Year Of The OTP October Prompts: "All Hush In The Dark" [Boa Lurking In The Bliss]
Tagging @inafieldofdaisies @theelderhazelnut @imogenkol @aceghosts @cassietrn @voidika @noodlecupcakes @direwombat @spooky-malkavian @shallow-gravy @cloudofbutterflies92 @josephseedismyfather @chazz-anova @noodlecupcakes @socially-awkward-skeleton @jaeheydaris @josephslittledeputy @g0dspeeed @derelictheretic @icecutioner @strangefable @statichvm @carlosoliveiraa @wrathfulrook @starsandskies @la-grosse-patate @thewanderer-000 @alypink @shellibisshe @afarcryfrommymain @turbo-virgins @florbelles @minilev @justasmolbard @strafethesesinners and @yokobai + anyone who wants to read.
Here's my contribution to "Only Faith October".
October prompts based on this Year Of The OTP fandom event. Tackling these prompts: Costumes, "Boo" and Shibari.
Sharing the October oneshot here, but can be alternatively found on my AO3 here.
Content Warnings as this is a smut fic:
Contains Smut (obviously), Handjob, Gentle and sensual sex, BDSM (mostly bondage via shibari), Teasing, use of erogenous zones, clothed/naked, Silva's down bad, Stripping and kind of semi-public sex at O'Hara's Haunted House because why not (semi-public in the sense the location they're doing the deed is near an active party and anyone brave enough to go into the barn could come across them). Also minor descriptions of past violence done on a person.
Established relationship and "Silva failed the deputy's psychological exam" pre-canon/pre-Reaping AU.
You can read the oneshot either below the cut or above in my AO3. Enjoy!:
Title: All Hush In The Dark
Series: The Silver Chronicles
Pairing: Boa Lurking In The Bliss
Prompts: October - Costumes, "Boo" and Shibari.
Genre/Tags: Gentle Romantic Smut.
Words: 4,767
The rampant celebration began with setting the pyres alight with flame on the front lawn of the abandoned O’Hara’s residence and audaciously decorated barn; the scent of burning wood and sizzling meat had long since cascaded over the disguised celebrants in the Henbane.
Halloween was a concept foreign to Silva. She never celebrated it when Elsa and Persephone were still alive and hadn’t made the effort during her mourning. She didn’t quite understand the importance of the sweets nor the reason behind dressing up in various costumes.
She’d been informed by Kamski the basic history of the holiday; a few superstitious fellows believed that Halloween was a duration where the mortal world and the spirit world opened up to each other. And the use of the costumes were to ward such spirits off.
Silva still didn’t… get it, but she wouldn’t deny the invitation. Rae-Rae had a way with words, a skill developed over haggling prices over pumpkins with her customers and believed both Silva and her could use a distraction from the various letdowns in their life: from Rae-Rae’s recent divorce to Silva failing the Sheriff Department’s psychological exam.
It had been a distraction most desirable for the two, especially for Rae-Rae. Silva turned her gaze to the direction of her amiga, even by the table stands on the outskirts of the crowded festival, she had full visibility. She could spot Rae-Rae in her horseman get-up, the pumpkin mask hanging around her neck swung recklessly from side to side just like her recently cut dirty blonde hair as the divorcee jammed it out to one of the “spooky” rock songs.
Silva could tell Rae-Rae was not as sober as she’d been when they first arrived. She’d been keeping track of the amount of times the pumpkin farmer had filled her red plastic cup in the glass bowl of reddish-orange punch, prompting Silva herself to limit herself on the amount of alcohol she had if she were to drive Rae-Rae back to the farm safe. She’d likely stay the night herself too, if only to pick up Ryan from Rae-Rae’s crop-duster amigo while Rae-Rae recovers from her inevitable hangover.
But that was for later, as of now, Silva was watching her amiga dance about in the crowd. She found the horseman get-up a bit humorous, considering in stark contrast to the legend, Rae-Rae still had her head. So to Silva, all she could see was her amiga in a mildly fancy suit with an unused pumpkin mask.
Though Silva couldn’t really tease Rae-Rae’s choice of costume that much considering she was no better; with exception to some touches of dark make-up and lipstick by Rae-Rae, from head to toe, the recluse was covered in a black dress, either fit for a wedding or a funeral depending on perspective. People likely wouldn’t be able to tell she was dressed up as a restless spirit of a wraith.
She thought it an appropriate costume for herself; wraiths were souls bound to the living world, restless ghosts who could not move on from the loss, betrayal or rage that anchor them from finding peace.
Such experiences Silva was not unfamiliar with… emotions Silva still felt stir within her on most days. Emotions that were inescapable, not with the reminders imprinted on her body, hidden from the world by her choice alone.
The reminder caused an unconscious sting on the various scars underneath her dress, the familiar heat over the left side of her neck and shoulder, and the tingling itch under the patch of skin grafted over her right shoulder. The ugly memory of failure writhed underneath all of them.
She sipped from her plastic cup, minding her intake, grey eyes passing over the festival’s attendants. She spotted Mary May, Señora Drubman and some young hombre who didn’t look like her marido, and more faces both familiar and unfamiliar. She looked to the nearby grill, finding Mary May’s cook, Casey Fixman, still cooking the meat.
Briefly, Silva briefly wondered if she actually wasn’t going to come. Though it made sense; Eden’s Gate prohibited alcohol and fornification. And there were high chances of that occurring at a festival, even if this one was tame by comparison to others.
Not that such prohibitions of stopped us before, Silva mused to herself, gazing down into her cup, swirling the punch as the movement distorted her reflection, Though the abundance of witnesses here who can recognize her likely is a driving factor in her absence.
Silva huffed lowly, resigning herself to playing passive observer until the festival died down or Rae-Rae was too drunk to continue.
She returned her gaze to the partygoers, grey eyes searching for Rae-Rae. Silva spotted her amiga dancing off with somebody in a skeleton get-up, only for the passing of shoulder-length light brown hair to catch her attention.
Grey eyes widened in recognition of the figure; barefoot, light brown hair haloing her head and those enchanting green eyes focused on her as Faith’s spectre traversed through the crowd without interruption.
Costumed in a white dress not unlike her regular one, with the texture and material likely to be the lightness of linen, hugging her body more explicitly. Along her dress, and even in her light brown hair, were interwoven flowers, with a crown of sticks acting as a sort of headband on top of her head.
Her appearance reminded Silva of the myth of náyades; some form of spirits that take the form of women, a kind of ninfa that belonged to the rivers and lakes and springs of water. Often attributed to Greek mythology, such spirits were said to heal ailments and bring fertility to crops and women. She’s even heard náyades often were celebrated via coming-of-age ceremonies from both boys and girls. Representing the entry of a new chapter, letting go of a past.
Silva briefly wondered if that was a deliberate inspiration Faith had been going for, but then shook her head, for the answer was fairly obvious. She’d mentioned the history she’s learned from her elder brother, and factoring that in with their last conversation was enough of a deduction for Silva.
Silva observed the spectre as it parted from the crowd, gradually making its way over to the wide-open door of one of the two buildings nearby: the audaciously labelled O’Hara’s Haunted House, a barn redecorated by… someone. She was unsure if the locals had transformed the barn into what it is or if the original owner added some final touches before abandoning it for Eden’s Gate.
Faith’s spectre stopped at the open doorway before entering, glancing back towards Silva, a beckoning finger gesturing her to follow, before the spectre dissipated after stepping inside.
Silva shuddered, an excitement running down her body. She placed her cup on the table, ready to follow, but stopped as she gazed back to where Rae-Rae was.
Her amiga was still within the crowd, hollering with the rest of the crowd as more people became less sober, doing unfathomable acts of recklessness.
Leaving Rae-Rae unsupervised didn’t feel right, but she needed to see Faith now. Pondering a moment, she looked around the area.
There were a few attendants that seemed sober enough, but none were anyone familiar to her. Except for Fixman…
With a solution found, she made her way over to the grill, hoping the cook could take over supervision of Rae-Rae while she got some intimate time to herself.
------
The abandoned barn was not as plain looking on the inside as it had been on the outside. It was most certainly darker too.
With no power on, the darkness reigned supreme while the light remained shunned. There was a prevalent silence that stained the air while Silva gradually traversed down the tunnel. Her grey eyes had yet to adjust to the dark as she followed the path down, seeking a sign of Faith… or her spectre.
She’d heard stories of O’Hara’s Haunted House, rumours meant to terrify tourists and the common passersby. People whispered how the barn was famous for just as much disappearances as Eden’s Gate and claimed that the props in the makeshift attraction were the taxidermized victims bold enough to enter uninvited.
Silva didn’t entirely believe such rumours. The Sheriff’s Department had already investigated O’Hara and his DIY project and came up empty handed. O’Hara himself hadn’t been seen near his old home ever since joining Eden’s Gate either.
That’s not to say the rumours didn’t hold a grain of truth; people had gone missing around O’Hara’s homestead, even before the O’Hara barn was transformed into a haunted house, and from what she heard of the man, he isolated himself from the community ever since an incident three years ago. She wasn’t sure what it was, due to her own mourning self-isolation at the time. But it had to do with his former job as a beekeeper, changing him on a fundamental level from what people said.
Regardless, she traversed the maze-like structure, passing a small graveyard set-up as she rounded corridor to corridor. Strangely, she saw none of the “life-like” mannequin props that the rumour mills proclaimed were present. Just empty spaces where she assumed the mannequins would go.
She slowly made her way down a hall. The darkness was tolerable, having traversed it before. She stuck close to the walls, guiding her down as she searched for Faith. The roars and cheers of the celebrants outside were faint but still audible to Silva. It eased her, though she knew if she were to make any sound inside the barn, no one would hear. Which she assumed to be the point of Faith’s choice of location.
At the midpoint of the hall, she turned to notice a whole van filling up space to her right. No one was inside it, at least as far as she could see in the darkness. She pondered on what the point of utilizing a van in such a way had been, but without further context to go by, it was useless to think about.
As she went to make her next step, she heard something clatter ahead. Narrowing down on the end of the hall, she could make out a slim upright floor lamp had tumbled over on the ground. Or perhaps been knocked over.
She did not move from her spot. Staring blankly ahead, a frown on her lips, Silva hesitated before she evenly called out, “Is someone there?”
Is it you, Faith?
That had been what she wanted to ask, but she refrained; if it was a stranger, or even someone she knew, whether they be a local or from Eden’s Gate, then she could risk exposing her and Faith. She couldn’t afford that.
But if it wasn’t a stranger… if they were someone with more malevolent intentions…
Silva was not frightened easily. She faced death and pain head on. In spite of this, she was paranoid, and human. And humans feared. And Silva was intimate with fear.
She reached from behind her dress, sliding a hand from under one of the openings she included in the costume herself to reach for the hilt of her dagger. The cool handle of the blade was a welcoming feeling, even while she wore lacey gloves. She did not unsheathe it yet; not until she determined the source.
The darkness felt more suffocating as she slowly continued her approach. She knew the dark to be her ally, and a form of safety, but she would not deny that it was equally likely to turn on her. Even the dark shrouded monsters and dangers from her, which is why she had to take precautions.
She was at the precipice of the hall’s end. She did not know whom she would face if she turned the corner, if anyone was still there. Hand ready to unsheathe her blade if necessary, Silva took a deep breath before rounding the corner, grey eyes peered for anyone or anything.
She did not find anyone within her immediate vision, nothing but a miniscule section of the haunted house that only had an empty bed and two bedside tables.
Silva scrutinized her surroundings further, the darkness hindering her sight. She didn’t take her hand off the dagger’s handle, even when she investigated the materials that occupied the single bed.
She furrowed her brows over what littered the mattress: most of it was a lot of rope, but there was also straps designed to confine the arms and a blindfold.
Her hand untightened its grip over the handle of her sheathed blade. She dug into the familiarity of such objects, remembering a conversation she previously had recently.
Hadn’t Faith mentioned the use of rope…?
Her thoughts were cut when she felt hands, dainty and calloused, on her body; one smoothly clasping over her mouth, with the other roped itself around her waist, tugging her closer to the body behind.
Her gloved hand grasping her dagger’s hilt was trapped between their bodies, unable to pull her blade out, and for a moment her heart skipped a beat as a familiar panic flooded her veins. The air though held a familiar aroma, a smell of sweet citruses, which gave Silva pause.
Soft lips ghosted the shell of her ear, and a single word spoken, “Boo.”
Panic was swiftly replaced with relief, her frightened heart fluttering at the following sound of Faith’s amused giggle. The white knuckled and painful grip she held her dagger’s handle with slackened, and she relaxed as Faith moved the hand over her mouth to just two fingers tracing along her bottom lip, lightly smudging the dark lipstick.
The hand around her waist slid up to over her chest, her quick heartbeat felt under Faith’s palm.
“Did I scare you, love?” Faith inquired softly into Silva’s ear, causing the other woman to shudder in exhilaration to hear her amante voice so close while in her arms.
Silva airily laughed as Faith’s hands wandered around her costumed body. From one hand cupping her jaw to ghosting down her neck, while the other hand crossed over her chest down to her midsection and then lightly gripping at a thigh. Her hands did not stay in one place for long, gripping and caressing and lightly scratching as they moved from one spot to another over her dress.
“Si,” Silva answered, and found she sounded flustered, perhaps aroused. She certainly could feel her own arousal stirring downwards, “But I’m okay now. Better than okay…”
She softly gasped as she felt Faith’s tongue lightly swipe just under her jaw. Silva bit down on her lip to smother the moan that nearly elicited out her throat when Faith nibbled on the spot before pressing a soft kiss on the fresh mark.
Faith pressed more kisses on what flesh was exposed, though was undeterred with continuing a trail from her covered shoulder and back to her neck and jawline.
Silva, in a flustered haze, pressed herself back against Faith despite already being so close. This wasn’t something they often did, at least not for long. Usually Faith was satisfied with handing Silva the reigns to their dance of passion, occasionally guiding her to where she needed the most attention, and they’d either find equal pleasure together or Faith would be left quivering from ecstasy (and in need of a massage later in the morning). Silva had been fine with the arrangement, as long as her partner was ultimately pleased by the end of it.
Yet Faith had wanted to try something different. “To deepen trust,” she had explained, giving a brief overview of what she wanted to do, “To give full control to your partner.” Faith had wanted to leave Silva in the same ecstasy she often left her. Which meant giving Faith the reigns tonight.
Silva agreed to her amante request, both intrigued and thrilled by the prospect of being loved by her Faith. In spite of that though, she could not help but feel a bit… apprehensive, by the idea. It was difficult for her to contend with the thought of being the sole focus of pleasure, having preferred to give her parejas only the best pleasure out of their sexual experiences with her, even if she didn’t receive the same in return. It felt ingrained. The only exception to this had been with… Irene, her first amor.
She’d previously informed Faith of such feelings before giving her agreement, and Faith seemed to understand. Though the appeal of what Faith offered was enough to give it a try.
Experiencing the foreplay of what Faith had planned was enough to entice her further on the prospect of giving her amante full control.
When Faith’s hands departed from her body, Silva felt mild dissatisfaction with having her amante arms not all over her.
Faith snuck around to her side and placed a swift peck on Silva’s cheek, earning a pleased hum from the woman. With a bright smile, Faith faced the single bed, picking up a length of the rope. Her smile turned into a coy smirk as she gazed back to Silva with her enchanting green eyes, looking her up and down. The attention had Silva quiver in exhilaration, waiting for further instruction.
“I’m going to need you to strip out of that dress, angel,” Faith told her, sitting by the foot of the bed as she sorted out the rope. Silva’s cheeks flushed upon hearing such a command, especially with how Faith hungrily observed her. As she eagerly reached for the dress’ zipper behind her, her blush darkened upon pausing at Faith’s next, ever sultrier words, “And don’t rush. I want to take my time ogling all of you.”
Exhaling airily, she obliged Faith’s request, doing the best she could to put on a little show for Faith, dragging down the zipper behind her until it reached its end. Gradually, she pulled the left side of her loosened dress down, exposing her left shoulder, the third degree burn scars patterned over it. She brought her left arm out of the sleeve, letting the dress’ front hang loosely, feeling Faith’s eyes on her biceps.
With a little more confidence, Silva sensually exposes her right shoulder, the patch of grafted lighter skin contrasting her tawny brown complexion, letting the loosened dress down until it’s shy off exposing her chest, before placing a hand intentionally against the dress’ loosened top, teasingly denying Faith.
Faith’s eyes widened at the action, sending a playful pout and pleading eyes her way. Giving clemency towards her amante, Silva progressively shimmied the dress front down, showing off her cleavage little by little, before letting go of the dress’ front entirely, letting it hang loosely at her midsection, her entire top half naked for Faith’s eyes alone.
She smiled as Faith’s eyes widened and her pupils dilated, biting her bottom lip as her eyes travelled from Silva’s flushed face to her neck, over the swell of her breasts down to her toned stomach and athletic body, darting to all the areas Silva’s scars were, in spite of the darkness limiting their visibility.
With those green eyes on her, Silva could feel her own arousal travelling down her body, stiffening her polla.
Faith eyes returned to Silva’s grey, giving a nod to proceed. Silva did not hesitate to hook her lacey gloved fingers under her dress hem around her waist, and her boxers too, pulling both down to her ankles in one gradual motion, revealing her semi-stiff pollo to her amante.
This was not the first time that she stood before Faith naked, though it never failed to bring an awestruck expression on the herald’s face. Silva resisted the self-conscious instinct to cover herself, to just allow her amante’s green eyes to take her in.
Faith hummed in delight, satisfied in her ogling, gathering the rope in her hands as she stood before Silva. Tying a small portion of it into a simple bight knot, Faith draped the tied rope over Silva’s shoulder, tugging at it to force Silva closer to her.
“Are you ready for this, darling?” Faith questioned Silva one final time, her tone too sweet to match the passion contained within her green eyes, which excited Silva even more as evident by her member erecting further upright.
Swallowing down any further apprehension she still had, Silva nodded, answering, “Si, Faith. I’m ready.”
A smile grew across Faith’s lips, no longer hiding her desire as she brought together more of the ropes length, her next words sending an elated shudder down Silva’s spine, “Good girl. Now be sure to hold still.”
------
Silva could not deny the feeling of the rope restraining her naked body was an erotic experience, a pleasurable addition to how Faith’s hands danced across her body each time she knotted and threaded and tied the rope into interesting patterns across her flesh.
She was kneeling on the single bed, with her hands, just about the only part of her body that was clothed by the lacey gloves used for her wraith costume, restrained behind her in a clasp. The chill of night creeped through the creviced of the haunted house, brushing across her exposed body. Faith meanwhile still had her costume on from what she last saw. She knew the rope patterned around her breasts had accentuated them, though the blindfold that had befallen darkness over her eyes blocked all sight of her own body.
She couldn’t see a thing, but she could feel the wandering hands of her amante both at the front and back of her exposed and restrained body. Her breath and lips alternating from her shoulder to her neck, jaw and face. She teased capturing her lips, but denied Silva her taste, instead focused on feeling her body.
Faith’s hands were like the streams of water the náyades which Faith costumed after inhabited; ever moving, running along a creek bed touched by remnants of the living and the dead, a force that meets no end.
Faith felt like an unstoppable force, someone that didn’t let Silva’s walls stop her from reaching through the crevices, to claim her heart herself. They were like-minded in a way; no one truly knew them and the lives they lived. Not even each other knew the true extent of the other’s experiences, but they could see past the lies and silent masks.
Silva’s mind began to wonder though; could Faith ever really understood the extent of which her body reflected her experiences, especially with how nude she was now? Could she discern the true origins of the scarred tissue littered across her body? Know what they represented to Silva?
Could Silva ever tell Faith all that invaded, pillaged, ruined and scourged her body, mind and spirit? Could she truly share her restless grief, the brewing wrath and the unjust suffering with the woman behind her?
Silva figured not. The truth was wild and painful and far from the normality of what people perceive suffering as. She’d just end up scaring Faith off, more than likely.
Silva really didn’t want to lose Faith.
It was almost a relief that Faith never pushed her for the origins of such ugly scars.
Silva slightly tensed when Faith deviated from the trail of kisses she had been leaving, now focusing on the lighter patch of flesh that reached a little over the right side of her shoulder and small of her back. Skin that had been grafted on to replace that which had been torn off by the hooked whip that belonged to Nashira, a punishing reminder of not paying attention to her surroundings.
She felt Faith’s other hand dance along the burn scars of her left shoulder; fingers tracing the intricate patterns Fýredel left when she wasn’t quick enough to escape his flames.
Faith did not stop there; where there were the remnants of healed wounds from a past long gone, her amante would feel it. Brushing the puncture wound on her calf, where Adaro had impaled with his trident. Stroking the laceration she received from Gaius’ bolt under her left breast, a lucky miss intended for her heart. And rubbing along the gashes on her right side from when Zhan Tiri dug her claws into her ribcage.
All that history, all those reminders, and all anchors to a past that did not let her rest peacefully through the night, and Faith grazed them with her touch and attention, like it didn’t matter what the scarring meant to Silva. Holding on to her like she wasn’t a failure who fights in vain.
And… perhaps there was merit to that. Perhaps she put too much emphasis and importance on a past that can no longer reach her in a way that matters.
Silva let out an airy sigh, her shoulders relaxing underneath Faith’s relentless touches and kisses. It was freeing, in a way. To give up control, to trust her own vulnerability to another. To be taken care of instead of taking charge. She missed it.
Faith fondled a breast with one arm, rubbing her thumb around the nipple, and travelled her other hand down to her stimulated pollo, massaging the length with a teasing lightness before curling her fingers around her as she began to pump.
As Faith pumped her hand up and down, she brought her spare away from Silva’s chests and down behind to her confined hands, lacey gloves still on. Removing only one of the gloves, Faith proceeded to bring her hand over the top of the sensitive scarring, caressing up and down the base, brushing her thumb over the wrist area, the sensation sending a euphoric signal throughout her body. A process she was nothing but delicate in.
Silva’s grey eyes fluttered close under the blindfold as she felt the pleasure increased, a small moan leaving her lips as Faith continued both her handjob and taking advantage over the erogenous sensitivity.
Precum leaked from her tip, and Faith’s thumb gathered the slickness up to spread around the head, lightly applying pressure as she rubbed it, eliciting a slew of moans and hot, heavy breathes from Silva.
She attempted to rut into Faith’s hand, but the ropes limited her mobility, leaving her at the mercy of her amante gradual pace. Heat rose up in her body, warding off the cold, her mind finding it difficult to focus on anything but the pleasure she was lost in, her volume increasing, which didn’t happen often.
Faith brushed further up against Silva’s back and removed her hand from the Omar woman’s own to cup her face instead, tilting her head enough that she could lock their lips together, their tongues blending together swapping tastes.
Faith pumped the base of Silva’s pollo in a speed that brought about a hazy fog over her mind, the noises of the Halloween celebration growing fainter and fainter as the only sounds she could hear were the slick and wet jerking and her shameless yet muffled cries in Faith’s mouth.
Before long, the head of her pollo throbbed until it spasmed, and pleasure crashed like a rush of water in a river, her tip released short spurts of cum, and her body shook from the ecstasy.
Faith released her lips, allowing Silva’s lungs a moment to recover as her head was guided to fall on her amante’s shoulder, shuddering with heavy breaths as she recovered from the blissful high.
Light lips peppered her slick forehead, letting go of Silva’s deflating member as her other hand lifted the blindfold from over her eyes, allowing Silva her sight again.
“Did you enjoy that, my lotus?” Faith queried her, fingers stroking through her dark hair as Silva nuzzled into the sensation.
Silva hadn’t quite recovered her voice, so only nodded in turn. It was not something she’d expected to enjoy so much and may have discovered another side of herself.
Faith hummed, pleased with herself. Silva felt Faith shift her head, cocking it towards the wall, where the faint sound of the festival seemed to be growing shallower.
“Seems like the party’s tapering off,” Faith commented, tugging at the rope on Silva’s body as she softly added, “It might be best to get you out of these ropes and back into your costume so you can take your friend home.”
Silva nodded in agreement, clearing her throat as she managed to breathe out, “Si, I know. Just… give me this moment. Please?”
Her pleading grey eyes gazed up to Faith’s green, and Faith seemed to understand, her smile stained with the dark smudge of Silva’s lipstick, hugging her closer as they stayed knelt on the single bed.
