apprentice’s busted, bloodied lip. With a sob, the young girl flung herself into her elder’s arms and clung tightly to her. “What on earth –?” 

“Sister Y/N!” the girl called Komatsu wailed, and Giyuu felt himself go cold. “Granny – th-that man – he’s a monster!”

The head Priestess paled in recognition. “Susumo?” Giyuu’s gut clenched at the name. The old woman knelt before the girl, her hands clutching wildly at her slim shoulders as she shook her lightly to recenter her. “Komatsu, was Susumo the monster?” 

The young girl nodded. “He was so – hiccup – fast! I didn’t even see him!” She only cried harder. “And t-then Sister Y/N – she grabbed the coal pan and dumped it on him until he let go.” Komatsu trembled as she lifted a shaking hand to wipe at her cheeks. “A-and then she t-told me to r-run –” 

THe old Priestess caught the girl’s quivering chin in her hand and forced her to meet her eyes. “Where is Y/N, Komatsu?” 

Komatus’s eyes were wide with fear. “She ran,” she whispered. “Into the woods – b-but Granny – she was bleeding –” 

The Shrine’s Priestess turned to the Slayer, ready to beg him to follow after the demon and her apprentice, but the Water Pillar was gone. For a brief moment, she feared all hope was lost; that they’d been abandoned and non one would be able to save the young Miko – her heir – from whatever horrid fate awaited her at the ends of Susumo’s crazed, brutal claws.

She caught a flurry of movement right against the dark line of trees that snagged her attention; a flap of the edge of a mismatched haori, and the glint of a blade being drawn, its wielder already furiously making his way into the shadowy depths of the forest. 

The Priestess exhaled and clutched her trembling young trainee to her chest. As she soothed the shaken young girl, the old woman prayed the Water Pillar would not be too late.

–

She was fucked; well and truly fucked.

Y/N had no idea how long she’d spent sprinting furiously through the forest, but she knew she was quickly running out of stamina. Worse, it seemed the demon on her heels knew she was slowing, and was now playing with her. But even his patience seemed to be at its wit’s end; for a sudden sharp blow to her back sent the Miko flying several feet forward until she slammed against the uneven, rough terrain of the forest floor.

Y/N gasped for air that would not come as she tried to push herself up. Crawl! Her mind begged her body. Crawl, damn you!

A dark chuckle from behind sent every hair on her body standing straight on end. A hand locked around her ankle and flipped her over until she was nearly nose to nose with the demon crouched over her. “Got you,” he sang, and the moonlight glinted off the sharp edge of his fangs as he grinned. 

Her fingers found the handle of the knife the Water Pillar had gifted her in her pocket. With a determined grunt, she pulled it free and plunged it deep into the meat of his shoulder, praying furiously to any god who would listen that she might have hit an artery so that he would bleed out. 

The demon loosed an enraged scream and fell away from her, hands blindly fumbling for the blade.  

No longer pinned beneath him, Y/N  scrambled back. Her hands scraped against the broken brush and pebbles below her in her desperate attempt to put distance between herself and the demon rising to his feet ahead of her, snarling. As he began advancing toward her, Susumo gripped the knife she’d buried in his shoulder and with a grunt, he wrenched it free and tossed it carelessly to the side, right along with the last shred of any hope she’d had of making it out of the woods alive.

The demon’s mouth curled into a cruel, savage grin, the moonlight glinting off his long, wicked fangs. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he growled, saliva dripping down his chin as his nostrils widened to scent her blood and her fear. 

This was it; there was nowhere for her to run, no weapon she could try and protect herself with. There was nothing she could do; she was going to die, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Just as Susumo drew upon her, close enough that she could smell the rancid, pungent odor of rotted meat on his breath, he stumbled back, startled. 

One moment the demon was standing mere inches from her, ready to devour her whole; the next, he was sent sailing back, his body smashing into the trunk of a nearby tree with a sickening thump! 

A blur of dark matter soared over the Miko’s head toward the monster. Susumo barely had time to stand before the shadow converged on him once more. There was a flash of light — the moon reflecting off metal — followed by a dull thud. The shrine maiden’s heart lodged in her throat as she watched the head of the former village drunkard roll across the forest floor before distingrating, his body following soon after. 

She was nearly hyperventilating as the shadow turned to face her, but the pall of the moon finally illuminated the face of her savior — her Water Pillar.

“G-Giyuu,” she stuttered, her eyes stinging with unshed tears of relief that washed over her all at once.

But Giyuu did not respond, his lapis eyes narrowing in on the dark stain spreading across the white of her kosode. Y/N cowered at the cold, unbridled rage that contorted the ordinarily stoic Hashira’s face as he began to shake at the sight of her blood. In a flash, Giyuu had closed the distance between them and knelt down by her side, gripping her wounded arm in his hand as he tried to pull her tattered sleeve down and  inspect her wound.

“Tomioka — Giyuu,” she pled, trying to wrench her arm from his iron-like grip. “Please, it’s not that bad —“

“Did it get you anywhere else?” Giyuu demanded harshly, and the authority underlying his tone made Y/N fall silent for the first time since she’d known him. “Did it -“ the Water Pillar hesitated. “Did it touch you anywhere else?”

Y/N was trembling, and the Hashira’s hand around her arm tightened. “Ah!” She winced. “No, I promise, Giyuu, it’s just a flesh wound, I’m fine-,”

“You are bleeding. You are not fine.” Giyuu snapped back. “You could’ve been killed, or turned, or -,” the Water Pillar began to hyperventilate, and it shook the young Miko to her core. The Water Hashira was normally so unflappable, so stoic, that his panicked anger frightened her.

“-So do not tell me you’re fine,” Giyuu’s rant continued. “Not when you could’ve — not when I might’ve failed — not again --”

She was at a loss for what to do as she watched the raven-haired man struggle to form words. Vaguely, she recalled the way the Granny-Priestess had once explained to her that when someone panicked, they needed to regulate their breathing, and there were many ways someone could help force another to breathe properly…

Stomach fluttering, Y/N’s free hand came up to grip the fold of the Water Pillar’s haori. Giyuu’s incessant rambling only ended when her lips urgently pressed against his own, his eyes going wide. A heartbeat or two passed and then the Miko pulled away, her eyes serious as she stared at the stunned Water Hashira.

“You need to give me a sword.” She told him, earnestly, her face blazing.

———

Giyuu helped her back to the Shrine, though the Miko found herself needing to bat off the Water Pillar with a stern reminder that she’d only sustained a small arm wound as he’d tried to scoop her up into his arms.

The Swordsman had been rather subdued the entire journey out of the forest, his eyes curiously wide and dazed right until the pair breached the tree line at the edge of the Shrine’s property. The moment they stepped into open ground, they were swarmed by the tearful, relieved faces of the Shrine’s inhabitants. Words of gratitude to him were woven through worries over the Miko’s arm wound as they made their way across toward the small infirmary which, thankfully, had not been touched by Susumo’s fire.

The honden itself was still standing; though the flames had finally been subdued, smoke still curled up toward the sky, blocking any view of the moon or the stars. 

The head Priestess waited for them outside the infirmary. Though her face was grave, Giyuu could spy the relief shining in her eyes. He stood numbly by as the Miko and her master regarded each other warily for a moment, before the elder Priestess reached forward and yanked her charge forward into a fierce embrace.

“Reckless girl,” she chastised gently against the side of Y/N’s head. “Thank every one of the gods that you’re safe.” The old Priestess’s eyes found those of the Water Pillar. “And thank you, Lord Tomioka.”

Y/N was promptly escorted inside to have her wound examined and stitched. Despite the old shrine keeper’s gratitude for his aid in saving the young shrine maiden, that thankfulness apparently did not extend to permitting him inside the infirmary with them, and for good reason. For under the Elder’s withering glare, the Water Pillar realized that Y/N’s treatment would require her to be stripped of her kosode, leaving her exposed and bare. 

As unwilling as he’d been to part from her, the thought of witnessing the Miko undressed and vulnerable had been enough to temper his urge to look after her, if nothing else because the mental image of her in such a state flustered him to no end.

Though, he supposed his bewilderment also had something to do with what had transpired between them in the forest.

Kissed him; the shrine maiden had kissed him. 

His fingers drifted to his lips. They still felt warm where they’d been graced by hers, and he swore he could still feel the softness of her mouth from where it had brushed against his. 

He needed to talk to her; he needed to know what the hell she’d been thinking, kissing him like that. 

But as shocking as the Miko’s kiss had been, there was something else, something far heavier, that weighed on his mind. 

She’d nearly been killed. By a demon. On his watch. 

He should’ve apologized; he should’ve begged for her forgiveness for letting her come that close with death. For letting her get wounded because he hadn’t been fast enough.

I was concerned for you, he wanted to tell her. I thought I would be too late.

No; concern didn’t cover it; did not do near enough justice to his true emotions upon learning the Miko had fled into the dark forest with a hungry, loathsome demon hot on her trail.

He’d been scared; terrified; almost beside himself at the possibility that he’d be too late and find that she’d already been reduced to the beast’s meal, 

He’d been scared he’d never again see her smile or hear her laugh, and that had terrified him more than anything. For it was the memory of both that soothed his anxious nerves each time he startled awake from visions of his dead loved ones, demanding to know why they had died in his stead.   

He’d feared that he would have to add her face to those he saw when he slept — the faces of those he’d failed to protect, who’d died for his sake. He’d been terrified of seeing her image in painstaking clarity, just as he saw the faces of his sister and Sabito every morning. 

He did not know what to do with them, these confusing feelings, so abundant and intense that they’d welled up within him and threatened to spill over. He couldn’t name them, let alone begin to untangle the knot they’d formed within his heart. All he knew was that every one of them were inextricably tied to her. 

His shrine maiden. 

His.

—

Y/N’s arm ached, but it had been properly sewn and bandaged, and there was work to do before she could settle in for the night; and so, she found herself helping her peers with cleaning up the courtyard from the debris of the night’s events. 

Truthfully, she'd been grateful for the distraction. Occupying herself with cleanup meant she did not have to think about what she’d done in the forest. But then Granny Priestess saw her trying to heave away broken wood with her freshly stitched arm and Y/N found herself forced to abandon her fellow trainees as the old bat smacked her upside the head and squawked about how she was going to break her stitching and complicate the healing process.  

The Miko tried not to pout as she retreated, opting instead to grumble over the old woman’s dramatics as her arm stung and her ego throbbed. When she finally returned to her sleeping quarters, exhaustion slammed into her, making her limbs heavy and leaden. Unable to quite rally the energy to crawl into her futon, she slumped against the doorway of the room, her head and her heart a tangled mess of emotions she couldn’t quite name.

What she’d felt the moment the Water Pillar had stepped into the moonlight had been more than mere relief that he’d managed to save her life for the second time. She’d felt safe, so unbelievably safe that the forest itself could have been on fire and she wouldn’t have been afraid; not as long as he was there with her.

Something between them had shifted; that much was clear. In truth, things likely had begun to change the moment she repaired his haori, and she’d admitted to him her deep-seated loneliness and lack of belonging.

She only hoped he felt the change, too.

—

Much to Y/N’s chagrin, autumn was quickly giving way to blasted winter.

Though, the Miko hadn’t been able to fully resent the rapid shift in the seasons; repairs at the Shrine had consumed nearly all of her attention, and as Granny’s heir, she was expected to contribute to its reconstruction more than any other trainee.

That expectation meant Granny left the task of figuring out how to finance the necessary repairs entirely to her young protege. Y/N had spent all of two days agonizing over ways to raise the necessary funds when she awoke to find a mysterious sack of money that had been left on the doorstep of the honden. Inside had been an amount more than generous to cover the cost of repairs from the fire, with a hefty remainder that could be put toward other necessary improvements to spruce the Shrine up, and perhaps restore it to its former glory. 

No note had been left with the money to indicate the identity of the Shrine’s benefactor.  But amid all the excitement of her peers at the thought of being able to afford materials and laborers to assist with the more difficult aspects of the Shrine’s refurbishment, Y/N had spotted a familiar crow perched high in a nearby tree.

That position had afforded the bird with a perfect view of the money sack, allowing it to silently ensure it fell into the proper hands. But repairs had finally slowed, and Y/N now found her days returning to normal. Almost. 

What was not normal was how agitated she'd become in waiting for his return.

Another week passed without any communication from the Water Pillar, and the Miko had grown desperate for any sort of distraction. She found herself one late, autumn morning passing the time in the Shrine’s garden hut. She was pretending to be searching for tools that would help her prune the wilting Shrine garden when something grazed against the small of her back. Startled, she turned and was greeted by familiar, unruly raven hair and a pair of deep azure eyes. 

“Giyuu,” his name slid easily off her tongue, and suddenly she could not remember why she’d called him anything else. 

A ghost of a smile graced his lips. “Hello, Y/N.”

A poignant silence followed, and her cheeks grew hot. "Don't mind me," she said quickly, turning her head away from him as she pretended to organize stray gardening supplies. "I am only just now finishing my tasks for the day."

Though he remained silent, she became acutely aware of the way Giyuu’s eyes followed her as she tried desperately to keep herself busy, to avoid having to meet that piercing, discerning stare. 

“I did not get a chance to properly thank you after the turmoil of that night,” she said casually. Nervously, she hoped that his heightened senses did not alert him to the way her heart fluttered in her chest, or how her stomach flipped in her gut. Her nails dug into her palms as she lifted her head to meet that unnerving, fathomless stare.

But the Water Pillar had already closed most of the distance between them, having moved so silently she’d not heard him, despite even the creaky, uneven slatted floor of the garden hut. “How is your wound?” He asked softly, his hand skirting up the outside of the arm Susumo had wounded. “Has it healed?” 

It took a great amount of effort for Y/N to remember how to keep her breathing steady. But she forced her lips into an easy smile as she rucked up the flared sleeve of her kosode to reveal her bicep. “It will likely scar,” she admitted, her fingers lightly tracing over the three, angry red marks that remained imprinted on her skin, though they’d fully scabbed over. “I consider myself quite lucky, all things considered.” 

“Why did you do it?” 

The Miko ducked her head, willing the sheet of her hair to fall and conceal her mounting blush. She did not need to ask him to clarify; she knew after what he was asking.

But she feigned ignorance all the same. “I don’t know what you mean, Tomioka-sama –” 

“Don’t call me that,” and even though she refused to meet his eyes, she could sense his irritation at her avoidance. “We’re well past such formalities, Y/N.” Giyuu stepped closer to her, his cerulean eyes melting into something more akin to the midnight blue of the evening sky. “You kissed me. That night.” The Water Pillar’s hand glided up the arm that Susumo had injured, caressing softly over the healed skin beneath the sleeve of her kosode.

“I-I did no such thing!” Y/N sputtered, though her reddening cheeks betrayed her. “I was only attempting to help you calm down — you were panicking, and inconsolable.” 

Giyuu’s responding smirk only served to irritate her more. “Should I thank you then, Y/N?” His hand slid from her shoulder to below her chin, his delicate fingers curling to tilt her head up towards his, as he closed the distance between their bodies. “Should I show you how grateful I am that you were able to assuage my worry?” 

Y/N tried to focus on anything but the feeling of Giyuu’s breath — warm and enticing — against her face as he leaned in close. “You had no reason to worry; I was completely fine before you showed up.” 

“Fine,” the ravenette scoffed, his grip on her chin tightening slightly. “So fine that you were bleeding and about to become that beast’s snack — or worse.” 

“But you saved me, did you not?” Y/N whispered, unable to stop her eyes from dropping to the Water Pillar’s sensual, soft-looking mouth before rising once more to meet his punishing gaze. “And then I helped you.” 

Giyuu’s second hand brushed against her waist and the shrine maiden thought she might leap out of her skin. “You did,” he conceded, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a small, half-smile. “Though I apologize that you needed to do so — I suppose I become a little over-zealous when things that are precious to me are threatened.” 

Even if she could have thought of some witty remark to throw back at him, those words surely would have been blocked by her heart as it lodged in her throat. 

Things that were precious to him. She was precious to him.

“So I’ll ask again, Y/N,” Giyuu whispered, and his nose brushed delicately against hers. “Should I thank you for your assistance?” The fingers beneath her chin stroked her jaw. “Should I kiss you?” 

She fought to suppress the excited shudder that licked up her spine. “Yes, Lord Hashira,” she breathed, and her stomach turned cartwheels as Giyuu’s gaze dropped to her mouth. “Perhaps you should.” 

“Who am I to deny the request of a priestess?” Giyuu murmured, and then his lips were moving against hers, warm and soft. Y/N’s fingers flew to clutch the Water Pillar’s rocky biceps beneath the soft cloth of his haori, anchoring him against her. The hand that had gripped below her chin slid to the side of her face, tilting her head so that the Water Pillar could have better access to her as he pressed his lips harder against hers. 

Y/N moaned into his kiss, wanting him closer, impossibly closer to her than he currently was. 

Giyuu broke away from her once, though he kept a hand on the back of her neck to keep her in place. “What are your duties today?” 

Y/N’s fingers curled around the front of the Water Pillar’s haori, her forehead resting against his. “None of import.” She gave him a sly smile. “No one will miss me if I am gone for a few hours.” 

Giyuu returned her smile with a tiny smirk of his own. “In that case,” he tugged her hand and he began to lead her towards the grassy overlook where they’d spent a great deal of time talking and learning one another. “I could use your assistance.”

–

Y/N hadn’t greeted the sunrise with the intent to neglect her shrine duties, but she couldn’t say she regretted how she ended up spending the day.

They spent the day resting on the hillside overlooking the shrine grounds, rolling back and forth upon the browning grass as they kissed each other again and again. 

“You weren’t wrong, that day — right after we met,” Giyuu gasped against her lips as they broke apart, the blush on Y/N’s cheeks a sure match to his own. “I do not find you captivating.”

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed. Her mouth parted, a protest on her tongue when Giyuu surged forward, his lips brushing against her neck. The Miko’s words choked off with a squeak as the Water Pillar danced his lips to the hollow of her throat, his tongue flicking out once right where her heart pulsed wildly. 

“I think you are utterly transfixing; enchanting,” he breathed against her skin. “You have cast a spell over me that I do not want broken.”

“I find it hard to believe anyone could wield that sort of power over a Hashira,” Y/N’s voice was high pitched as Giyuu’s lips made their way back to hers.

In the back of her mind, Y/N wondered if his words were motivated purely by his physical desire for her. It would not have surprised her if he was only so taken with her because he longed to be touched; held. Like him, she’d gone much of her life without intimacy from anyone. She could not blame him for seeking it from someone so willing to give as she. 

“But you are not just anyone, not to me.” was all he replied, his lips moving softly against hers once more. “You are…everything.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The Water Pillars words, dripping like honey from his lips, were only sweetened by the fervent sincerity of his eyes as he pulled back to gaze into hers, so deeply, she felt as though he could see every thought in her head.

She wondered if he lowered that piercing, discerning stare, whether he’d be able to see straight to her heart, too; see how it bore his name. 

Even though her breath guttered in her throat at his words, her heart clenched painfully in her chest. The idea that she’d attached more meaning to their relationship than he, that perhaps she’d overestimated her value to him made her tense, made her want to push him away and —

“You’re distracted,” Giyuu murmured against her lips, brushing his nose against hers. “Your thoughts are loud.” 

Her fingers caught the front fold of his haori, fiddling idly with it. “There is nothing for you to repay, you know. You do not owe me your time or your attention. I know the Shrine is simply a part of your designated patrol. I understand if its convenience is the only reason —” 

A single finger pressed itself against her lips, quieting her. “You think and talk too much.” The ravenette chastised. Her mouth parted, a protest forming on her lips, when he cut her off again. “Ah ah,” Giyuu silenced her with his lips, his tongue flicking out to skim along her bottom lip. Above her, he shifted and allowed his weight to fall against her, pinning her beneath him. Reluctantly, his mouth broke away from hers. “It is my turn to speak.” 

“I do not come to the Shrine because it is easy,” Giyuu’s lips brushed hesitantly against her jaw. “Nor do I come here out of any preconceived obligation to repay your kindness.” 

He pulled back to study her, panting and flushed beneath him. As his eyes slowly combed over her, Y/N felt a strange knot pull and twist in the depths of her stomach. “There is only one thing that brings me back here, no matter how exhausted I am after weeks of endless missions; no matter how often certain junior Corps members pester me to train them.” His eyes narrowed at the hollow of the Miko’s throat, exposed by the way her kosode had shifted as the pair of them rolled around the grass. Curious, Giyuu leaned down and pressed his lips firmly against it. 

And then he did the unthinkable;  the Water Pillar moaned, ever so softly, against the fluttering of Y/N’s frantic pulse. The sound, so rich and full of need – of want – washed over her and drowned out all other thoughts, all other higher reasoning from her mind. INstead, the Miko was left with nothing but the sharp urge to press her thighs together, an unknown heat beginning to pool in her most sacred area. 

“Do you know what that thing is, Y/N?” He whispered against the soft dip in her throat, his breath hot as it fanned across her skin. “Can you guess what it is I cannot stay away from – could not, even if I desired otherwise?” 

His fingers dropped to the collar of her kosode, tracing lightly over its crisp, white fold. “When I close my eyes in the mornings, it is your face I see,” he murmured. “It is your laugh I hear in my dreams; your scent I find myself longing for when I awaken.”

The Miko shivered as his index finger traced from her collar up her throat, over her chin until it came to rest on her bottom lip, gently stroking over its curve. “It is you I seek to turn to remind myself that there is still good in this world – good still worth protecting. Why is that, Y/N?” His eyebrows furrowed and he seemed almost earnest in his question. “Why is it that my mind refuses to be occupied by anything but you?” 

“Because I vex you,” she said softly, eyes wide and locked with his. “Because, try as you might, you’ve never been able to fully fit me into a box as you have with others.” 

Giyuu shook his head. “Vex me?” He tsked at her. “Perhaps once that was true. But now? I desire you in ways I can hardly understand, and it drives me mad.”

Her breath hitched in her throat. “What are you saying?” 

“I think I’ve been rather clear,” and instinctively, Giyuu rolled his hips against hers, desperate to relieve some of the friction mounting in his groin. “And it’s that I want –” 

But the Miko did not get to hear what Giyuu wanted; not as he was drowned out by the screeching cry of a bird from high above. Only, this bird was not the dull, graying crow she’d come to associate with her Swordsman.

“I thought your crow was older?”

The Water Pillar frowned as he turned to look up, his eyebrows drawn together. “That’s not Kanzaburo — that’s one of the Master’s —“

“CAW,” the bird circled above their heads in narrow, rapid turns. “Lord Tomioka! Return to headquarters immediately!”

Giyuu’s jaw clenched. “Can it not wait?” 

Y/N, however, only gaped up at the bird flying above them. “It talks —?” 

But the crow only cried again, “Emergency meeting at headquarters!!

With a short, frustrated exhale, Giyuu rolled to the side of the Miko and rose, but not before he extended a hand and helped lift her to her feet.

He gingerly brushed some loose grass from her hair. “I’m sorry.” 

She only shook her head as she reached to adjust his haori, righting it in his shoulders. “It’s your duty, Giyuu. I understand that.”

He scowled back up at the bird still circling above them, bleating a refrain of “Emergency! Go now!”

“I’m not finished with this conversation,” Giyuu said plainly, a frustrated hand working through his hair. Though his annoyance was plain as day, it fell away as he looked back to the Miko at his side, his gaze softening. “Nor am I finished with you.” 

A single finger reached under Y/N’s chin and lifted her head toward him so he could brush another kiss against her lips. “I will come see you – soon.” 

With a shy boldness, the Miko rose on her toes and gave him one final kiss, and Giyuu’s hand tightened where it rested against her waist. “I’ll wait for you, Lord Hashira.”

———

December, 1915

Y/N cursed at the ancient priestess who insisted on using only gas-powered lanterns rather than the newer, much safer, electric powered lights that other shrines had begun using. 

“We are an esteemed shrine dating back hundreds of years,” the old crone had simpered, “Tradition has kept us going this far!” 

Y/N hadn’t helped her cause by asking whether tradition or spite was what kept the hag from dying off and finally leaving her in peace.

And that was how the young Priestess-to-be found herself stomping through the snowy grounds of the Shrine, forced to light each and every lantern by hand using a match and oil, utterly by herself.

She knew better than to levy such an obvious taunt at the old woman, but admittedly, Y/N hadn’t been in the best of moods as of late. 

Giyuu had not returned since that day on the hillside, when he’d kissed her silly and told her he could not stop thinking of her. It was as though he no longer existed; even the crows at the Shrine were no more, having all disappeared one morning before she’d awoken.

As the weeks passed, the weight of his absence had grown heavier, threatening to beat her into the ground below. 

But Y/N had done her best to hold her tongue over the last weeks as her anxiety mounted, and Granny should’ve known that — so really, it was her own fault if she’d taken offense to the Miko’s barb.

She grumbled and cursed under her breath as she trudged toward the small garden hut standing at the furthest edge of the Shrine’s grounds — her last stop of the night. She shoved past the old, rickety door and braced her merrily flickering, hand-held lantern out before her, bathing the small hut in a warm, orange glow.

All was silent and quiet within the small storeroom. The air was cold, though the slatted walls of the hut offered some protection from the howling, snow-dotted winds outside. Determined to complete her task and return to the comfort of her warm futon, the Miko fumbled around one of the store shelves for a small can of oil. 

“It’s you,” a quiet voice startled her from behind, and Y/N nearly dropped the lantern clutched in her hands.

But she did not feel afraid as she recognized the calm, soothing cadence of the voice, that voice that belonged to the one person capable of making her blush. 

The one person who held her heart.

“It’s been a while, Giyuu. I was wondering when I’d see you again.” She turned and saw the raven-haired man standing in the doorway of the garden hut, his face characteristically neutral, though he seemed tense, even more so than usual.

Instantly, she moved toward him. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes tightened, and the darkness which swam within them betrayed his aloof facade. “Things have changed quickly in my world,” he began, and she saw his fists clench at his sides. “We believe the demons are preparing for war — and so we have been as well. 

“War?” She repeated softly, her step faltering. “I hadn’t realized the demons were so…organized.”

Giyuu nodded. “One creature is responsible for all demons. He is the orchestrator; he is the one we must kill, and we believe the opportunity to do so is drawing nearer.”

The monotonous cadence of his voice fell away as he quietly added, “That is why I haven’t been able to return — we’ve been training. This battle — it may start at any moment.”

He made like he wanted to say more, but he stopped himself, pressing his lips into a tight line. 

“And?” She prompted gently, taking a solitary step toward him.

“He hesitated, and she spied how his throat worked to swallow. “And I do not know when I will be able to see you again. After tonight.”

Y/N watched him for a moment, her eyes searching his. “When you say you don’t know ‘when’ we will see each other again,” she began, cautiously. “Do you mean ‘if?’”

Giyuu’s answering silence said more than any words could. 

For a moment, the Miko could not remember how to speak, not as she felt the organ in her chest splinter into a thousand, mismatched pieces.

“I just wanted to see you,” the Water Pillar struggled to swallow around the growing lump in his throat. “One last time.” 

She could scarcely breathe. 

He was leaving and he might never return. 

Leaving to go try and put an end to the scourge of demons that plagued their world. It was a noble thing to do; sacrifice in its purest form. 

But she hated it. 

She was filled with such a deep melancholy that it nearly brought her to her knees. As the Water Pillar turned to leave, Y/N couldn’t stop herself as she reached for him, her arms encircling him as her hands locked over his front, stilling him.

“Giyuu,” she said thickly, her face pressed into the back of his haori as she willed the tears in her eyes not to fall. “Giyuu.” 

He turned in her grasp and looked down at her in awe, a finger rising to brush the errant tear that had escaped down her cheek as he held her gaze. 

The flame within her lantern flickered as Giyuu softly grazed his lips against her own, Y/N’s arms weaving around his neck to hold him close to her. 

His hands were gentle, if not a little uncertain as they found her waist, but once they came to a rest against her, he pulled her close, arms winding around her middle and holding her securely against him as he deepened the kiss. She moaned softly into his mouth, her hands tangling in his hair as she opened up for him, his tongue gliding alongside her own until she was left breathless and wanting. 

Vaguely, the Miko was aware that he was walking them deeper into the garden hut, allowing the old door to thud shut behind him, and the thought of not returning to her plush futon suddenly did not seem like such a loss. 

Giyuu’s hands returned to her face, thumbs stroking softly along her cheeks as he broke their kiss to brush his lips against her eyes, her nose, and forehead. Y/N’s hands parted the Water Hashira’s haori from his shoulders as Giyuu’s fingers dropped to her collar bone, sliding beneath her kosode, and grazing her bare shoulder. 

“You have been my most treasured encounter,” he whispered, and she felt her heart seize in her throat, tears threatening to spill anew from her eyes.

A year’s worth of interactions had all led to this moment, but it was not the satisfying payoff of the tension and longing that had been steadily building between them.

This was a goodbye. 

Because it was likely that the Water Pillar would not survive the impending battle; but neither did he want to leave this end untied. 

She had known, deep in her heart, that this affair had been doomed before it had ever begun, but that hadn’t stopped her from falling for the kind, brave, selfless man now kissing her like she was his entire world anyways. 

She would not get to have him in the morning, so she resolved to give herself to him for the night. 

Giyuu’s hands eased her kosode from her shoulders, exposing her to the cool air within the garden hut. His warm hands, however, worked to chase away any chill that spread across her skin as he ran his palms over the curve of her shoulders before sliding down to rest on her bare waist, his long fingers grazing just below the curve of her breasts.

Her own fingers trembled as she fumbled with the buttons on his uniform shirt but in time, she’d worked them open and Giyuu broke their kiss long enough to let his shirt drop to the floor beneath them. 

The two stood there for a moment, chests rising and falling rapidly, as they looked at one another, half-nude and vulnerable. The shrine maiden and the slayer knew that they had come upon a precipice, and if they stepped off that ledge, there would be nothing to break their fall. 

Y/N made the first move, taking a tentative step towards the Water Pillar as she trailed her fingers lightly up the beautiful, sculpted ridges of his abdomen, relishing how warm he was beneath her touch. 

Giyuu shivered beneath her fingertips as the miko’s hand came to a rest against his sternum, marveling the way his heart thundered beneath her hand. “Are you certain?” He breathed, his face was impassive, but his own uncertainty was betrayed by the slight tremor in his voice. His hand rose to gently cup the side of her face, his thumb ghosting over her bottom lip. 

She reached to grab the Pillar’s free hand and brought it up to rest against her sternum, mirroring her own hold on him so that he could feel the steady drum of her own heart — and how it thrummed for him. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m yours, Giyuu.” 

Once, she had believed the Hashira incapable of expressing anything other than cold aloofness. she’d not been able to comprehend the subtle ways with which his eyes could signal his mood; how they darkened when angry, or how the outer corners turned up, almost imperceptibly, when he was content. 

But she had long since learned to read him, and so, her stomach fluttered at the way the raven haired man’s gaze heated with both adoration and desire — for her. 

Giyu brushed his nose against hers affectionately before bringing their lips together once more, his kiss growing fervent as her hands slid up to tangle in his ebony hair. Y/N gasped into his mouth as she felt Giyu bend down, his hands gripping firmly under her thighs as he lifted her up, forcing her to lock her legs around his waist. Her lips parted, and Giyuu’s tongue slid seamlessly into her mouth.

Her lover locked one steely arm firmly around her lower back to support her as Y/N felt him lower them to the floor to lay her down, the Water Pillar’s free hand coming to brace against the back of her skull, to protect her head from thudding back against the wooden slats of the hut floor. The Miko steadied herself, prepared for the cold bite of the dirty hut floor to nip at the bare skin of her back, but she was only settled against something warm and soft; something that smelled distinctively of the Slayer panting above her. 

Her fingers dropped to her side and grazed against the familiar fabric of Giyuu’s haori; his most prized and cherished possession, spread out beneath her to protect her from the cold ground,  a makeshift bed against which she would let him take her and make her his.

He withdrew his lips from hers to sit back, his cerulean eyes tracing over every inch of her, from the way her dark hair spread out in a soft halo around her, to the blush staining her cheeks. His eyes darkened as they lowered to her bare chest, at the way it rose and fell jerkily as Y/N struggled to control her breathing. 

Giyuu’s long, slim fingers reached out to trace along the top of her scarlet hakama pants, his finger tips just grazing along her ribs and the underside of her breasts. 

“I’d never known such -,” He covered his struggle for words by pressing a sweet kiss against the hollow of her throat, a soft gasp escaping the Miko at the unfamiliar sensation. “Such beauty,” Giyuu’s lips trailed down to skirt across the ridge of her collar bone. “Not until I met you.” 

His face was against her sternum, pressing kisses as he trailed his lips down her skin. “I am sorry I could not give you more time.” His voice was soft, softer than even she had ever known. Before she could respond, Giyuu’s mouth hesitantly brushed against the stiffened peak of her breast, and Y/N’s mouth fell open with a soft cry. 

Azure eyes flashed up to meet hers. “Is this — is this okay?” 

The Miko's eyes fluttered shut as she nodded, unable to trust that she could hold her voice steady if she spoke. Her fingers weaved their way through the Pillar’s thick, raven locks, and she grazed her nails against his scalp in encouragement. 

Giyuu grunted softly at her touch, and he leaned forward to suck more of her soft mound into his hot mouth, teeth grazing lightly against her nipple as he explored her. 

“Oh,” she moaned, her thighs inadvertently pressing together as Giyuu’s tongue and lips worshipped her bared flesh, licking and sucking and nipping at her in his devotion. 

“Beautiful,” he murmured against the soft, sensitive skin of her breast. “So very beautiful.” 

He repeated the movement again and again before he traced his mouth across her sternum and began lavishing her other breast with the same fervor. Her hands fisted in his hair as she mewled for him, enamored with the feeling of his hot mouth latched around her. He gave her more and yet it was not enough; every pass of his tongue over her stiffened peak only amplified the ache between her legs, only made the emptiness she felt more pronounced.

A breathy, whining and needy moan blew past her lips in time with a reflexive buck of her hips against his.  

The ravenette pulled off her breast with a start, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed as he gazed down at her in awe. “Do that again.”

“W-what —?” She pushed herself up on her elbows to look down at him, her chest heaving.

“Tell me what to do,” Giyuu’s breath was ragged though his fingers continued trailing down her sides, seeking out the ties securing her bottoms around her waist. “Tell me how I might help you make that sound again.” 

“I –” Y/N squirmed beneath the intensity of his gaze, her thighs rubbing together to stifle some of the electricity she felt between her legs. “I want you to – I need you closer.” 

Her eyes drifted to the bulge that had formed between the Hashira’s thighs, and she felt her heart skip in her chest.

Giyuu pressed his groin against hers and ground. She gasped at the spark of pleasured friction the movement stoked between her thighs, and her eyes flew to meet his, only to see they were as wide as hers. 

And just as hungry. 

Her hand gently cupped his face. “Closer. Please.” 

He pressed his cheek into her palm and with a soft groan, his fingers quickly loosened the fastenings of her bottoms and then he was pushing them down her hips and over her legs, discarding them carelessly to the side. Giyuu sat back on his knees and let his eyes roam her, now fully bare and laid out beneath him. 

When his appraisal of her finally reached the thatch of curls between her thighs, the Water Pillar loosed a shaky breath. She had half a mind to cross her legs, to conceal the most intimate part of her body from the raging fire of his gaze as he studied her, but she forced herself to remain relaxed; open.

One, broad and calloused hand stretched tentatively out to run along the outside of her hip and down her leg, before smoothing back up in the inside of her thigh. His eyes flicked once to hers, and then he leaned forward and brushed delicate kisses down her abdomen, over her hip and along her thigh. He continued his descent as he slowly pushed himself back from her, and once he imparted one last, sweet press of his lips against her ankle, he rose. 

The flickering light of the lantern cast shadows along the alabaster of his skin, further accentuating how the muscles of his torso and abdomen flexed and shifted as he worked to free himself of the remainder of his clothes. His eyes did not leave hers, not even as his hands found the buckle of his belt and tugged it loose, and Y/N found herself free falling into their depths.

The ravenette dropped his belt to the floor, and then his fingers were at the waistband of his trousers, pulling and fiddling with their fastening. At last, Giyuu freed his lower half from the confines of his uniform pants and stepped out from the puddle they made at his feet. 

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as her eyes raked over his beautiful form, so lean yet solid and muscular. Her cheeks burned with a renewed blush as her gaze followed the small, dark trail of hair beginning just below his navel, and down between his hips, where the evidence of his desire stood proud. 

Her throat went dry. He was large — the flared head of his tip nearly grazed his navel, and his width was a little more than two of her fingers. Her thighs clamped together nervously, as she pondered how on earth she’d be able to accommodate him.

Giyuu noticed her hesitation, and a faint dusting of pink spread across his cheeks. “I have never -“

The shrine maiden shook her head. “Nor I,” she whispered, though the knowledge that this was as new to him as it was to her helped ease the clench in her stomach. For all her nervousness, the Miko could not ignore the heat and longing which burned within her as she lifted her eyes back to his. She found her muscles softening as she saw the same fire within those cyan pools she’d come to love. Y/N laid back against the floor — against the comforting soft of his haori, and let body relax, her legs falling open to him. 

She held her hand out to him, beckoning, “Come back to me, Giyuu.” 

The ravenette did not hesitate as he returned to her, covering her body with his own as he pulled her in for a heated kiss, the weight of his hardened length resting heavily against her hip as he settled between the cradle of her thighs.

Y/N moaned into his mouth, instinctively rolling her hips against him, desperate to feel closer to the man who had claimed her heart before she’d realized anyone was capable of holding it.  

Giyuu groaned, softly, against her as she repeated the movement, breaking their kiss to look down at the flushed Miko threatening to drive him wild with her silken touch. As much as he was desperate to feel her — every part of her — he knew what they were about to do would not be nearly as pleasurable for her as it would be for him. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” the Water Pillar’s eyes were stormy, a tempest of competing desire and pain at the idea of causing her even the slightest discomfort raging within him. 

Y/N brushed her lips against his once before trailing along his jaw, pausing only to suck softly as the soft spot beneath his ear. “I am only ever undone by you; never hurt.” 

He moaned softly, lowering his head back down to reclaim her mouth firmly with his own, his lips beseeching her to let him consume her. 

She was only too happy to do so, parting her mouth so that his tongue could slide in and dance languidly with hers, as he reached between them, gripping hold of his aching length and positioning himself at her entrance. 

The first brush of his hot, velvety tip against her folds broke their kiss, both gasping at the new yet intoxicating feel of the other’s most intimate area. 

Giyuu braced his free arm by her head, his fingers stretching to run comfortingly through her hair, as he pressed his forehead against hers. “If it becomes too much, just tell me, and we can stop.” His voice shook ever so slightly as he waited for her signal, the ache in his groin becoming nearly painful. 

The Miko grazed her lips against his throat. “Don’t stop.” She murmured. She hitched her legs higher up on his hips, angling herself so the trembling man above her would have better access to her. 

Slowly, so very slowly, the tip of Giyuu’s length began to push into her, and Y/N felt herself temporarily forget how to breathe. Above her, Giyuu’s eyes squeezed shut in a concerted effort not to sheathe himself within her in one stroke. 

“Y/N,” Giyuu panted, unable to stop the shaky moan that fell from his lips as he sunk into her warm heat that wrapped tight, so impossibly tight around him.

The shrine maiden winced at the unfamiliar and slightly uncomfortable sensation of being slowly stretched and filled by the Pillar. She felt as though she was a wave, crashing and breaking and parting around a rocky shore with every inch gained by the press of his hips against hers. 

Giyuu hardly had a quarter of himself seated within her when he felt his head brush against a thin barrier. His eyes opened to look down at the Miko, panting beneath him, her eyebrows pinched in slight discomfort. When she noticed he’d stopped, she peered up at him through her thick eyelashes, her cheeks flushed. 

The hand Giyuu had held at his base to help guide himself within her lifted to grip her hip, her legs relaxing as his fingers massaging soothing circles into her flesh. Giyuu removed his forehead from its resting place against hers and he buried his face into the side of her neck as he pressed his body flush against hers. The hand he’d used to brace himself found hers, and he lifted to rest above her head, his fingers twining tightly with her own. 

“I’m okay,” she whispered, pressing a sweet kiss against the shell of his ear. Giyuu nearly shuddered at her words, and he pressed his hips forward, his cock finally breaching that thin, inner barrier to the rest of her welcoming heat. 

Y/N cried out at the bright spark of pain that flared through her as Giyuu claimed her as his own, but the Pillar held her steady, pressing open-mouthed kisses against her neck. 

A hitched gasp blew past Giyuu’s lips as he became fully seated within her heat, her core gripping him like a vice. He panted against the sweat-dampened skin of her neck as they both adjusted to the sensation, her nails digging harshly into the skin of his back as she waited for the discomfort to subside. 

Giyuu pulled his face back to look down at her, the hand he’d had on her hip rising to cup her face as he brushed his lips across her cheeks and eyes. 

“My beloved, are you all right?” His breath came hard and fast as he panted, the growing friction between where they were connected becoming hotter, more demanding the longer he remained still. 

Y/N’s eyes slowly opened to meet his, he felt her relax as he kissed her, slow and gentle. 

Her lips broke from his and she nodded, shakily. “You can move — just hold me. Please.” 

Giyuu let his full weight fall against her as he wound an arm tightly around her waist, his other hand tilting her face up so he could kiss her fiercely, eager to show her what she meant to him when his words otherwise failed to do so. As she opened up to him, tongue flicking out shyly along his lip, Giyuu rolled his hips experimentally against hers. 

Both the shrine maiden and the Pillar cried out in unison as Giyuu’s movement stoked an intense pleasure where they were joined.

It was like a spark of flame had ignited between her legs before shooting up to her belly, making her insides clench and pulse. 

It was addicting, and, judging by the way the raven haired swordsman above her hissed, he’d felt that jolt of electrifying pleasure, too.

“Oh,” Giyuu moaned as he began to move atop her, his cock sliding in and out of her heat as he worked to set a pace. “You feel – this is –” his stutters broke off  into ragged pants that melted into broken moans with every movement as he found his rhythm.

The grip he had on her hand tightened as he pulled back from her neck in favor of watching her body jolt and bounce with each of his thrusts. 

His head dropped down to study how his length, now coated in something shiny, appeared with every long draw of his hips out before disappearing back into her warmth. 

He threw his head back. “Heaven,” the Water Pillar groaned out, a tendon throbbing in his neck as another cracked moan slipped free from his throat. “You are heaven.” 

Shallow thrusts turned deeper, more purposeful, as the Water Pillar settled into his tempo. Each push of his hips opened her up more, bit by bit, until Y/N’s limbs liquified and she was left moaning and whimpering in time with his movements.

One particular thrust made her cry out, caused her legs to reflexively tighten around Giyuu’s hips as something hot flared deep within her stomach. 

“M-more,” she managed, her voice tapering off with a squeak. She needed to feel that spark again, wanted to feel that jolt of electricity that made her stomach clench. “P-please — ah!— Giyuu —“ 

With something between a moan and a growl, Giyuu  angled himself to thrust deeper, his weight pushing her hips back from the floor. Her legs were forced to hike higher up his waist, her ankles locking instead against the dip in his spine rather than his backside. 

The new angle meant that Giyuu was able to hit at a spot that sent a bolt of lightening between her legs, and she could feel herself tighten around him. 

The combination of her walls fluttering and pulsing around him and the strange fullness she felt was both overwhelming and exhilarating. She did not think she could stand to feel empty again; to not feel him consuming every inch of her.

Gradually, the small garden hut was filled by the sounds of their pants and moans, weaving together to form the melody of a song meant only for them.

Giyuu began thrusting harder, and soon, a dull clap of skin began to reverberate off the hut’s slatted wood walls, adding a steady beat to the rhythm of their pleasure. Though the air inside the hut had been nearly as frigid as what lay beyond its door, both the Miko and the Slayer found themselves coated in a thin sheen of sweat that made their skin glisten in the faint, orange glow of her lantern.

Above her, the Water Pillar was as lost in his pleasure as she. Guided purely by instinct, Y/N arched her lower back away from the floor until her breasts were flush against his sternum, desperate to feel that jolting spark between her legs. 

She felt the walls her of her core clench tighter around Giyuu’s length with her movement, and he answered her with a deep growl as his arm cinched tighter around her waist.

Deep; he was so deep within her, that she wondered whether he might reach her soul before they had to part.

Giyuu’s thrusts quickened, the base of his groin grinding against that sensitive spot between her thighs that had her wanting more as she moaned, her thighs squeezing the Hashira’s hips.

His head was thrown back, his eyes tightly shut as the most beautiful sounds of pleasure Y/N had ever heard poured from Giyuu’s mouth.

“I — fuck.” He growled as one arm tightened around her waist to the point of pain, the other grabbing her hand to bring it to his lips in a futile attempt to stifle the sounds lilting from him like song. 

His name fell from her lips like a hallowed oath and Y/N’s legs fell to the side, allowing Giyuu to chase the crescent of his release, as hips pistoned into her with wild abandon. 

“Y-Y/N,” her black-haired beauty of a lover grit through clenched teeth, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. “My treasure, I-I’m gonna-“ 

The Water Pillar buried his face into the side of her neck, cradling his groans into her throat, and Y/N could feel his length twitch within her.

As Giyuu’s hips slammed into her one final time, so to did the realization that she loved this; she wanted always to be this close to him, wanted always to be unable to tell where she ended and he began.

She loved him. 

But the bitter truth was that she’d never again get to hold Giyuu the way she was right then, legs wrapped tightly around his waist as she felt something warm gush through her, a pleasured groan, so beautiful and husky tumbling from the Hashira’s lips as he pressed a sweet kiss against her collarbone. 

She would not get to love him past this most sacred rite. 

If she were honest, she’d likely never again experience this intimacy with anyone, for as long as she lived — for how could anyone else ever possibly compare? 

She supposed she’d been doomed to never hold onto the people who were meant to love her since the day she was born. She should’ve known better.

But as the roll of Giyuu’s hips into her heat slowed, and his labored breaths eased, Y/N could not find it within herself to regret it; to regret him. 

Because, fool though she was, she loved him. 

Giyuu collapsed against her, his face nuzzling into the crook of her neck as he came down from his high, still buried inside her as the two panted. 

Her hands moved of their own accord to card through his raven hair, fingertips massaging his scalp as his breathing slowed, his breath adding further moisture to the already sweat-dampened skin of her neck. 

She wished they could remain like that always; that the dawn creeping over the horizon would not herald forth the sun, and they could stay on the floor of the garden hut forever, wrapped in one another’s embrace. She desperately wanted to memorize the tempo of his heart as it beat steadily against his chest, the vibrations of which she felt against her ribs. Such a beautiful melody, it was, and yet it filled her with such despair to know she might never again hear its sweet song; that it might cease playing forever, the moment Giyuu resumed being the Water Pillar once more, and walked through the shrine gates for the last time. 

But Y/N had never had anyone she could call her own, and as much as she loved the man nuzzling her neck as he whispered sweet nothings against her skin, he’d never been hers to keep. 

“My beautiful, beautiful Y/N,” Giyuu murmured, kissing his way up her throat to her lips. “Are you alright?” 

She held his lips for a moment before breaking away, letting her eyes roam his face, and she nodded. “Are you?” 

To her utter surprise, the Water Pillar chuckled softly, his laugh breathy and his smile heartbreakingly beautiful. “Yes, my treasure. I am more than alright.” 

He brushed a kiss against the tip of her nose. “After all, I am with you.”

———-

He’d brought her against his chest and they’d laid there together, simply staring at one another, trading soft kisses as Giyuu traced a finger over every feature of her face at least twice. 

If he was to die, he knew his last thoughts would be of her, and he wanted to be sure he’d committed every last detail of her face to memory.

Soon, far too soon, the deep indigo of the night sky was broken by the first, watery rays of morning light, and both the Miko and the Slayer knew their time was up.

The lovers dressed quickly, their backs to one another as both steeled themselves for the goodbye they could no longer avoid. 

And now, that time had come. Though it was Giyuu who walked to his likely doom, Y/N felt as if she was embarking on her own death march as the pair drew near the towering Shrine gate. Perhaps she was; after all, he would be taking her heart with him, and she was unlikely to get it back.

Y/N did not know whether to lean in and kiss him, one last time, or whether such a display of affection would only scratch at the gaping, open wounds they now bore on their chests, where their hearts had been. 

Giyuu, apparently, did not know what to do either, so the two only stood there beneath the Torii, eyes swimming with emotions neither could bear to voice. 

There was a beat, and then the two moved toward one another, drawn together like magnets as they locked themselves in a tight embrace. Giyuu’s hand cupped the back of her skull as Y/N pressed her face hard into his shoulder. Her fingers dug into the fabric of his haori, desperate to keep him rooted to her — to life, safe and away from demons. 

But he couldn’t stay; she knew that. And so, with a deep inhale in a desperate attempt to memorize that mahogany and citrus scent of his she so adored, Y/N pulled away. She made to step back from him entirely, to put distance between them, but those warm fingers caught her under her chin, tilting her head up to face him before his hand slid to cup her cheek. 

The emotion swimming in the azure depths of his irises threatened to chisel away at the lock she kept on her own. Tears burned in her eyes, but she would not let them fall; she would not make this harder for herself — for him — than it already was. 

“If you do not hear from me, leave the mountain. Go to the city, and do not go out at night. Keep your dagger and wisteria on you at all times, even when you sleep,” Giyuu’s eyes were serious, the hand on her face holding her in place. “Live, Y/N. Grow to be an old woman. Die only from age.”

The shrine maiden closed her eyes as she willed herself not to cry. “And if you win?” 

Giyuu hesitated for a moment and Y/N knew better than to ask him to make a promise he could not keep. 

“Send a crow, if you can.” She whispered, feigning a small smile. “It would be nice to not be afraid to go and gather night-blooming herbs.”

The Water Pillar nodded, his hand smoothing through her hair one last time as his lips pressed against her forehead. “Thank you, Y/N.” 

She didn’t need to ask what for.

She hoped she’d never forget the way he said her name; the longing and the breathless passion that dripped from every syllable, and the way it sent shivers down her spine. 

Giyuu broke away from her and set off towards the east. Y/N watched until he was nothing more than a speck on the horizon, before he disappeared entirely. 

He did not look back. 

————————

He hadn’t trusted himself to look back at her, though every fiber of his being had screamed at him to turn around and behold her beauty one last time. But the Shrine Maiden had become his largest weakness, and Giyuu knew if he’d looked back, he would never make it back to his estate; to the Corps. 

And if you win? She’d asked him, and he hadn’t been able to form the words of the answer he’d so desperately wanted to give her.

Because while Giyuu Tomioka never made promises he couldn’t keep, that did not mean he didn’t hope. Right then, more than anything, his greatest desire was to win this war; win it, and come back and tell Y/N that she no longer needed to fear the night. 

In any other life — if Giyuu had been any other man — there would be no question as to who he’d choose to spend the rest of his days with. 

And so, Giyuu thought as he forced himself to march forward, his eyes burning, if he made it out of this war alive, he would go back to the Shrine and tell Y/N of their victory himself.

And perhaps she’d then allow him to make her his wife.

Keep an eye out for Part II to see if Giyuu comes back and makes good on his promise!

COMMENTS, REBLOGS, AND LIKES ALWAYS APPRECIATED!

[dragonmonstermilk]

Caught by the big bad wolf

Charcaters: Hoolay x guard!Reader

tw: (implied) fem!reader, (very much) size difference, degrading and praising, knot, pet names (human), (implied) semi-public sex, Hoolay is chained up, (kinda) corruption kink, belly bulge, (lot of) porn with plot, Hoolay's past (mentions of violence, abuse and death), manipulation, (slightly) dubcon, (if you squint) overstimulation, squirt

OK....idk if any of y'all have played the new patch of honkai:star rail but there are these new enemies (Borisins) who are werewolf and they are so hot, esp Hoolay (HE SO DAMN BIG SO..HOW COULDN'T I WRITE ABOUT HIM) !!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧*ੈ✩‧₊˚༘⋆࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

It passed a week since you were transferred to patrol the lower level of the Shackiling Prison. To be honest you were scared, and you had all the right to be it. The last floor was very dangerous, not because it was so dark you could barely see your shadow, even if there where a few lamps scattered here and there on the wall. You were scared because locked up there are the most dangerous individuals who committed serious crimes. These were forced to be imprisoned for all eternity while being muzzled, chained up, tortured and, if the sins they committed where more than gravious to be where they where, they would be starved. Of course, whoever received this punishment would be dead in a few weeks. Or, at least, that's what the superiors said to the novice guards.

As you reached down, taking a bit of time, you finally arrived. Before starting to patrol you take a deep breath, clutching your weapon. Steps echoed through the big hallways, locking everywhere to make sure that everything was good. You arrived at the most perilous zone: the right side of the cells. Here there was only a monster, the most dangerous in all Xianzhou, Hoolay. Your general advised you to be very careful around him, since he was quite hungry from all of the decades who passed without eating.

You reminisce the story of Hoolay, told you and to your fellow companions from your general. Hoolay is an abomination of Abundace and Lord of Borisins. He was held accountable for numerous acts of invasions, associated war crimes, and for long-term enslavement of Foxians and utilizing their blood for alchemical purposes. Hoolay, after being sentenced was transferred to the Shackiling Prison. The terms of his imprisonment was that he was to be subjected to the punishment of the Forest of Swords and never be pardoned. While the punishment was meant to be fatal and Hoolay was not given any food, he was somehow able to survive for hundreds of years without sustenance while the wounds inflicted by the Forest of Swords would simply restore themselves.

You take a few big breaths before opening the cell and going inside.There he is. Luckily he's all chained up, but better to keep a safe distance. As you try to keep yourself as far away as possible you look at Hoolay, who didn't seem to have noticed your presence. As a borisin, Hoolay is broad and lean, with powerful jaws and neck muscles. He has well-developed canine teeth, beast-like ears on top of his heads, and sharp claws on his hands and feet. Seeying his stance you are affascinated and intrigued. You squeal in surpirese as a sudden low voice speaks to you.

"Are you new here, human?" the chains jingles as Hoolay looks down at you. His very big figure towering over your much smaller one.

"Y-yes, but why would you ask" your voice trembling as you fear he could snap free from the chains (totally impossible, but you never know, no?).

Hoolay scoffs. His chains moving again.

"Come closer, human" his deep voice makes you feel something inside. Not wanting to make him angry than he could be possibly be, you do as he says, still being some metres away from him. He scoffs again, this time almost as if he is satisfied and amused. "Are you that afraid of me, human?" his voice roaring in the big cell. What could you answer him? Of course you were scared of him! He's so big, towering all over you. He could kill you just with his hand!

Hoolay didn't really expect an answer for you, but something was moving inside his head. He smirked, the scarce lighting reveling his big and sharp teeths. "Human" Hoolay stops before continuing "You don't need to be afraid of me. Come closer and I'll shall answer every question you have for me". You were confused. Why some big prisoner monster would ask you to make him some questions?

You ponder for a few moments. Hoolay waiting for an answer. "I don't want to ask you any questions", your tone firm and, again, Hoolay smirks. Suddenly a puppy like cry, like someone stepped on a puppy's tail. You look at Hoolay, panicked.

"Are you alright?! What happened?" you try to check if something is gone into his leg paws, but you could barely see. As panicked as you are, Hoolay smirks again, everything going according to his plan. "My hand! My hand hurt!" he cries out again, holding back a laugh. You are so naive.

You nod, and mumbling a few sorries you climb up is toned body, feeling his muscles under you. You slighty blush and brush off whatever you feeling with a coff. As you're on Hoolay biceps, he licks his face, your good smell making him hard, as well as the view of your back. You reach for the hanging chain, loosen it enough to free Hoolay's hand. As soon as his hand is free he laughs. Before you could even ask, he takes you in his hand, gently squeezing you.

"W-what" a puzzle look on your face.

"Foolish human. How could you believe that me, Hoolay Lord of Borisins, could get easily hurt?" his voice echoing in the cell, gently squeezing your tiny body. "You don't imagine how I'm so hungry"

His tone was lower than before and you where squirming in his hand as every now and then he squeezed your little body. You wanted to scream but your voice was blocked in your throat. Tears were forming in your eyes as you thought that was your end. What didn't you expect tho was that Hoolay wasn't hungry for food, but he was hungry for sex. It's been decades since he had a mate and he was so pent up that your scent drove him crazy.

With one of his long and sharp claws, he cut off your clothes. His big face sniffing your body. He groaned and opened his hand. His longue and big tongue licking all over you and then arriving at your sensitive spot. You arched your back, your body trembling from the pleasure he was giving you. "N-no, please" you cried out as his tongue was already overstimulating you. What made you come so soon was that he sucked your little bud mixing it with his tongue. His groans? Making so many vibrations that had you coming on him quickly.

"You taste so good, human. I can't wait to fuck you with my cock and knot you. You're going to be my mate, forever"

"Forever?!" You were shocked. A borisin, the LORD of borising wanting YOU to be his mate?! That is crazy, that's absolutely no sense. You pinch yourself a dew times, believing you are dreaming. Hoolay chuckled.

"Poor little human, can't believe I'm serious? Then I'll show it right now". His laugh echoed in the cell, the weak lighting making in evidence the most dangerous traits of him. As Hoolay put you on his (enourmous) cock you squealed as you clenched. Hoolay looked down at you, amused by every reaction you had. Without thinking you began to grind your hips on him, muffling your moans. You could feel his leaky tip under you, how his cock throbbed more and more as you moved your hips. "That's it, yes", Hoolay groaned as his large paw grabbed your hips, moving you faster. "What a greedy human you are". You whined at his words as you came on him for the second time. But you wanted more, even if you're were feeling all dizzy and overstimulated but your hole wanted more, wanted to feel that enormous cock inside you.

You looked up at Hoolay with puppy eyes, that smirk reappiring once again in his face. No words needed that Hoolay entered your hole, the stretch made your hips jerks away from his but, keeping his hand on you, he made you come back to his cock. The pain of stretch was giving you pleasure and your brain was completely turned off as you felt him inside you, forming a visible belly bulge. Hoolay sighed of relief, finally his cock could feel some warm walls after decades of not touching it and not having someone to help him with his heat.

"Such a good human" he groaned as his hips move forth and back, your walls sucking him deeper and deeper as you moaned like the little slut you are. "Good, taking my big cock so good for your lord" you panted and whined while nodding, your hand moving on the belly bulge. As Hoolay used his hand to stimulate more your already sensitive area, you felt a strange sensation, one you never proved even while masturbating. "A-ah, nhhgg, Hoolay! Cumming, I'm cumming!". Squirt gushed all over you and Hoolay. As you squirted you felt something stretching you even more.

"Be good a good slutty human and take my knot".

It was so big! You couldn't help but cream around his cock, your back arching as his seed spurted inside you, making your belly all swollen. The pleasure and pain mixed together so good that for a moment you saw black before coming to your senses. At that time, Hoolay was still inside you, waiting for his knot to be gone (that would take a while, though). You didn't heard anything from him so you just assumed he fell asleep. Well, certainly you would have come more often to visit Hoolay and keep him company.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧*ੈ✩‧₊˚༘⋆࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

[mrsokkotsu]

ಣ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ 𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓲𝓪𝓷 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 𓈒 ˖ ࣪

yūta okkotsu x f!reader . sfw — hurt comfort. established relationship ﾉ heavy, heavy tw ; for self harm slash self destruction slash self mutilation :c ﾉ flower imagery is used tew portray da inflicted wounds ﾉ reader has a meltdown ﾉ slight religious imagery in da way yūta is compared tew dat of an angel here 'n there ﾉ non — sexual nudity i.e. yūta gives reader a warm bath tew soothe her ﾉ yuta tends tew reader's wounds ﾉ da ending is a happi one, not tew fret ! ! ﾉ note : dis piece is extremely self — indulgent . . pwease do b kind tew mi, i wrote dis for m' own comfort . . (⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄ ·̭ o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝) ❤︎ - reupload frm an old blog of mine . .

you pick at your skin, gnaw at the flesh and peel it back in thin strips. blots of crimson well and burst forth from the wounds, drip down your arm in fat globs, splatter messily onto the pristine sheets of your bed and bloom across the fabric like wild flowers. a garden is sewn onto your arm, and your hands are the bloodied thorns that prick at the skin, that dig deep and pull at the fibres to make way for more pretty buds of red to spring forth. the sight is grotesque, and yet— you're enthralled. it's a morbid form of self expression, you think. the pain is a sweet burn and the sight is a masterpiece.

bared before the world like a raw nerve, your is soul stripped to the bone, the hideous parts of you spilling out and splashing the earth, staining the soil a muddy marron. the petals of the flower that is you are pulled apart one by one by a cruel hand, the stamen ripped free and left to rot, until there's nothing left but the naked bulb. the core of you, a hollow chamber with a heartbeat, pulsating, beating. it's a heart that's been crushed and mangled and beaten, and yet, somehow, it still thumps.

you can't stand the sight of the ugliness of your insides, the revulsion that curdles deep in the pit of your stomach, the sickening feeling of your heart's remains leaking and smearing all over your organs, and so you decide to take matters into your own hands.

with a sharpened piece of glass, you begin the work of slicing away the parts of you that are rotten. you're careful not to cut too deep, just enough for the blood to bubble and dribble out, the flesh beneath thinly sliced and weeping a steady stream of red. the material is cold against your skin and the blade is a welcome caress. its serrated edge kisses your wrist and nips at the sensitive skin, a lover's touch. each incision is a cathartic release, the ache a purifying baptism.

there is something so wonderfully therapeutic about the act of self mutilation, a sense of liberation that comes from taking the knife in hand and hacking away at the pieces of you that are diseased.

but your euphoria is short lived, and soon enough the adrenaline wanes and the high melts away, leaving behind a mess of broken, bleeding skin and the crushing reality of what you've done. the shame sets in and the fear begins to fester. a pitiful sound of anguish slips past your lips, and you find yourself falling to pieces. your tears fall freely, a torrential rainfall that batters your cheeks and floods the crevices of your mouth.

salty and bitter, they taste of regret. you're disgusted with yourself, and the urge to cut, to maim, to mar is strong, the craving a beast that gnaws hungrily at your gut. the glass sings sickeningly, and the sharp glint of the edges beckon you, seductively whispering your name. you want to scream, to claw and rend the skin from your bones, to rip yourself apart until you're a mangled heap of sticky nectar, stems, and roots. but you're tired, and so, instead, you fall to your knees, a supplicant before the altar of your despair.

your body shakes with the force of your sobs, and your throat feels like it's been scraped raw, your vocal cords bruised and battered. you're a wailing mess, your sounds so loud they crescendo into a high pitched shriek that would put a banshee to shame. the noise is a discordant cacophony, and it grates harshly against your ears, the shrillness causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end.

the cries could split the earth apart and rain hellfire upon the world.

and, perhaps, if you had a modicum of self-awareness, you would realise the magnitude of your sorrow, the enormity of the pain that has consumed you and call out for him yourself.

but, alas, the fog in your mind is too thick, the haze clouding your judgement and rendering you blind. so, when you hear the frantic footfalls and the familiar voice calling out your name, you can only assume that it's a figment of your imagination. it's nothing but a delusion conjured up by your shattered psyche, a cruel trick played on you by the remnants of your sanity, a final farewell from the ghost of your better self— a parting gift before your descent into madness.

however, when strong arms wrap around you and the smell of sandalwood and cinnamon fills your nose, you know that it's not a mirage.

a halo of light surrounds him, and he's the picture of ethereal grace, the embodiment of celestial beauty. his skin is a radiant canvas, his hair a crown of stardust, his eyes two pools of liquid boleite. you wonder what you must look like to him, a wilted flower with crumpled petals and torn leaves— a pitiful sight, indeed.

a part of you is mortified at the thought of him seeing you in such a state, but a larger part is glad, for your saviour has arrived. and you need him, desperately.

a quiet sob escapes his lips when he sees the carnage that has been wrought upon your skin. yuuta's own eyes well up with salty brine, and he cradles your battered form in his arms, gently stroking the unmarred parts of your body in a bid to comfort you. rainfall pitter-patters against your face— his tears, warm and heavy and laden with the weight of a concern so great it could rival the ocean's depths. they slide down your cheeks and mix with the remnants of your own, a river of shared sorrow, a bridge made of mutual empathy.

you are his heart's greatest treasure, and the sight of you broken and bleeding is enough to cleave him in two. his heart aches, and his soul cries out for yours. how he longs to take away the hurt, to absorb your pain into his own body and carry the burden of your suffering for you. but he knows he cannot.

alternatively, he does the next best thing. he vows to help you mend, to piece together the fractured shards of your soul and glue them back together with his love, the adhesive a potent concoction of soft spoken words, tender caresses, and warm embraces. he promises to be there for you, to walk alongside you on your path to recovery, to hold your hand and guide you through the darkness.

and, above all else, he pledges to love you— to cherish and treasure you, to show you the depth of his devotion, the unfaltering strength of his adoration, the infinite reaches of his regard for you. this, he will do until the end of time, and beyond that. even after his mortal coil has dissolved into dust, and his spirit has faded from existence, his love for you will remain, a phantom echo of a bygone era, a memory kept safe in the annals of history.

in a low voice, the young man calls out your name, a plea for you to look at him. though it takes a herculean effort, you do. you're met with the sight of his face, pale as a sheet, his expression tinged with grief. he's shaken to the core, the sight of your mutilated flesh a knife to his heart. your lips tremble and his own curl downwards into a frown. how cruel it is, to be faced with the grim reminder of the fragility of life, the vulnerability of the human condition, the impermanence of all things.

his hands shake as they clasp your own, his grip soft, yet firm, the contact grounding. a shaky breath leaves his lips, and he presses them to your knuckles, a prayer of thanks to the god above for allowing you to survive the ordeal.

your fingers twitch beneath his, and he brings them to his face, a silent invitation for you to touch him. his skin is smooth, and the planes of his features are sharp, chiselled to perfection, his visage comparable to a statue carved from marble. his eyes are wide and filled with trepidation, and his eyebrows are furrowed, creased with worry.

the tears still flow freely, and they dampen your fingertips, the pads of them smearing salty trails across his cheeks. you brush away the droplets and cup his face, a gesture meant to soothe him, to reassure him that you're here, alive, despite the physical (and mental) wounds.

it seems to work, somewhat, and his body sags in relief, the tension in his muscles dissipating. however, he's not entirely at ease. his heart still hammers in his chest, and his breathing is shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly. it's a struggle to remain calm, but he does his best, for your sake. his voice is a tremulous whisper, and his words come out in a stuttering rush, his tone tinged with the panic.

he speaks of his fear, the dread that had settled like lead in his stomach when he'd first seen the state you were in. his voice breaks as he recounts his terror, the sheer terror at the thought of losing you. a shudder runs through him, and his digits clench around yours, a desperate plea for you to stay, to never leave him.

the prospect of living in a world without you is an unfathomable one, an idea so absurd it causes a bitter laugh to tumble from his lips. for without you, the world would lose its luster, its vibrancy, its life. the colours would fade, and the air would be suffocating, the grief a heavy shroud that would drape itself over the land.

yuuta is certain that, were such a fate to befall him, he would follow suit, his spirit crumbling into ash and dust. his very essence would disintegrate, the threads that bind him to this world coming undone, and his soul would be adrift, aimlessly wandering the realms of the beyond.

your voice is hoarse and strained as you reply, the syllables heavy, your mouth feeling as if it were filled with cotton.

you apologise profusely, the words spilling forth, a deluge of regret and remorse. the shame threatens to swallow you whole, and your vision blurs with fresh tears, the guilt a vice around your throat. but before you can descend further into self loathing, yuuta cuts you off.

his tone is stern, yet his touch remains gentle, his fingers brushing away the wetness that stains your skin. he admonishes you lightly, reminding you of the importance of your life, the preciousness of your being, the irreplaceability of your existence.

you're a miracle, he says, a blessing sent from the heavens above. you see much irony in the statement, as a halo could not be far off from encircling his head. a divine aura emanates from him, and he radiates light, the warmth of the sun itself. you're not sure if it's his natural disposition or the result of the proximity between you two, but yuuta glows.

if it weren't for your rosey liquid tainting his unblemished flesh, you'd almost say he was a seraph.

a soft, wet sound comes from him, and your focus is pulled from his visage and down to where he's holding your wrists. you watch as the young man licks his lips and presses them to the tyrannised flesh, a balm for the hurt.

sticky droplets of nectar cling to the corners of his mouth, but he pays no mind to the metallic tang. rather, he continues his ministrations, peppering feather light kisses over every inch of skin he can reach, his touch a whisper against the abused area. he's careful not to agitate the wounds, and he's delicate in his handling of you, his movements deliberate and slow.

when he pulls away, he looks at you, and his eyes are full of love, a compassion that could melt the coldest of hearts. it's a look that speaks volumes, and it's more eloquent than any words could ever hope to be. his gaze conveys the depth of his feelings, the true nature of his devotion, the unparalleled ardency of his emotions. he loves you, completely and wholly, and he's willing to show it, in every way he can.

his fingers ghost over the marks, tracing the lines, the gashes, the incisions, his digits dancing across the planes of your body, before he finally rises and scoops you up into his arms, careful not to jostle your injuries. ponderous drips of crimson fall from your open wounds and splatter onto the floor, a gruesome trail marking the path he takes as he carries you out of the room.

a single glance is all it takes for him to discern the severity of your condition, and, without missing a beat, yuuta sets his sights on the bathroom, his steps purposeful and sure. you're trembling in his arms, the adrenaline having worn off completely, leaving you a weak and shivering mess. the pain is intense, a pulsing sting that throbs and radiates outward, the agony spreading throughout your body. you can feel the blood oozing out of the lacerations, the sensation nauseating, the coppery scent invading your nostrils and causing bile to rise in your throat.

yuuta's movements are prudent as he places you on the rim of the bathtub, the ceramic cold beneath your thighs. you watch as he fiddles with the faucet, the water rushing out and filling the basin with a dull roar, the sound echoing off the tiled walls and reverberating in your ears. the young man tests the temperature, adjusting it until it's just right, before shutting off the flow. steam rises from the surface, and the mirror fogs over, a milky haze obscuring your reflection.

yuuta helps you strip off your soiled garments, his fingers working deftly as he removes the offending items, tossing them aside without a second thought. he guides you into the tub, the warm water lapping at your skin and turning a shade of pink as it mingles with your inside honey.

you whine at the initial contact, the ache a searing sensation that has you screwing your eyes shut. but it soon abates, and you relax into the embrace of hot curls and bubbles, your body going limp as the heat seeps into your bones. your muscles unclench and the knots loosen, the tension easing out of your system. the stress melts away, and the weight of the day's events is lifted from your shoulders.

you sigh in relief, and yuuta takes that as a sign to proceed.

he's methodical as he cleans you, his hands working efficiently, washing away the grime and the filth, the residue of your misery. your vital fluid mixes and swirls together with the adam's ail, forming intricate patterns prior to being whisked down the drain. the pigment slowly disappears, and the water returns to its transparent state, the only remnants of the incident the scars that have been left behind.

yuuta's touch is a gentle caress, and his strokes are soothing, the pressure just right. the suds slide down your skin, the foam a tickle, bubbles bursting into tiny clouds as a silken cloth wipes the last part of your pain away.

you can feel the love behind each pass, the fondness and attention that goes into each motion, the affection that percolates from his fingertips. the intimacy is overwhelming. so overwhelming in fact, that you can't help but bleat, the tears beginning anew.

unlike before, though, these are tears of joy. the euphoria that comes with being cared for, with being cherished and appreciated, is a bliss unlike any other.

you're grateful, immensely so, for the privilege of being in his presence. maybe, just maybe, you've been too blinded by the smother of your purgatory to truly comprehend the immensity of your partner's proclivity towards you, his unflagging loyalty and commitment to you, his unfaltering faith in you. it's a sobering realisation, and the epiphany strikes you hard.

you're reminded of the fact that he's your paramour, not in name, but in heart and soul. the affirmation is a salve for the punctures that have been imposed upon you, an unction for the fissures that have ruptured your heart. and you thank him copiously, a string of garbled words that leave your lips, a jumbled mess of indebtedness and appreciation. your speech is nonsensical, the sounds melding together and blending into one, the syllables running into each other and forming a singular unit, an amalgamation of vowels and consonants.

but he understands, and he smiles, a smile so beautiful it makes the sun seem so bleak in comparisson. the brilliance is blinding, and it has you blinking back stars, the radiance burning your retinas. but you don't look away.

how could you? how could you, when it's a smile that makes the world stop spinning, the planets halt in their orbits, the constellations freeze in place, the galaxy hold its breath.

the climbing, prickly plant that squeezed your insides, coiled around your intestines, and strangled the life from you has finally blossomed into something sweet. it's an explosion of colour, a profusion of aromatic petals, a display of vibrant hues. the nectar that flows from your core is honeyed, a sap of saccharine ambrosia. and it tastes like hope, like happiness.

your heart flutters, a hummingbird's wings flapping erratically against your ribcage, the palpitations causing your pulse to race. it's a pleasant feeling, a warmth that spreads through your veins and permeates every fibre of your being, the euphoria a tingle in your extremities.

who knew that the remedy for all ills could be found in the shape of a gorgeous boy with a big heart?

who knew that the cure for all wounds could be found in the form of a loving, caring soul who just so happened to be yours?

and who knew that the key to feeling whole again could be found in the hands of someone who looked at you as if you were worth more than the world itself? you, certainly not, before today. yet, the evidence is irrefutable.

as you sit there, bathed in his love, the wounds on yourself forgotten (regardless of the buzz that lingers), you can't help but think that, perhaps, you've found a reason to stay. a reason to live. a reason to continue walking this path, hand in hand with him.

the journey of existence, though long and arduous, seems less daunting now. for, as you gaze into the depths of his eyes, you can see a future. a future full of possibilities, a life rich in meaning, a chance at joy. it's a prospect that excites you, and the thought of exploring it together with him, by his side, swells within you a feeling of elation.

you can't express it properly, the enormity of the emotion too big, so you lean up and capture his lips with yours, water splashing and drenching his attire as you throw your arms around him. the kiss is an explosion of colours, the palette merging into one another and forming a rainbow of shades. it's a kaleidoscope of emotions, a prism of sensations, a mosaic of sentiments and an ode to your love. it's everything you've ever wanted to say and more.

and, by the way yuuta returns the gesture with a passion and vigour, you know he understands.

after all, they say actions speak louder than words. and what could be a more succinct, yet expressive, form of communication than a kiss? for, in that single act, you convey all the things you can't seem to find the words for, all the emotions you struggle to verbalise. it's a language all its own, and it's one he can speak fluently. a language you two have mastered together, a dialect of love.

[maybe-im-dark]

The X-Men as an Allegory for People with Disabilities: Why Logan (Wolverine) Represents Our Struggle

Mutants in the X-Men universe have long been recognized as an allegory for various marginalized groups. Often, people discuss them as symbols for race, gender identity, or sexuality, and while these are all valid and essential interpretations, there’s another group that rarely gets the same attention: people with disabilities. At their core, the X-Men represent those who society deems "different," and their struggles mirror the everyday realities of disabled people who face prejudice, violence, and the overwhelming sense that they don’t fit in.

In this post, I want to dive into why Logan (Wolverine)—arguably the most beloved X-Men character—is such a poignant representation of this struggle. Logan’s experiences aren’t just about mutant oppression; they reflect the same violence, exclusion, and dehumanization that so many people with disabilities have endured throughout history. His pain resonates on a deeply personal level because he embodies the way disability can isolate, alienate, and force individuals to question their humanity.

Logan: Beaten Down, Like So Many Others

Logan’s story is filled with unimaginable suffering, much of it inflicted because of his mutation. From being experimented on in the Weapon X program to living through countless wars and battles, Logan has been beaten down—physically and mentally—time and time again. He’s been tortured, treated like an animal, and used as a tool by people who see his mutation as nothing more than a resource to exploit. This is painfully similar to the way people with disabilities have been treated throughout history.

From early eugenics movements to the horrific medical experiments performed on disabled individuals, society has frequently viewed people with disabilities as "less than human," as subjects for abuse or as problems to be solved. Logan’s life, constantly fleeing, hiding, and surviving these abuses, reflects the lived reality of countless disabled people who have been denied their basic humanity.

The Alienation of Feeling Like an Animal

One of the most striking aspects of Logan’s character is how he struggles with feeling like he doesn’t belong. His mutation, which gives him heightened senses, superhuman strength, and animal-like reflexes, also makes him feel less than human. His feral rage, his sharpened claws, and his ability to endure pain make him question whether he’s more beast than man. This deep feeling of alienation is something many people with disabilities understand all too well.

Disabled people are often made to feel like outsiders, whether through physical inaccessibility, social exclusion, or the ways society "others" their existence. Logan’s sense of not belonging, of feeling out of place in the world and within his own skin, mirrors the internal struggles that people with disabilities often face. His story isn’t just one of physical power—it’s about the mental toll of constantly being made to feel like you’re different, and not in a way that’s celebrated, but in a way that isolates.

Physical Power vs. Internal Pain

While Logan is incredibly strong and seemingly indestructible, his true power isn’t his healing factor or his claws—it’s his ability to keep going despite the weight of his internal pain. This is one of the reasons so many people relate to him. People with disabilities are often portrayed in media as weak or fragile, but in reality, they possess immense strength to survive in a world that isn’t built for them. Logan, too, represents this paradox: physically invincible but emotionally scarred.

In the same way that disabled people have to fight for basic rights, recognition, and acceptance, Logan fights for a place in the world. His physical toughness often hides his internal vulnerability, but those who look closely can see the emotional scars he carries—the loss, the trauma, the battles that never seem to end. These scars make him relatable to anyone who’s been made to feel different or "less than" by society.

The Fight for Recognition

Logan, like all mutants, is constantly fighting for recognition—fighting for the right to exist, to be treated as more than a weapon or a threat. People with disabilities face this same struggle. Whether it’s fighting for accessibility, equal opportunities, or even the right to be seen as full people rather than their disabilities, the fight for recognition is ongoing. Logan’s story reminds us that the battle for acceptance is exhausting but necessary, that fighting for one’s humanity is a lifelong journey.

Conclusion: Logan as an Icon of Resilience

What makes Logan’s story so powerful is that, despite all the violence, abuse, and isolation, he never gives up. He’s survived things no one should have to endure, and though he’s scarred, broken, and often cynical, he continues to protect those he cares about. He becomes a mentor to younger mutants, helping them navigate a world that sees them as dangerous or inferior. In this way, Logan’s journey is one of resilience—a testament to the strength it takes to survive in a world that doesn’t always see you as fully human.

People with disabilities can see themselves in Logan because his story is one of constant struggle, of surviving in a world that wasn’t made for him, and of pushing forward despite the pain. He’s not just a superhero with claws and a healing factor—he’s a symbol of the fight for dignity and recognition that so many of us face every day.

Logan’s story shows us that even when the world beats you down, when society tries to strip you of your humanity, there’s power in resilience. There’s strength in continuing to fight for your place in the world. That’s why people with disabilities—myself included—find a part of ourselves in Logan.

[monstersdownthepath]

Herald of Norgorber: The Stabbing Beast

CR 15

Neutral Evil Huge Outsider

Inner Sea Gods, pg. 300 (image from Adventure Path: Agents of Edgewatch: Assault on Hunting Lodge Seven, pg. 85)

In a list containing some impressively unimpressive names, it's still no contest: the most unfortunately-named Herald in the pantheon has to be the poor Stabbing Beast (which I will refer to as variations of "Stabs" from now on), Herald of the greediest and most ambitious of all the gods: Norgorber, god of secrets, poison, murder, greed [sound of a scroll unfurling] blackmail, assassins, theft, darkness, alchemy, anonymity, spiders, propaganda--oh whoops forget I said that last one, that hasn't happened yet. Ol' Norby has a major problem with gifting ridiculous names out to his minions, with his other divine servants bearing such titles as Yellowtooth, Secret Shade, and Venomfist, but unfortunately Stabby here draws the shortest straw, as it only does stabbing some of the time and barely qualifies as a beast!

I'm being rough on it, but in truth it's because Stabby has all the personality of a wind-up toy created to perform a single function, ignoring anything irrelevant to its mission to the point it simply bowls over any creature that doesn't get out of its way while it's walking. Any creature that sufficiently annoys it is simply dispatched without a second thought or moment's concern, and any time Stabby has interacted with another living creature through any medium other than violence, it's been to inspire that creature to violence. Whenever Stabby creeps across the world, it's most certainly to either kill someone or destroy something that Norgorber (or one of his powerful followers) wants destroyed, and even its price when called into the universe by mortal worshipers is "kill this specific person for me," presumably as a test.

When it appears, someone will die. As a Herald, it's about as direct and to the point as one could expect from a creature with such a title. But is it any more interesting in combat than any of the other giant scorpions? Let's find out...

Like most scorpions, Stabbington can strike quickly and without warning, often felling its prey before they even realize what's going on. Its Sudden Strike allows it to take a full round of actions during the surprise round rather than just a single standard action, meaning if it appears in the middle of the party via its 3/day Greater Teleport or after sneaking in with its 3/day Invisibility, someone is likely already halfway gone. Stabbington has the usual tricks for a scorpion: a pair of deadly claws (2d6+13) and a lethal stinger (2d6+11) loaded with a Strength-damaging poison to take the bite out of anyone attempting to fight back, or simply to take out the casters who dumped Str.

Each of its natural attacks inflicts a worrying 2d6 bleed damage, adding some additional strain to anyone trying to heal in combat, and worse than that: its claws Grab whatever they hit and Constrict it for an extra 2d6+12 damage every round the grapple isn't broken. Also, do you remember that poison? Because instead of delivering it via a sting, Stabby can use Poison Stream to make a ranged touch attack against a target within 180ft, exposing the victim to its poison while also blinding them for 1d4+1 rounds if they fail the save against it. It can do this either as a ranged attack on its own or by replacing the stinger attack it makes during a Full-Attack, letting it shoot distant targets while it continues to rip apart whoever it has in melee.

And speaking of, it wouldn't be a melee monster if it didn't have some extra ways to keep people from fleeing, would it? It's not any of the usual suspects, either (i.e. Step Up), but one we haven't seen before: the Scorpion Style feat! It can make a single attack as a standard action which forces a DC 20 Fortitude save, and anyone who fails is essentially pinned in place for 2 full rounds, unable to move more than 5ft as the beast tears into them. Even if they could, Combat Reflexes might make them reconsider.

Being the servant of the God Of Underhanded Tactics, Stabbo has some protection against underhanded tactics itself; it's got All-Around Vision and a permanent See Invisibility, +4 to saves versus mind-affecting effects (its base saves are +17/+17/+14!), it is immune to poison, and has Resistance to almost every element; 30 to Acid, 10 to Cold, Fire, and Electricity. Capping it all off is the laughably-easy-to-bypass DR 10/Good and Magic, and the much less easily-bypassed 26 Spell Resistance, making this a bug that's still quite tough to squash! It's got Deflect Arrows as a bonus feat to swat aside the first ranged attack made against it each round to further frustrate enemies trying to keep their distance (enemies which are likely contending with its blinding poison). Also, you can't really gum it down with summons or extra bodies; its Murderers Reward grants it 2d6 temporary HP each time it brings a victim to 0 HP, or 3d6 if its attack kills the target, and this ability has no cooldown or per-day restriction, only the minor downside that the temp HP doesn't stack with itself and cannot grant Stabbo more HP than the victim's max HP stat (so it cannot, say, sting flies out of the air to suddenly regenerate a handful of HP).

We haven't even really covered its spells yet, have we? Most of them aren't going to be immediately useful to it (with one--Keen Edge--being outright worthless to the Herald itself), but with a bit of creative thinking from the DM, it can go from an overt mass-murderer to a stealthy assassin as easily as Norgorber swaps from Father Skinsaw to the Reaper of Reputation. Of course, this mostly relies on the other half of Stabitha's statblock, the half where it's a Medium-sized humanoid.

Yes, this horror isn't always a horror! Stabathan can freely shift from a Huge scorpion to a Medium assassin and back as needed, its fierce twin claws replaced by a pair of +1 Keen Short Swords it can make upwards to five attacks with each round for 1d6+4 damage. It lacks both the reach and the sheer crushing power of its scorpion claws in this form and its sting attack (which it retains) is reduced to 1d6+4 damage, but in return it swords have a 17-20 critical hit rate and almost three times as many attacks, making its humanoid form better at sustained damage than burst damage, especially since it still inflicts bleed with ALL of its attacks... and of course, utilizing its variety of carried poisons to coat its blades.

The primary use for its humanoid form, however, is stealth. A 16-foot-long scorpion isn't exactly subtle, but Stabbity's human form can easily utilize its +32 Stealth modifier to go wherever it needs to, and more easily use its various espionage-focused spell-likes to its advantage. An at-will Charm Person and 3/day Suggestion isn't especially useful to the scorpion, but infinitely useful to the human to get it into wherever it needs to go. Its at-will Poison is less effective than its claws and its own venom, but useful for giving a target a casual pat on the back and watching them collapse dead on the floor 30 seconds later. Similarly, an at-will Absorbing Touch isn't especially useful for the scorpion but allows the human shape to sneak weapons into places they aren't allowed, steal valuables, hide important documents, or any number of other useful tricks. Between False Alibi and Modify Memory at 3/day each, Stabbity can shape the minds of any witnesses to its crimes, either erasing them entirely or making the victims think they did it.

There is only one flaw in Stabamillion's disguise: Its humanoid form is a muscular, armored, masculine entity. This, alongside many of its other weaknesses, is easily rectified by a very powerful at-will: Alchemical Allocation. This spell alone changes the beast's abilities quite drastically, allowing it to essentially use any potion it obtains an infinite number of times. It has no built-in healing, but that doesn't matter if it can just drink a Potion of Cure Moderate Wounds over and over. It can only take one alternate shape, but a Potion of Disguise Self may as well be a Hat of Disguise. It has no climb speed for... some reason, but a Potion of Climbing easily rectifies this. And let's not get into what an endlessly-usable Potion of Haste can do...

Sometimes, it's the smallest things that make the biggest difference! Be it a single spell, a single line of text, or a single stab in the ribs with a poisoned knife. And then another. And then four more, just to be sure.

You can read more about it here.

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

BG3 Halloweek Day 2 Classic Horror Movie AU: Frankenstein

Full credit to @gufu-vire for this fun idea and all her help and encouragement ☺️

-

Fleagore wasn't very smart. He knew this because Master Mephistopheles told him often, and Master Mephistopheles was very smart indeed. It suited Fleagore just fine. He followed orders obediently: go here, fetch that. Easy. No real thinking required. Sometimes, though, Fleagore was given more complicated tasks - or, worse still, tasks he didn't like.

Deep in the bowels of Cania Palace, where even the most demented, tortured souls feared to linger, Master Mephistopheles’ creature lay tied down on the slab, as usual - being pieced together like a puzzle, its womb this secret laboratory of sinister science and Infernal ego. Inert, he said the creature was. Dead, for all intents and purposes, but Fleagore couldn't shake the feeling that the thing was more alive than Master Mephistopheles believed. Its large, piercing yellow eyes seemed to stare at Fleagore from the sunken sockets of its three twisted skulls, even if they didn't move. It was always watching. Aware of all the terrible things Fleagore was doing to it as Master Mephistopheles put it together. Brought it to life. Like snapping ribs of obsidian and fire to access the hollow of its chest cavity so that Master Mephistopheles could imbue it with his sickly green magicks. Or skinning segments of its long, whip-like tail so that Master Mephistopheles could shave and sharpen its bones.

Fleagore usually enjoyed tormenting things, especially things uglier than him, but the malice and intelligence he thought he could see in this abomination's eyes - like it was cataloging each iota of pain they were inflicting upon it with the promise of returning it all, tenfold - made Fleagore uncomfortable. But he wasn't very smart, so what did he know? Don't think. Just connect the contraptions of tubes and bronze and glass like he'd been taught and watch souls and electricity course through the creature's large body.

The thing twitched and convulsed. Flames erupted beneath its blackened obsidian flesh. Dim at first, steadily picking up volume. Master Mephistopheles watched with disinterest from afar - until something else happened. Something new. The creature made a sound. It began quietly, a rattling whine like metal scraping on stone, setting Fleagore's jaw after the brief shock wore off. Master Mephistopheles didn't seem at all surprised. His cold eyes gleamed with anticipation, a thin smile spreading across his face as that grating whine deepend into an unearthly bellow. So loud that Fleagore covered his ears. A truly terrible roar full of terror and rage.

“Master?” Fleagore queried, nervous as the beast began to violently thrash. The thick infernal iron restraints keeping it down creaked and strained against its strength. Screws popped and pulled and clattered to the floor. It was going to escape. “Should Fleagore get the prod, Master?”

“No,” said Mephistopheles. He didn't even glance at poor Fleagore.

Metal bent and gave way. The creature had managed to free one long, gnarled arm, clawing and ripping at the remaining restraints. Its tattered wings beat wildly. It shook its three skulls side to side, slobber drooling from its tusked maws, uncanny eyes rolling.

“Mmmmmaster,” stammered Fleagore, “shouldn't we -”

“I said no,” snarled Mephistopheles, and he frightened Fleagore more than the angry abomination, so he cowered obediently and watched with dread as the thing snapped its last restraints and staggered off the slab.

It stumbled, at first - it had never stood upright or walked before - but it found its balance quickly. Each thud of its big burning hoof-like feet were heavy. It collected itself, its bearings, breathing in slow growling pants. Its tail whipped madly. Then it turned its horrible heads to focus on the two watching it.

Focus on Fleagore.

In that moment he knew he'd been right. Fleagore felt the beast's hatred for him, its desire for vengeance. Felt its desire to hurt and maim him. Fleagore only had a few seconds to consider that, however, because the monster launched itself at him faster than something its size should ever be able to move. He had no chance to run.

“Master!” Shrieked Fleagore. He wriggled desperately in the thing's grip, but he was trapped. Its cruel claws sank deep, squeezed hard, cracking bones and tearing skin. It glared down at him, and Fleagore knew he was despised. The thing's hot fetid breath washed over Fleagore's face. “Master, help!”

But Mephistopheles was not going to help Fleagore. He was going to watch his fresh creation butcher an expendable minion. He was going to watch the first display of his creature's brutality with satisfaction, because this was what he'd built it for, after all.

“At last,” purred the Arch Devil, Lord Without Mercy. “He is alive.”

The creature roared, bursting Fleagore's eardrums, shredding and pulling his body apart as easy as it had its metal restraint. He had one final, resigned thought before he was destroyed.

'Why is it always me?'

Fleagore's blood and guts spilled out like worms from a corpse, but the beast wasn't done. It called on Hellfire, as instinctual and effortless as its creator, and incinerated Fleagore's messy remains. Only scorched jelly-fat stains and the stink of burned skin and hair remained.

The monster stared at his kill, somehow dissatisfied, and then swung his massive horned heads towards Mephistopheles. He was a little taller than the Arch Devil. He made gurgling, raspy sounds, as if he was trying to speak. Mephistopheles waited, curious. After a few tries, the monster croaked out something understandable. Something that disgusted and amused Mephistopheles in equal measure. Something that could hold a lot of potential.

“Fa…ther?”

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Pack Kortac - Werewolf! König Headcanons

Tags: monster au, werewolves, gore, body horror, general lore

-He wasn't born a wolf, but bitten. A status held with high regard amongst the lycans. Those bitten rarely have the fortitude to survive their first change. Their bodies too weak and unfamiliar with the shift, minds too easily lost. To change shape is a powerful thing…not all the wolves in the forest were born that way.

-The young boy had always found solace in the woods. No one to look at him. No expectations for him talk. He could simply exist here. In the safe and quiet. At least he had thought. Teenage König had been bitten and abandoned in those very woods. Terrified. He stumbled home, wrapping the raw wound with trembling hands and refusing to tell his grandmother. Who would believe him? That a hulking beast on hind legs had sank its teeth into him?

-Scrawny, nervous König, who drug himself back out into the same woods when the nausea and pain became to much.  Who screamed and cried as his bones began to bend and break. Clawed viciously at human flesh that burned like acid. König who awoke and looked to the sky with new eyes. To shimmering stars and the scents of prey animals trembling in the underbrush. 

-König had hid since childhood. Had trained himself to be small and still when his teachers and grandmother barked at him for his squirming and clumsiness. Nothing he did seemed right. But here? Everything was right.

-He didn't have to hide here. Under the trees he could run and howl, delight in the crunch of bones between his teeth. The wind in his fur. This. This is what he was built for. He grew taller, became bulkier. Signed himself away to the military with a white lie the very next morning.  Never to look back on the life he had before.

-Bitten wolves, despite popular belief, are less instinctually motivated. Unlike born wolves, who's instincts are firmly integrated, Bitten wolves can maintain a degree of seperation. As a human their needs for bonds are less intense. Bitten's are also less temperamental , having been socialized traditionally as human.

-König, behaves with a savage brutality in and out of the shift. Simply because he is just like that. Not because of instinctual forces outside of his control. He only needed the shift to truly find himself.

-König wore the hood at first to cover the scars on his face, the gap in his cheek that revealed a small glimpse of stained teeth. His first change had been rough, fangs and jaw crunching and tearing through soft human flesh. His scars had been self inflicted, harsh lines from where he had frantically torn at burning flesh too prematurely to reveal the wolf underneath. These scars, along with a significant line along his spine, are what remain as evidence of this change.

-While being Bitten is largely seen as a significant sign of strength there are some disadvantages. While shifts became easier, they will never be as smooth as a born wolf.

-While his body has adjusted quite a bit, but he still needs accommodations to dull his senses while human, such as earplugs.

-König revels in the change. Even without the scars his veil had become a necessity on the field. Even as he got older, controlling his shifts were tedious. He trembles with pure energy in the heat of the fray. His teeth ache, pulling and sharpening. Grey-blue eyes shifting into something icey and glowing. Claws tear through leather gloves. The veil helped to avoid questions from his human teammates.

-Overtime this became too tedious. König strikes me as the intro-virtuous type. Having big “I don't want to do it but I'm the only motherfucker here, so I guess I'll handle it” energy. He absolutely maneuvered himself into a position of leadership out of sheer annoyance this way.

-König had long convinced himself that having a pack is not suited for him. He lacks the know how. Feeling lost without the more obvious instincts to guide him into finding pack mates. Deep down it eats at him.

-He buries it though, building Kortac, and recruiting fellow bloodthirsty monsters that resemble a pack. It lacks true bonds. But it gave König the space to let his wolf run. He resolves that's all he needs for now. Addicted to the rush of blood under his nails and flesh in his teeth.

Descriptions of König inspired by floweryanarchy's piece: x

[idcfriend]

I'm Back!!!

I absolutely love eldritch protagonist so...i have more eldritch yuu brainrot!🎉

...............................💜..............................

So at first glance yuu seems normal just a completely normal gender neutral individual but the more time people spend with them the mpre they notice that sometimes their smile is a bit roo wide....their teeth and fingers a bit too sharp....how they sometimes move as if It's not something there used to

On one occasion the idiot trio was being to loud in the morning and Yuu hadn't slept that well or at all really....that's when one of the others noticed how Yuu seemed too quiet...how they seemed stalk towards the unsuspecting trio as if they were prey soon when they were near they rose to their full height (and damn why hadn't any of them ever noticed how tall Yuu is!?) and with what could of mad even the bravest of men cower in a corner in fear....growled with bloodlust and a voice that of something from your worst nightmare( Yuu honestly doesn't know why everyone looked so scared when they after growled in frustration when Ace, Deuce and Grim were being too loud, they didn't think they were that scary...)

Another time Yuu was too tired to care much about anything much at the moment (unaware of the way that an uncanny air of apathy seemed to hang around them, like someone who was looking down on something that was simply lesser and they couldn't find in themselves to care one way or the other and settled on indifference) so the other first years decided to ask Yuu questions to see how much they could get them to answer in their sleep deprived state (jokes on them Yuu is a CHAOTIC MESS and simply bullshits their way through life when they don't sleep enough so their answers were...a little unsettling to some)

First question was from Ace: which was simple enough but-

"So prefect what's your favorite food?"

The others looked at Ace in mild surprise expecting him to ask something embarrassing

Ace looked at them in annoyance "What? Yoh have to build up this kind of stuff"

Yuu simply looked up from their desk and answered (sarcastically mind you it's just that for some reason their very good at acting?)

"the souls of those who have sinned far greater than any mortal and have seen that which should never be seen" and promptly face planted back on to the table

Meanwhile the others are a little unnerved by that answer and by the chorus of voices that seemed to answer with Yuu but only a little because this was THEIR prefect no matter how...not normal they were and they'd fight anyone who even looked at them wrong

Next was Deuce

"Favorite pass time?"

They braced themselves for the answer

"going on relaxing walks-" they looked at Yuu confused because that was such a...normal answer?

"-and putting the fears and horrors of others and the world on paper, eternally etched into a part of my collection" they then...relaxed? Because of course such a hobby would suit their eldritch friend (Yuu simply meant they like to draw horror stuff in one of their many sketch books)

Surprisingly Sebek went next

"how do you deal with those that harm the ones you protect?" he asked mostly to get more ideas on how to protect Malleus

At that they could feel the way the surrounding air around Yuu seemed to go eerily silent as they let out a growl that could of had mistaken for a beast

"You hunt them down one by one making them feel fear like no other, you hunt them like the measly wretched being they are and then I'd make them know pain, that which would be a thousand times that which they inflicted on those who are MINE" throughout all this Yuu's form began to change slightly their fingers becoming claws and gaining a black tinge that covered their entire hand, their teeth becoming as sharp as knives and a few other changes

Then Grim went up to Yuu and hugged them seemingly knowing why Yuu reacted so drastically

"Calm down henchman, no one's going to hurt us we're safe"

That seemed to calm them down as they looked up and chuckled a bit, "Sorry guys i over reacted a bit but-" Yuu said looking- well more like they were scanning them for any sign of harm, "no one's bothering you guys right?"

At that they seemed perk up as they smiled at Yuu

(Yuu was unaware that they had just implied that considered the first year group THEIRS, and they were also confused why everyone except those they knew gave them such a wide berth in the hallways for a while after)

...........................💜.............................

That's all i got for now! I know it doesn't really make much sense but i swear I'll elaborate more in the future! (hopefully) but there's another thing i wanted to add!!!

So I'm a fan of Technoblade and i like the idea of Eldritch Yuu having their own version of Chat! So like they'd give Yuu advice and help them in their chaotic shenanigans (while maybe purposefully making them seem even more like an Eldritch being because they crave misunderstanding content) So Yuu would have these gaggle of voices that would follow them around that every once in a while others can hear too (Yuu honestly isn't even fazed when all of sudden they have a bunch a sentient voices following them around that's how done they are with Crowley's and everyone's else's bullcrap)

So! I was thinking that certain comments and stuff left on the post i do of eldritch Yuu could be taken as Yuu's "chat"

[iron-hearts-ablaze]

Plotted starter with @apalestar

Flo had given her everything she needed. Karlach had found a moment to with Flo whilst Astarion stalked the various planes of the Nine Hells. It was as if a child was at the playground... A monster found amongst his own.

But as she read and re-read through the ritual's instruction, translating the Infernal in her mind, she wondered what she was if not the same if she was to go through with this. A monster. It all seemed simple enough upon the well-worn parchment. But as time stretched into days, she kept going back and forth.

This could cure him. Remove all his inflictions; ascension included. He would be mortal once more. As he had wanted once, to walk in the sun again... But would surely not accept now. She pondered letting him know what she had discovered but she feared the answer from him. Astarion had changed drastically since that day in Cazador's dwellings. An entirely new person had exited, a monster roaming around like a darkening shadow. Waiting for his time to strike upon Baldur's Gate as he saw fit. She was watching a beast sharpen his claws. But she had the chance now to stop it all before he struck. All without consent, enforced upon him... It felt wrong.

She was so very conflicted. It was not as if he wasn't helping her through Avernus to get her engine fully functional. Of course, how much of it was actually for Karlach and how much was it so he could return quickly with his 'consort' to hand. As if he had already decided her future. As Gortash and Zariel had done so before him. Taking away every part of her, replacing them with others, moulding her into what they deemed worthy.

So why not take something of theirs for a change! It was apparently so easy for everyone else to just TAKE from her, why not strike first! Take his powers before they hurt innocent people. Before he hurt her any further. But that was just the thing... It was only her he was hurting at the moment, and even then it was all stemmed from her own emotions - all those that fell before him were those standing in their way. The Netherbrain, mindflayers, devils and demons... So was there truly a decent north point to his compass or was it all façade?

If he didn't bear the face of the man she fell in love with, this would have been uncomplicated. Easy, even.

The ritual instructions, the coin containing Cazador's soul and a stake had all be hidden in various locations throughout and below their newly acquired House of Hope. She had to play this very carefully, until she could make her mind up...

So lost she was in her own thoughts, Karlach hadn't even realised he had returned.

[fckng-guts]

hunter!yuuta x vampire!reader

yuuta carries with himself the sorrows of the damned.

warnings: curse words. death mention. toxic dynamics. blood. love at first sight.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

he's known as the most dangerous slayer, a symbol of revenge for those who have fallen in the claws of the damned. shall no beast be above him, as he'll make them all kneel before death itself.

yuuta tilts his head to the side to understand what is that creature on the floor before him. he never felt this feared before and the noises it let's out makes his heart ache. it's painful. it's so unbelievably human. how could it be?

he's never wanted to inflict such fear. the tip of his sword reaches the fragile looking creature as if it's to break at the slight touch. his eyes are sharp, ready for anything that might come his way. he's been fooled once and shall not be twice. but instead, he's met with a pair of scared eyes. and that speaks to his core.

"get the fuck away from me."

it shouts as it fails to run away, arms barely reaching yuuta's body. for some reason, there's a warm rising in his stomach. for the first time, he wants to hold one of their kind. to provide comfort for their pains and sorrows. yuuta crouches down slowly to get on their level. a soft smile on his lips as if that would be enough to make him appear harmless. his presence alone is a death threat. the aura yuuta carries is enough to make creatures crumble. his calm voice molds the words

"do not be afraid. it's okay."

but as soon as his scent fills the air, the creature in front of him hisses. their own hand instantly cups their face, hiding from that sick scent of yuuta's blood. it's not venom, but something worse. then yuuta knows it. a vampire. it is said that a slayer's blood is sweeter than all. like the perfect trap built by mother nature to lure vampires in. it's almost a romantic tragedy. no vampire is able to resist the urge to sink their teeth into a puddle of ecstasy. that's why the vampire eyes in front of him dilate, filling their irises with deep lust colored red. red as blood that pulses in every vein in yuuta's body. the most sinful symphony known to a vampire. it takes strength to resist, to pull away. yuuta is mesmerized by their will, he's never seen of their kind hold in their violent desires. and the broken chords which they let out in fear. it's odd. and he feels sorry. his heart is heavy again in a way he can't ignore.

"it's okay. no need to fear."

and he doesn't know why he's betraying his own kind by offering gentleness to a rabid beast. a demonic thing who feasts on innocent lives. yuuta's mind isn't working as it should. perhaps it's the need to care for something smaller that takes control of himself before he can stop it. it's embedded in his nature. maybe it's the need in their eyes that speak to him. a tortured look he's known too well. yuuta's blade rest to his side. his bandaged hands hold his body steady on the ground.

he wants to touch them.

the burning building falls apart.

the vampire is almost frozen, biting their own lip to suppress their needs. it's so confusing. this whole situation isn't natural and nothing makes sense. the seams are undoing themselves and everything is spiraling.

"the fuck you want, slayer?"

there is hatred in those spitted words that come out of gritted teeth.

"do you want to fucking die?"

no threat is enough to make yuuta scared. he's got a soul that's seen it all.

and sometimes it is easier to live in anger than to comfort your own wounds. but the strangest thing is to have a vampire tell you to leave when you're the thing they crave the most in this fucked world. yuuta lets out a soft laugh as if to say 'not even if you tried, little one'. he'll be okay no matter what they try to do. or say.

"it must be sickening, isn't it? how close i am. i confess that..." he sighs and continues

"I'm sorry but... believe me, it really is okay."

the more yuuta speaks, the more the vampire's ears fill with his beating heart. it's more than overwhelming, it's humiliating to be controlled by it. yuuta notices the struggle, the way your eyes shut closed and your hand's got a grip on dirt. it's too much. everything feels like death and worse than that. it's the representation of weakness and strength at the same time. like a lifelong prophecy coming true.

"if you're not going to kill me then you should leave."

the pain in your eyes pierces through his.

"because I'll rip you to shreds if you don't."

an apology drunk in threat.

instead of fulfilling any of those options, yuuta chooses to stay. he's warm all over. yuuta crawls slowly to your cornered frame. apathetic eyes in contrast with your worried ones. in a second your back hits the floor and yuuta gets hold of the hands who were once suffocating your senses. he should've never gotten this closer. but it's a gift to see how the vampire under him melts, intoxicated by his smell only. and he says

"i know. but how could I walk away... if you need it so much?"

with one hand he unbuttons the top of his shirt,

"after I've inflicted you hunger and need altogether that it becomes pain?"

it's akin to picking up ripe fruit from the backyard tree. when hunger meets sweetness and the juices flow under your chin. there isn't anything more sinful and close to perfection than this. the bites paint his white skin. his shoulders, his neck. at some point in this dance, you got on top of him. as every predator should be. ravenous slushing sounds paired with almost silent noises that yuuta dares to make. but it only enhances the experience.

and when yuuta is quiet for once, your eyes level up to meet his. his glossy eyes look at you tenderly, his gaping mouth silent. there's a hand that cradles your worried head from behind. warmth. there's nothing you could say. your hand meets his. and it's understood. it's enough. his dozing eyes flutter, sweetness pouring out of them.

red stained lips whisper a soft thank you as your wrist meets his mouth.

"please, have of me as much as I had of you"

he drinks. he drinks for he found peace in such a long time. he drinks as to be able to give himself fully to you once again. and you caress his face, wiping off the dirt from his cheeks and the tears that fell from his eyes. forgiveness.

to place a kiss on his lips as he regains strength.

when death is your salvation.

there is no running away from it.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

[nixnephili]

Karma is protected from the heckling and hazing that the other members of the angels of Decay wish in inflict on the rescued boy by Atsushi, which further drives him into Atsushi's domain.

Also what do you suppose would be Atsushi's interaction with Dazai would look like, maybe it could be one of Karma's early missions but with Atsushi having to step in to assist his luck altering comrade.

From the "Fyodor raised Atsushi" A.U. :

Fyodor would've warned Atsushi about Dazai once they got into a closer mentor/student bond. Once Atsushi was given missions and errands on the outside Fyodor would've trusted him enough to lay the issue of the A.D.A and ultimately Dazai on the table.

I believe Fyodor would advise Atsushi to stray clear of the sight or knowledge of any organized group for that matter. After the young tiger saved Karma Fyodor had to face the l reality that Atsushi's kind nature was something out of his venomous reach, unfortunately...

So it would be a real shame if Dazai would take advantage of that strand of purity.

Which opens Fyodor's internal conflict.

He must play Atsushi on the field in order to effectively find the book.

But if he does he exposes one of his most precious pieces to corruption..

He had strived to play up the favoritism for the young boy. Making himself up to be a caring figure in his life, a pillar of security. Safety. Comfort. Because he knows that's what Atsushi seeks, hence that's where his values would lie. If Fyodor satisfied those needs of comfort the little tiger wouldn't feel like he'd need them from anyone else who might offer.

Such as Dazai.

Dazai would not then be able to play the card of "we could treat you better". Fyodor would anticipate that and preemptively cover that base.

So then what's left of it? Nothing much really.. that play would set Atsushi up to disregard Dazai. I think they'd meet by chance once in the city, as they pass by. And another meeting on the field. In Karma's mission where Atsushi jumps in to save the young boy, and positions himself between him and Dazai.

Maybe?

As for the scar, I believe it happened as an outburst- an accident where Atsushi's frustration/ struggle to contain Beast slipped and while holding his head in his hands he recoiled,  arching his back and straightening himself in inner pain, He dragged his hand - now transformed into claws down over his face. He screamed then-

And perhaps Fyodor felt a twinge of fearful worry through his cold soul - but only for a moment,  of course.

What do we think?

-Nix🌙

[soylent-crocodile]

Hagsfiend (Monster)

(Art by Richard Cowdrey)

(The genre of animal fiction is a famed and storied one, and one that was important to me growing up. I read Warriors, and that still has a thriving fandom, but I also read a series called Guardians of Ga'Hoole, which was about owls and had a more fully fantastical setting. Short of a 2010 movie by Zach Snyder, I've seen very little attention given to it.

Hagsfiends are magical monsters that are extinct in the "modern" day of the series, but dangerous threats in the main book. They appear to be both mortal beings and also what owls turn into when they go to Owl Hell. I'm statting them up as the former, but I gave a little nod to this in the flavor text.

One last note, the book cover this image is from caught my father's eye years ago, and him buying that book for me is what got me reading Ga'Hoole. So thanks, hagsfeinds.)

Hagsfiend are condor-sized black birds born of, and infused with, negative energy and witchcraft. They are chittering, raucous animals who have a penchant for cruelty and greed, and a particular fascination with creatures weaker than them. Hagsfiend feathers lack the sleek, oily sheen of natural birds, and are often in disarray, giving them the look of something dead or dying. They have a similar look when walking, often having an awkward hopping shuffle to their movement. In the air, though, they are powerful fliers, capable of hunting and killing even an eagle. 

Hagsfiend are sometimes called “crowl” and conjectured to be a dark hybrid of the two; indeed, with their flat faces, black feathers, and combination of hunting and scavenging, they appear to be a sort of in-between. Either bird, when suffused with enough evil magic and negative energy, can transform into a hagsfiend, which appears to be the true origin of these creatures, which now breed true.

Hagsfiend are often found in the employ of dark witches and clerics of evil gods; there, they are typically loyal believers in the cause of some great evil, happy to take part in the violence and pain inflicted on the world. They often form such cults themselves, great rookeries nestled in the heart of dark forests and inland swamps. In such an environment they thrive, and many hagsfiend there advance in level as witches, alchemists, or oracles. Hagsfiend are even known to reside in hell, preferring its icy or citybound layers. 

An evil spellcaster of level 7 or higher can take a hagsfiend as a familiar with the feat Improved Familiar.

This black bird is larger than an eagle, with tattered black feathers and piercing yellow eyes.

Misc- CR2 NE Small Magical Beast HD3 Init:+2 Senses: Perception:+8, Darkvision 60ft Stats- Str:12(+1) Dex:14(+2) Con:9(-1) Int:14(+2) Wis:8(-1) Cha:14(+2) BAB:+3 Space:2.5ft Reach:0ft Defense- HP:16(3d10) AC:15(+2 Dex, +2 Natural, +1 Size) Fort:+2 Ref:+5 Will:+2 CMD:15 Immunity: Cold Weakness: Weak to Saltwater Special Defenses: Negative Energy Affinity, DR2/salt Offense- 2 Claw +5(1d3+1 plus 1 bleed) CMB:+3 Speed:20ft, Fly 40ft (Good) Special Attacks: Bleed Feats- Toughness, Iron Will Skills- Fly +12, Knowledge (Religion) +5, Perception +8 Spell-like Abilities- (Caster level 3, Concentration +5) Color Spray (DC13) /at-will Special Qualities- Change Shape (An owl, Beast Shape II) Ecology- Environment- Forests (Cold) Languages- Common, Infernal Organization- Flock (2-8) Treasure- Standard Special Abilities- Weak to Saltwater (Ex)- A hagsfiend that gets saltwater on its feathers is unable to fly and loses its immunity to cold until it spends a full minute preening.

[tcfactory]

i think the shen yuan as jiu's shizun thing would be particularly heartbreaking because the system could very easily hit hard with that "you wanted lore, didnt you? you wanted this. this is what you asked for." watch as everyone you vaguely dismissed as 'binghe's enemies' suffer endlessly to create a world you decided should be expanded on. and look at that little author crawl miserably through all kinds of abuse, isnt that what you wished on him? didnt you say he deserved it? nightmare.

(In relation to this post.)

Yes, to all of this.

Real monkey's paw situation. He got exactly what he wanted: a life of leisure where none of his choices could 'ruin' the plot, he could enjoy the bits of the world he cared about without ever being in any danger and then got front row seat to all the people he previously decided deserving of punishment (the hack author, Shen Qingqiu who abused Luo Binghe and Yue Qingyuan who enabled the abuse) get their comeuppance.

Except it hits different when he realizes that all that ill fortune is inflicted on people. People he now cares about, having watched their pain and suffering up close, people he doesn't want to hurt any more. There's a person behind Airplane's ridiculous nickname, a small, scared person now trapped in a horrible fate and a lifetime of terror because he wrote a stupid novel.

There's a history behind Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu, one of them paralyzed by guilt (if Shen Yuan mentioned that plant that one time then there would have been no delay. Even worse, if Yue Qi could trust the adults to look out for him then he would have not needed to go himself at all, there was a whole sect's worth of adults who could have gone and rescued Shen Jiu - and as much as Shen Yuan wants to blame the lack of trust on Yue Qingyuan, he knows none of his martial siblings would have cared to go even if he told them. Shen Yuan himself would not have bothered to go out of his way to check on some slave boy miles away who might be dead or alive, just because Yue Qi says he has the potential for cultivation) and the other baring his claws and teeth at the world because he's scared and the only way he knows how not to let his fear make him look weak is by making himself look angry and nasty and more dangerous than he is (and oh gods, he thought Shen Jiu's continued antics were funny. He thought Shen Jiu was just Like That, a little bit feral, and never realized the boy felt unsafe on his peak - what kind of shizun was he to never notice that something was this wrong?).

Both of them were let down by the system, slipping through the cracks and he was part of that system, it should have been his job to catch one or both of them and he was too busy with his stupid beasts and stupid plants that he didn't even think to look.

That's the worst of all. He wanted to be safe and uninvolved and he got exactly that: now he gets to reap what he sowed, watch as the neglect he was complicit in grows into pain and misery and death.

A lion hobbled by guilt. A wolf rabid from fear. An author with his neck in the noose.

Happy transmigration, Shen Yuan. This System hopes you enjoy your nightmare. Don't forget to leave a positive review! ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

[ohnoanalien]

Headache

@journey-to-the-au has an awesome fake marriage AU, and as someone with PTSD this post really touched my heart in ways I can't explain. My writing's not as good obviously, but it's a little 'thank you' gift for giving us such great content! Enjoy!

TW: PTSD, flashbacks, phantom pain, panic attacks

It didn't take long for the Monkey King to notice something was wrong. As he walked through the halls of the Jade Emperor's palace, each fiber on soft carpet felt like long-dead grass.

The noblemen around him shot unwanted gazes. On the average day they buzzed like a swarm of gnats– annoying, but harmless. But all too suddenly, eyes pierced through the dark like cold spotlights. And the world blurred like a crude, two-dimensional set on a stage. 

He fought the urge to cradle his head.

No. No no no, not now--

"Wukong!" The Great Sage blinked back a dizzy spell, a soft beacon of light cutting through the audience. Earth Reaching Willow greeted him with a soft smile, hanfu gliding across the snowy fiel-- the floor. He shot back a wide grin with a bit too much teeth, unsure if her presence was a saving grace or a terrible nightmare.

"How is Flower Fruit Mountain, darling?" Earth Reaching Willow's dark eyes flicked briefly to the immortals that surrounded them, staring openly.

Keep your composure. Don't look weak. You were-- will be fine.

"Are you alright?" Willow whispered, interrupting her husband's thoughts.

In return her husband smiled wider, wanting to die.

"'Course I am!" He rested his hands on his hips. Willow didn’t miss the way the Monkey King’s tail wrapped tight around his waist, itching to lash like a broken metronome. "What makes you think I'm not?"

It seemed like they were the stars of the banquet, hushed chatter muffled into wine glasses. But his ‘beloved’ persisted. "You just seem...what’s the word. A bit off-color?"

"Pfft! Off-color?" A seething pain rattled Wukong's skull, and his pained smirk reached his ears, "I'm alright! I'm alright! Nothing to worry about, Master!"

The voices went silent. The palace went still. The Great Sage felt his face warm, slapping a paw over his mouth.

The pain was unbearable. Colors and lights began to morph and shift, and the ground rocked beneath his feet. He allowed himself to be pulled by an unknown force, and marble hallways stretched into a dirt road. No, no they were by a snowbank. Or was it a monastery?

"Wukong?"

The chilly air did nothing to dull the pain, gasping for air as Tripitaka’s eyes continued to change color and shape. Dark to light, scared to angry. Over and over until his mind began to crumble, disorientation clouding his vision.

"Poor thing." A soothing voice called from the flashback, cleaving the delusion open like a knife on the butcher's table. "How are you feeling?"

"I was-- I'm-- I'll be--" Wukong scrambled to collect his pride before it could fall any further.

"It's alright, it's alright. Just calm down and--"

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down!" Wukong snarled. Rage snaked up his throat like a trapped beast. "I am the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, and I am no mere monkey!"

His eyes stung, desperately scraping at his head, searching to rip off a phantom crown. And ignoring the stinging, self-inflicted wounds that bloodied his claws. "I was the one who single-handedly took down the entirety of Heaven! I was the one who journeyed for years-- nnh! I-- I'm not-- I don't care about the pain!"

A muffled voice called above the panic.

"I don't care! I don’t care! So just make it stop!"

"Wukong!" A panicked voice called.

Earth Reaching Willow.

He cracked open an eye-- dammit, he was crying on the floor. His old friend kneeled on her knees, robes pooling around her like a waterfall. Delicate hands reached out, then pulled back. "Sun Wukong, Vengeful Fighting Buddha. Lovely monkey. Listen to me and listen well. You have to care."

For the first time in his long, long life, the Great Sage was speechless.

"You have to care." She repeated, tears spilling down her cheeks, "You have to because you're hurting yourself."

A terrible realization weighed on Wukong's heart, and he touched a shaking finger to his forehead. Blood seeped through a perfect, golden coat, and he breathed in the iron scent that burned his nose.

"I. I'm sorry for worrying you." He croaked. “I was lost.”

"No need to apologize, my friend." Earth Reaching Willow placed a hand to her chest, "I am no different. During my own panic attacks, my father would constantly tell me to 'calm down'. I'm ashamed I did the same to you."

"Willow--"

"But this isn't about me." A shaky, pale palm wiped at her cheeks. "Tell me how to help."

"Don't worry! Don't worry! I'm fine." Sun Wukong threw on a smirk, sewn in place with string and prayers.

Earth Reaching Willow shot back an unimpressed expression. "Wukong."

Mortification spread like wildfire across his face. Wordlessly, the stone monkey stared at her lap. And before he could open his mouth, Willow gently pushed him downward.

"Lovely monkey." She whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple-- worry unraveling as a relieved sigh brushed her ears. "You may have a position to uphold, and I may not always understand what you’re going through, but I promise you are safe with me. I will hold you if you need to cry. I will listen if you feel alone. I will give you your space when you ask for it. But please, for my sake, ask for help. Don’t try to hold up a century’s worth of pain and false pride by yourself. Let me keep you safe, as you have for me."

Gentle touches turned into strokes. And even when choking sobs wracked the walls, Earth Reaching Willow hummed softly, brushing aside the tears that soaked her fingers.

[silly-scroimblo-whump]

cw: cannibalism, body horror, possession, violence, attempted and actual murder ^_^ yikes!!!

masterlist!

—

Rapidly swishing his tail, Roux perks up at the sound of approaching footsteps. He makes little chirping noises, eyes wide and ears pinning against his head.

It’s the middle of winter, and Roux distantly finds himself hoping that a bear will come out of hibernation just to maul whatever sort of intruder this is to death.

The last time he killed a humanoid was easy. That person was delirious from hypothermia, practically throwing their neck into his jaws.

… It’s a hunter. Of course. Roux growls quietly, immediately looking for a place to hide. Hunters are either reckless and stupid, or the most irritatingly intelligent people in the world. He doesn’t want to stick around to find out.

Clambering up a tree, Roux soon flips upside down, using his legs to cling to an outstretched branch. He happily lets the blood rush to his head, cooing softly at the feeling.

He’s immediately heard, the hunter wandering over to the tree. Stupid, stupid, stupid — they’re both equally stupid, staring each other dead in the eyes in bewilderment.

The hunter is more feral than Roux. Hunters are not distracted by simpler, smaller prey, hunters want the best kills they can find, so they can boast and compare the size of their kills.

Roux feels his jaw go slack as he glances to the bloodied axe the man wields, feels himself become thirsty, thirsty, horribly thirsty—- he’s been drinking melted snow for the last week, and it’s been so disgustingly cold. Roux wants warmth, he needs warmth, and before he can think properly he falls from the tree, scrambling at the man like a wild beast.

He claws, he bites, he feels the sharp pain as the man slices into his side. Roux’s eyes narrow as he bites back a whimper, instead letting out a hideous shriek.

He screeches, the final words of dozens tearing at his throat, channeling the voices of all he’d seen pass before him. The voices grow louder as individual mouths emerge from his newfound wound. They bite and scream and sob at the hunter, all while Roux heaves in exhaustion, mindlessly throwing himself at the hunter again and again, waiting for the voices to stop.

The hunter staggers back, bewildered, as Roux moves about like a puppet whose strings are harshly tugged to move faster, faster, faster—

Any further cuts the hunter inflicts don’t stop the nightmarish boy. The man tries to scream for help, but something bites his arm, making him drop his axe. It lands on the hunters foot blade-first, and he cries out in shock.

The creature freezes, eerily tilting his head at the sound. He pushes the man to the ground, whispering to himself like wind through the trees. Each of the mouths start to giggle, and Roux finally laughs with them, sinking his mangled, misshapen claws into the man’s jugular — lapping up the blood like a starving stray.

[v3nusxsky]

Please I need Morriss/Larticia. Tish and Rissa are alone together in Larissa's bathroom in the Nevermore. And they go to shower together, and then they are in the shower together.So Morticia notices Larissa's scars on her wrists. And she asks why she did it. Larissa starts to explain to her that she did it because she missed Morticia terribly and she didn't want to feel the emotional pain. And Morticia will take it very hysterically and emotionally. And she will blame herself. That it is useless and only hurts everyone, it will be terrible to cry. And Larissa will calm her down and Morticia will calm down, but Larissa has to promise her that she will never do it again. Larissa promises her that. It all ends with cuddles and fluff in bed. (one shot)

Numb the pain

*Authors note~ angsty Drabble/fic is another vent fic, I hope I did the request justice, I will admit this is the trickiest one I’ve written so far*

Trigger warnings~ self harm, self loathing breakup um just a angsty one the prompt really says it all

Prompt~ see ask^^^

The sight of her lover in such a state had guilt bubbling in the raven haired woman’s stomach. She hadn’t meant what she said, a pointless fight between young lovers had Mortica storming out of Ophelia hall leaving Larissa alone. The dark claws of depression immediately took over the blonde, clawing at her body until she gave up fighting such a beast and let it take her. Depression was a long term friend of darkness for the blonde shifter, from her family life to being alone at school Mortica was ironically her only light in the dark. A light that had simply upped and left when her emotions were over spilling from her body. When she needed her the most.

It had been a few weeks, and when Mortica finally returned, she wasn’t expecting to see Larissa in such a bad way. “Rissa, mon amour” she whispered, emotion ever so slightly creeping into her words. “Go away” she grumbled sadly, what was the point of any of this anyway? She just wanted to disappear into the black abyss but no, now she had to come back acting like she truly cares. Larissa knew it was false. She pretends but it’s never real.

But like many people, Larissa Weems was tightly wrapped around Morticia’s finger and would do anything for the raven haired woman. Her strong willed self could only take so much of her heart owners pleas to get her in the shower at least. Practically on autopilot the blonde gave in and allowed morticia to help her get in the shower without a second thought to the self inflicted wounds on her skin. Only when she heard a strangled gasp did she realise why had happened here.

“Rissa? Why, darling why would you hurt yourself like this? Nothing is worth you causing this much pain to yourself my love” emotion clogged every word with the shower now beating down against the wall fading into the background. “It hurt” whimpered the shifter while blankly starring at the tiled wall, “needed to feel something.” Larissa trailed off her own explanation when she caught sight of her true loves eyes misting with tears at the obvious cause to these marks that now adorn her lover. So stuck in her own emotions she hadn’t realised tear drops now trailed her pale cheeks or that Larissa had been calling her, “Tish” , the raven haired woman only seeing the marks she had caused Larissa to make.

“I’m so sorry mon amour, I’m so so sorry I did this to you. I didn’t mean to hurt you my darling Larissa. I know I’m to blame and crying about it is futile as it won’t change what’s already been done. I’m so so sorry darling girl” morticia whimpered coming to hold the blonde woman tightly. Guilt swarming in her stomach as she too now functioned on autopilot, lost in her own self loathing. And not the enjoyable kind that she adores. No. This was raw and darker than even she can handle.

Being dried and dressed both woman made the way to lay down, Larissa feeling incredibly weak and exhausted now and Mortica needing the closeness of her lover. “Rissa?” The dark haired woman mumbled, “I’m sorry my love, I’ll never hurt you like this ever again and that I promise, can you promise me something darling?” Feeling Larissa nod her head as she rested it on her shoulder Mortica continued, “promise me no more of this, come to me darling I’ll always be here for you, like I always should have been I was just too foolish to see it then.”

“It’s not your fault Tish, but I promise I’ll come to you” Larissa whispered and held on tighter to the other woman. It was obvious they would spend however long they needed to build one another back up. This situation would never occur again and that’s something both women would move hell and high water to ensure.