PERMANENT TAGLIST - @notlinearr @seasonsofchaos @pvrnowitch @lobotomymutt @meamouraa @nanastypewriter @abstabz @ladyybabyy @dulcesthoughts @cutflwr @jigugooglieyes @uniquewombatexpert @cherry-kissesxox @m0on1ight1 @mars4hellokitty @simply-jinxed @lenisaob @dazzlinggleamgirl @amberkhghdxf @sevikas7princess @bunniestfemme @girl-so-gay @koraszi @lesbikitti @lyviesb @geeanne @sicklygothic @korliover @flw3rsstuff @1eliana123-blog @ar1-angel @angryoilslick516 (go here to be tagged!)

・Katara is a very devoted partner. And being your wife means that she is loyal to you and only you.

・It could be said that she's a ride or die. Which could surprise some people, but her heart is yours.

・She always has your back

・Sometimes you think she knows more about you than you do

・Which is true

・You were the one to propose, it was underneath the moonlight, with a ring that you had carved yourself.

・She cried on your shoulder and slipped on the ring.

"I love you," she whispered.

・The wedding was beautiful.

・Katara wanted it to be where she grew up. With close friends and family.

・She wore white, with her hair braided and flowers woven in.

・Toph was her maid of honour, Zuko was your maid of honour/best man.

・Sokka officiated the wedding and Aang sat in the front with those closest to you.

・You're a couple that other people look up to

・When it's just the two of you together, Katara lets her mask come off. She relies on you in those moments. You being the rock her water beats against.

・Katara wakes up first, every morning. She watches you sleep for a few minutes than gets up and gets ready,

・You on the other hand, wait for Katara to wake you up

・Wherever you go, she always takes the left side of the bed

・Katara falls asleep on your shoulder a lot, and you just sit there without moving. Because you don't want to wake her up.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Slow-Burn Companionship

You Fell First, They Fell Harder

Opposites Attract

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Healing and Redemption

Unbreakable Bond

I Cannot Live Without You

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

My Love Mine All Mine by Mitski

Say Yes To Heaven by Lana Del Rey

“i bet sokka still looks the same,” toph muttered to herself, tossing petty pebbles into the distance while everyone else was distracted. “long hair probably looks stupid on sparky. and katara’s bending isn’t nearly as good as mine.”

everyone else was huddled by the campfire, laughing and sharing jokes, leaving toph on her own.

“is she okay?” you whispered to katara. she only responded with a shrug.

“she’s just in another one of her moods,” katara replied.

but you said one more thing that made toph’s patience finally snap and boil over.

“aang, your biceps are huge!”

toph’s face scrunched up. before she could think, she slammed a fist forward, summoning an earthy wave strong enough to knock you—and only you—clean out of your chair. you hit the dirt, your drink spilling all over you.

you let out a soft oomph as you collided with the hard ground.

“what the—what the hell, toph!” you exclaimed, pulling yourself up and fruitlessly wiping at the liquid soaking into your clothes. “what was that for?!”

“whatever,” toph mumbled. she kicked herself off the rock and turned her back to the group, stomping away from the camp. “i need some air.”

you glanced at the rest of the group for backup, but they only offered awkward shrugs and fake whistles. no one wanted to deal with a grumpy, stubborn toph.

with a reluctant sigh, you started walking after her. every time you called her name, she ignored you, leaving your voice unheard.

“toph, would you stop for a second?” you said, finally catching up to her.

toph crossed her arms stubbornly, gazing out at the mountain view—even though she couldn’t actually see it.

“seriously,” you said, placing a hand on her shoulder and urging her to look at you. she wouldn’t budge, her feet planted firmly to the ground. “what is up with you? you’ve been in a mood all day.”

she didn’t reply. you sighed and stepped into her space. “did i do something?”

“it’s more like what you didn’t do,” she mumbled, folding her arms even tighter.

you blinked, completely confused. you hadn’t done much of anything today—other than…

“wait,” your voice pitched up as you realized. “is this because of what i said to everyone else?”

toph’s jaw clenched, giving you your answer.

you couldn’t help but grin, leaning in closer. “are you jealous, toph?”

“ha!” toph barked a prideful laugh, finally turning to face you. “i can be a lot of things, but jealous sure as hell ain’t one of them,” she replied, jealous.

you had to bite back the smile threatening to break through. “okay, sure—”

“but sokka working out? seriously? i can’t even see him, but i bet that guy is still puny as a stick. and zuko? our hair is about the same length—last time i felt it. and don’t even get me started on katara’s waterbending,” she rambled on, her voice getting grumpier with every word. “and aang’s biceps—his fucking biceps? are you kidding me?”

“oh,” you giggled, the sound grating on toph’s nerves even more.

“you are jealous.”

“haa.. thats it.. right there” you moan softly, hands gripping tighter onto her shoulders. rubbing them softly, up to her neck and back down the curve of her shoulders.

“feel good, miss?” abby grins as her fingers press deep into your wet cunt, her thumb grinding against your sensitive clit.

you let out a soft chuckle through pleasure filled breaths, “shut up..” you mumble as you lean into a kiss. abby’s other unoccupied hand softly gropes your chest under your shirt, massaging the soft flesh.

you run your fingers through her hair, in a now loose braid from tugging on it. pulling her closer to catch more of her soft lips, moaning softly into her mouth as she fucks your pussy with her thick fingers.

she shoves her fingers deep into your wet cunt, and rubs your clit with her rough thumb pad. “cum for me, baby.” she mumbles against your lips.

you let out a deep moan, grinding down onto her fingers. “fuck abby, keep going!” your fingers clench down onto her muscular shoulders, nails digging into them painfully.

after a little longer of intense finger fucking, and your clit getting rubbed by her thumb with her movements. You let out a loud moan while shuddering and shaking, your pussy clenching down on her fingers as it soaks it with creamy cum. “fuck..” you whimper as your body relaxes.

abby grins and kisses you softly, “you’re so fucking pretty, could do this for hours, days even.” she kisses you one last time as she pulls her fingers out, causing you to clench down on her a little. she sucks your cum off her fingers with a smile.

"mmm, i did." you're looking at her with the most innocent gaze you can muster, eyes wet and lips pouty, and she leans in to give your lips a kiss just like you want her to. her mouth tastes sour enough of sweat and cheap alcohol to make you wince--but when she pulls back, you feel a twinge of disappointment that it doesn't last long enough.

fresh out of a fight, she's still full of adrenaline--and wastes no time on foreplay. hooking your legs over those broad shoulders of hers, she spits onto your cunt and gets right to it. 

her eyes roll halfway back into her head as she slips the strap into your cunt, like she can feel the way your pussy grips it. throwing her head back, she moans hoarsely, in sync with the sweet whine that comes out of your mouth as she rolls her hips into yours, sliding the strap all the way in. "that's a good girl, fuck."

yes. you are a good girl. her good girl.

vi has been coming to you vi has been coming to you every night or so, for a few months now--and at first it was just a good deal of sex for you both. but lately, you've found yourself less interested in the sex she offers you, and more interested in the woman herself.

your room is dark, like it always is when she comes over, and the harsh pleasure she gives you always turns your mind cloudy--but nothing can sway the watchful gaze you fix onto vi whenever she's in your arms. through half-closed eyes, you count the nicks and bruises that line the base of her throat and her shoulders and arms. the scratches and cuts, redder because she's flushed, drunk and exerting herself.

twelve new marks since last time. you wonder if she won tonight's fight or if she lost. the way she fucks you doesn't make a difference, so you can't tell--what you do know is that she comes to you seeking an escape from frustrations that stem from something unrelated to the fights entirely. 

and whatever it is, it frustrates her a lot.

she seems especially bothered tonight. her pace is dizzying, and her grip on your body doesn't get lighter. she's drunk on both beer and the rush of adrenaline--and it makes her relentless. she fucks you nearly like she wants you dead. "vi, vi--"

"you're doin' good, baby." she hisses, eyes shut. "g'nna make you cum in a bit, kay? just let me see you take my strap first. pretty thing."

and you take it--like a good girl. how could you not? when she acts like she's ravenous about you? when, with how she puts those dead eyes and calloused hands and busted lips on you, she makes you feel something no one else ever has?

she looks so good, too; so hot, with the dark hair, the ashy streaks running down her face, the lipstick smudged down her bottom lip that's just slightly fuller than her top lip--and the muscles, god.

her tits aren't nearly big enough to hang in your face while she's on top of you, but they bounce a little with each snap of her hips, and the sight mesmerizes you. she laughs softly when your pussy squelches for her--and it makes your heart flutter. fuck. you might just be in love with this ghost of a woman. "vi, please."

"you like that?" she hums, landing a kiss on the side of your knee that leaves a bit of lipstick stained on your skin. "y'like it when i fuck you to bits?"

"mhm," you choke out, keeping your eyes on her so you don't miss it when she looks at you. "wanna cum, please."

the strap slides out of you as smoothly as it slid in. "can't say no to you when you ask so nicely." she reaches up to brush a stray strand of hair out of your face, giving you that half-smile that makes your heart twist just as much as your gut.

"look at you." she lowers her face to your chest, lips tracing kisses downward. one hand comes up to squeeze at your tits, soft and sharp at the same time, index finger and thumb teasing your nipple and making you keen. "pretty, pretty thing."

her other hand toys with your cunt, middle and ring finger slowly coaxing their way into your hole like she's learning to be gentle now. your body tenses with anticipation, feeling the way her lips get closer and closer to where you want them to go. "ngh. just--please."

the first flick of her tongue on your clit makes you gasp, body rocking in reaction--and vi slaps your thigh. "shhh," is all she says, but it makes you behave. she spreads your pussy open with her fingers like it's a flower, and takes you whole.

the wet sounds of a mouth on a cunt fill your shoddy little room, and you moan and shudder in vi's arms, caged in her hold as she draws the orgasm out of you.

and she does it so quickly, having learned what touches of her tongue your clit likes best, how you like having her fingers, when to add the extra tug to your nipples. she makes you go insane so easily.

like she took the time to figure out how to do it. like she cared enough to do that. like she--

the white-hot rush of pleasure hits you, and all your thoughts dissipate. you grab vi's hair, digging your fingers into the dyed locks, keeping her face where you want it--"mmm, fuck, just like that! vi, just like that, please--"

she slaps your thigh again, but you relent only slightly. she licks up your slick, adjusting her position so she can fuck you better with her fingers, and you tremble under her as she curls her digits into your sweetest spots, wave after wave of bliss washing over you with each touch. the bed creaks like the weak boards under your mattress might snap, but you don't even hear it. 

"god."

she comes up and kisses you, and you know your face and body are full of inky lipstick marks by now. it's almost romantic.

then, it's over. vi pulls away, letting go of you and sitting up.

"ugh." you slump into the bed, hiding the pang of hurt that fills you. "you . . . don't want me to do you back? or get you a drink?"

"not tonight. think i'm wasted enough." vi wipes her mouth off, stretching her neck to one side till there's a pop--and gets off the bed. you notice how her lips are entirely clean of the onyx that they were. "hey, you sure you don't want me to pay you?"

and there it is. the moment of intimacy dissolves like a grain of sugar into the vastness of the sea.

"no, it's fine." you wave her off, turning away. you watch discreetly through your mirror as she looks around at the little box you live in.

"are you sure? . . . i can cough something up." she asks again, and though you're slightly offended, you know what she means. your place is a single room that's barely a six by ten, small rickety bed and a desk with the mirror, a rack for the few clothes you own, and nothing else really. you share a bathroom and kitchen with two other girls across the street. and you have vi each night.

you need nothing else. "yeah, i'm good. and i don't do that anymore, anyway." you tell her.

"alright." vi pulls her clothes back on, and you're just a little sad to see her body covered away again. you did love getting your eyefuls of those slight curves and sleek muscles. "why'd you stop, though? working, i mean."

you think of how you used to feel, seeing clients and letting them fawn over you for the night. handing you a wad of cash and walking out at the end of it. back then, it was what you needed--but the moment you didn't need it anymore, you’d signed out.

you'd only agreed to hook up with vi because it seemed harmless enough. made your nights a little less lonelier, gave you some company. you hadn’t expected money or to catch feelings.

the answer to her question rises up your throat, but you find it a bit ironic--and you know vi is a good person. if she finds out that you're yearning for more than what's between you two at the moment, she may just see herself out of your life, so as to not hurt you. and you didn't want that. you wanted vi, even if it was only like this.

the real answer to her question rests at the base of your throat like an ache, throbbing a little along with the parts of your body vi had gripped a little too harshly. i didn't like to feel used.

but you shrug your shoulders and say, "well, i just didn't need it anymore."

vi doesn't answer, only turns to leave. "will you come tomorrow?" you ask, trying not to sound like you want her to come.

"probably." vi answers, out of the door already. "stay safe, princess." then she's gone, and you're alone again.

the dreary darkness of your room surrounds you once more, and you feel hot and sticky. ignoring the discomfort, you slump into your bed again, realizing how painfully little you know about vi. yes, she's jinx's older sister. yes, she's nothing like her. yes, she's beautiful--handsome; ghost-pale, dark red roots showing through the dyed black hair, sad eyes lit with want. you loved those nights when she would let you reciprocate and make her feel good.

when she would ask for a drink or two. when she would ask to stay the night, and you'd let her sleep on your chest. she wrapped her arms around your body then, holding you both like she's protecting you and like she wants you to keep her safe. you'd hold her, stroke her hair, and stay awake praying the morning comes late.

and then there are nights like tonight--where she's quieter and more distant. where she leaves too soon. like she's holding herself back. it infuriates you, almost. you want to ask her what she wants. you want to tell her what you want.

shifting your stare from the ceiling to your door that hangs ajar, you let out a heavy sigh. next time, maybe you'll ask her. maybe you'll tell her. maybe. if the surge of body-and-mind desperation to make the moment last long enough doesn't overthrow everything else, you will. but you know it'll be easier said than done.

vi melts you like shaved ice in the sun. you feel alive with those dead eyes, calloused hands and busted lips on you. you feel alive to be wanted by her. and you'll do anything if it means holding her a little longer. if that meant seeing her like this, getting to be her good girl for a night--then so be it.

firefighter vi ! who always brings you lunch when you’re working. and even when you’re not, if you happen to live close to the station, she’ll go out of her way to have lunch with you.

firefighter vi ! who always sends you photos in uniform with the helmet on because she knows it drives you crazy. sometimes, she’ll sneak into the bathroom during her break and take photos of herself with the jacket open and nothing underneath, just to send them to you while you’re at home or working ( she honestly prefers it when you get them while you’re out of the house, the thought of you having to contain your reaction while in public never fails to turn her on )

firefighter vi ! who has a picture of you in her wallet, firefighter ! vi who looks at said picture whenever she’s feeling nervous or unsure of herself, she uses your face in her wallet to remind herself to keep fighting and to come back home, safe, to you in one piece.

firefighter vi ! who always calls you whenever she’s sent out to fight a dangerous fire :( she hates disturbing you, hates hearing your broken voice over the phone and the worry in your tone. but, she hates the thought of not making it out of the fire without telling you ‘i love you’ one last time, even more.

firefighter vi ! who ( against her will ) is in one of those beefcake calendars. firefighter vi ! who blushed like crazy when you came to the station and bought every single one of them ( you wouldn’t want a bunch of strangers looking at your girl all sexy and half naked after all )

firefighter vi ! who is always riled up after a shift, it doesn’t matter if it was long, short, dangerous or boring, thinking about you is what gets her through the day. thinking about you without any clothes on is what gets her through the dullest moments of her work day. which results in soaked panties and an insatiableness for you that can only be tamed by her fingers in your mouth… or your cunt.

you were lounging on your couch staring at the tv, you couldn’t even tell what channel was on, your eyes had dried up from the lack of sleep, but you needed to stay awake, you wanted to stay awake. you hadn’t seen vi all day and it was honestly wearing you down. plus, you knew she was just as desperate to see you, given the not so innocent texts that she’s been sending you all day long.

you wanted to wait for her, be good for her but… as you open your text messages to check if she has sent you anything else ( like the time she’d be coming home ) you’re immediately met with the last photo she sent you— vi, in her uniform, complete with that yellow helmet of hers. but, with a detail that had you drooling into your screen, her jacket was completely open, her perfect nipples hard and peaking under the fabric for only you to see, her happy trail forming a path between her belly button and her pussy.

the more you stared, the wetter you got. the more you wanted to wrap your lips around her nipples and graze your teeth over her flesh, to mark her up so everyone ( including those girls who always hit on her while she’s on the clock ) know that she belonged to you and that you belonged to her.

you run your fingers over your chest, circling your nipples the way vi would, you feel your nipples protrude against your blouse, waking up slowly but surely. but it’s not the same, your missing the callouses on vi’s hands and your missing her taste too. you continue your path down your own body, trailing your fingers over your stomach until you reach your clit, circling the little bundle of nerves, once, twice, until you’ve gathered enough wetness on your slit in order to plunge two of your digits inside yourself, you moan and throw your head back against the couch cushions, raising your other arm up in order to maintain eye contact with the vi from the photo on your screen. what you wouldn’t do to have her fingers inside of you, right now. you let out a breathy sound and close your eyes for a second, imagining vi on top of you, plunging her calloused fingers in and out of your hole while her breath fans across your face.

but, apparently it was a second too long because you missed the ‘clink’ of your front door opening while lost in thought… and lust. heavy boots stomped through the floor of your house in the direction of the living room. you hear vi’s grave voice calling out your name when suddenly it stops, both her footsteps and her voice calling out for you, the noise replaced by a naughty whistle that travels from her parted lips and into your waiting ears.

“so this is what you do when i’m not around? huh?” vi asks, sarcasm coating her deep voice.

you’re petrified, your fingers still inside of you while you attempt to control your breathing and make it as even as possible under the circumstances. your phone is still in your hand, vi’s photograph still shining on your face.

vi takes a couple of steps forward until she’s hovering over you, her scent fills your nostrils and almost makes you moan all over again, a mix of sweat and that body wash of hers that she’s worn since the day the two of you met.

“i didn’t tell you to stop, now, did i?” vi taunts, getting closer to you. “what were you thinking about?” she asks, she’s so close that you can feel the heat of her breath on your cheeks.

“you.”

“me, huh?” vi questions, her air of aloofness and nonchalance completely intact before her eyes move from your flushed face to the photo on your screen— her photo. “mmmh.” vi muses. “should i be jealous?” she asks, cockily.

you turn your head to look at her only to receive a sound of reprimand in return. “no, no, you were having so much fun with photo me, i’m not gonna be the one to ruin your date.”

“vi!” you complain.

“look at the phone.” vi repeats, her voice leaving zero room for argument. “so…” she starts. “what were you thinking about?” vi asks, again, this time pushing for more details.

your fingers are still inside yourself, not moving just… there. “you… fucking me.” you respond, a little more breathless than what you would like to admit.

“I see… was i good?”

“yes.” you breath out, moving your hips just a little in order to curve just how uncomfortable you are.

“mmm, and what did i do?” vi asks, her eyes moving from your hips to your face before tilting her head down and blowing hot air into your ear.

you shiver at the sensation, curling in on yourself before gathering enough brain power to answer her previous inquiry. “you touched me right there.” you say, before jerking your head down, motioning to your chest.

vi trails her calloused hands over your stomach, slowly, before pinching your right nipple, making you jerk off the couch. “right here?” she questions, circling your nipple with two fingers before pinching your other bud.

you jerk your head back and stare up at the ceiling. “yes.” you moan.

vi takes your reaction as encouragement and sneaks her head under your shirt, running her tongue over the flesh of your breasts, licking and sucking until you’re panting like a dog. it’s only when you clench your legs around your own digits that she grazes her teeth over your sensitive peaks. “like this?”

“mhm.”

vi emerges from under your top and locks eyes with you. “what did i do next?” she questions, her clear eyes boring into your skin.

you’re having a hard enough time breathing without choking on your own saliva, you don’t know how you’re supposed to focus long enough to answer her million questions but you do it anyway, something about the tone of her voice is making you want to be good for her. “you put your fingers in me.” you confess.

vi looks amused, and beyond cocky, she trails her index finger over the skin of your face, swirling it around your cheek before stopping and pressing two digits against your sealed lips. “then why aren’t you?” she asks, lifting both her eyebrows before plunging her fingers into your mouth.

you moan at the fullness and close your eyes while your tongue laps at her digits, hungrily, you move your own fingers inside yourself curling them and uncurling them while moving your hips up and down in chase of relief. you open your eyes, momentary, in order to stare at vi’s blue ones, her lips were parted, her cheeks red in fascination and lust. the couch starts scratching the floor with the sheer force with which you’re moving your body against your hand, until something inside you snaps, your movements become sloppy and uncoordinated while black spots fill your vision, you bite down on vi’s fingers, making her let out a groan in appreciation before you’re coating your own fingers with your release.

vi sighed, appreciatively, before removing her fingers from your mouth and plopping them into her own, lapping at your spit like it was a bottle of cold water after a hard shift. “good girl.” she praises, meeting your lips with hers in a sloppy kiss.

firefighter vi ! who is the definition of ‘happy wife, happy life’ she’s completely whipped for you and everyone knows it, including her coworkers who tease her endlessly about it, not that she minds it too much, it’s true, after all. plus, she’s proud of everything that she has built for and with you.

firefighter vi ! who, sometimes ( more like all the time ), comes home battered and bruised because she refuses to let anyone else’s hands touch her skin. she’ll come home, take off her uniform and plop herself, wordlessly, in front of you, you know this dance by heart by now. so, you simply reach for the first aid kit that’s stashed under the counter and start cleaning up her bruises and putting ointment on her burns.

vi isn’t one for open vulnerability, at least not in front of others. but, when she’s with you, sitting on the counter while you tend to her bruises and run your hands over her sweaty head of hair, she lets herself relax, she lets her eyes squeeze shut and her head tilt back while your hands tend to her battered flesh, sometimes she’ll even let little sounds of relief escape her parted lips, telling you, without words, that you’re doing a good job.

firefighter vi ! who’ll come home, late at night, and lay next to you completely clothed ( uniform and all ) after a hard shift.

it was way past 2 a.m. when you felt the bed dip beside you, you couldn’t see your wife, you could only see her ginormous fire jacket. you roll over under the covers and run your fingers over her pink hair, removing it from her eyes.

vi remains motionless, her eyes dazed and clouded over.

“vi what’s wrong?” you ask, your voice thick with sleep.

vi sighs, deeply, but refuses to move from her spot atop the covers. “can you just…” she starts, uncertainty coating her otherwise smooth voice. “hold me?” she finishes.

“of course.” you answer in kind, before opening your arms for her and letting her get comfortable in your arms.

taglist :

@natsguitar ; @turnersx ; @starrbelliedboy ; @dramagodesss ; @userhotd ; @lesmerri ;﹙ to join ⚘ ﹚

mizu never did understand your fixation for her hands. frankly, you didn’t either. they’re just hands—something she thought was quite unattractive in herself, actually. scarred and calloused from years of sword fighting and working with metals, she believed you hated the rough texture on the pads of her palm, the slightly raspy feeling of her fingertips from so many years or wielding a katana, eating at the layers of skin.

though, you don’t even have to tell her—she knows you love her fingers. maybe even more than her strap no matter how big and how deep she reaches. her self-confidence has gone up significantly because of you, because of moments like this. and quickly, her favorite thing has become watching you bounce back against her hand as she fingers you.

blue eyes watch with laser-focus, fixated on the back of your head. you can practically hear her gears churning, every calculated curl of her fingers inside your heat, seeking to make you cry out and send your eyes rolling to the back of your head. like a dumb slut, and nothing else. her dumb slut.

you can feel her so deep. her fingers are longer than yours are, by a long shot—not even you can masturbate and make yourself feel this good. the way the pads of her fingers press into that little spongy spot you always seem to miss on yourself, forcing the slightest pressure on your bladder, whimpers snd cries filled from your throat like taking candy from a baby. slamming in restlessly, her hands don’t tire, skillful from hears of her craft like she’d studied exactly this.

in fact, she has. she has studied you. and she knows what makes you tick—read; cum.

“does that feel good?” it’s a rhetorical question from the woman behind you. you know she knows, and she knows you know she knows. she’s not expecting an answer, just the same strangled noise signaling your pleasure.

“mizu,” you moan, jaw hanging slack from the constant noise of ‘ah, aah’ and begging and whatever else comes from you, noises completely involuntary. she’s not even doing a lot of work. your hips move on their on as she just curls them in and out, thrusting cloyingly gently into you into you. in return, you thrust back against her, back arched similarly to a cat’s, seeking more of the stimulation she provided.

“easy,” she mutters. she can feel you getting desperate, clenching together against her fingers with each trust, each press into your g-spot. your shoulders are trembling, head hanging low, moans growing more and more whiny by the second. your bouncing on her fingers just gets more desperate, and she barely even does anything. just lets you ride her fingers like a toy.

“easy. there you go,” her free hand is on your waist, gently steadying you. she doesn’t try to control your movements or anything, as much as she aches to prolong your orgasm just to see you cry and beg. she’s mean, but she’s not cruel. and she can be nice.

“good. so good, that’s it,” praised mizu, tenderly, thumb brushing patterns against the soft flesh of your back. she was leaning forward so she almost hugged you from behind, peppering kissed down your spine between your shoulder blades.

“that’s it. good girl. go on.”

the words that spilled from her lips only urged you to continue, quicker, though your legs quivered and your lungs burned from panting. you were almost there, you could feel it, the edge of the cliff just waiting for you to fall off. but, the journey to said edge just grows more and more frustrating and overwhelming. you can feel it, but your body is giving out.

“no, no— please, shit, mizu—“ you begged.

“language.” a short smack sounds in the (mostly) quiet room, resulted from her softly spanking your ass at your words. it just makes you cry louder. big baby, she thinks. not that she’s complaining. it’s cute, seeing you get so desperate.

“don’t tell me you’re getting tired,” teasingly sweet, nearly condescending. the amusement’s tangible in her voice that reverberates down your spine and you know where else too.

“you haven’t even cum yet baby,” punctuated by a particularly mean curl of her fingers, your back arched, fingers desperately clawing at the bedsheets to try and stabilize yourself. desperately chasing the high that vets closer and closer, knot in your stomach tightening exponentially—but your thighs are trembling, body shaking.

"please, mizu!" you cried. you couldn't anymore— overstimulated yet not enough to cum, tired and dumb and sensitive. you can practically feel the smile on her lips as she hums, kissing the back of your neck.

"what is it, baby?" the honeyed voice behind you asks, "you need some help, hm?"

"yes!"

your thighs give out under you before you can even finish. you're barely holding yourself up. hot tears running down your red cheeks, screwed shut while you clench uselessly around her.

"please, please, please— so close, please, mizu, fuck me, please—"

and, oh, how can she deny such a sweet thing?

mizu's calloused palm finds itself between your shoulder blades, pushing you down into the bed. she sits up on her haunces right behind you, hand in the same position her strap would be—as if she needed that. no warning, but precedented; because why wouldn't she? she slams her fingers into your cunt, barely even giving you time to adjust as she takes a relentless pace, fingertips pushing into your cervix with each thrust. she relishes in your needy moans and cries, the way you bury your face into the bed to try and quiet yourself. your poor, abused cunt clamping tightly around her digits, warm walls saturated with the evidence of the incoming wave of pleasure right about to hit.

"good girl," she praised, saccharine words bringing you closer and closer and closer to your orgasm. good girl. good girl. that's it, that's it, just let go for me, baby. that's it. good—

it's just one of those nights.

Your explicit instructions were to “just look flustered and don't say anything”. That's not hard. You avoid eye contact with the working girls, and stare down at the table while you all wait for Kaji. The atmosphere of sexuality is stifling; it mingles strangely in your stomach with your feelings for Mizu, leaving you feeling on-edge, paranoid about being caught out. You could almost believe that these women, of anyone, will be able to smell the desire on you at a single glance. You've got Mizu’s fingerprints denting the very clay of your soul.

Madam Kaji, when she appears, does nothing to set those fears at rest. Her voice may be melodic, but you can feel her eyes scrape over you like a razor, as if they could peel back your skin and see underneath. You do your best to mimic Mizu's flat stare; after this long traveling together, you usually manage rather well. You've even managed to shoo off a few bothersome pests of your own in the past. This time, though, there's a hard edge to her smile that makes you wonder how much slipped through.

~

For all Ringo says about an apprentice should stay with his master, you somehow seem to lose sight of him in the walk from the corner where you were sitting to the hallway Madam Kaji pauses in. You remain by Mizu’s side. You don't feel any scorn towards Ringo for this. Nobody could say he isn't as loyal as they come, but desire is a powerful force.

Desire. Need. It's why Ringo disappears, and why you don't. He has his own desires to attend to, and you can respect that. But there's nothing in this brothel that you desire more than what you're already standing next to.

Madam Kaji motions to a small pocket of light at the base of one of the hallway panels. There’s a pause. When Mizu doesn't move to look through the peephole, Madam Kaji motions in your direction. “Perhaps the gentleman's apprentice would like to show him that desire is nothing to shy away from?”

You freeze like a cornered deer, meeting her taunting gaze with wide eyes. Her expression says it all; there's a test in this somewhere, a challenge.

Where the hell is Ringo. Trust him to be gone when there's something he would actually want to do. Nevermind on that whole no-scorn thing! You're going to kick him next time you see him.

Your pleading glance at Mizu produces no reaction; she doesn't even look your way. She's simply glaring at Madam Kaji. Challenges have never bothered her; if she doesn't want to do something, she just doesn't. Ugh. Someone needs to do something.

You look through the hole.

…Hm.

Honestly…it's not that bad.

Strange, certainly. The men in ropes, the writing, but you find yourself privately siding with Madam Kaji; it's nothing shameful. Just more of what you had observed while waiting in the main teahouse room. They're not bothering anybody. You consider that there have been worse atrocities you've seen in your travels with Mizu, all the way back to your first meeting.

You shrug up at Mizu. It’s nothing she'll be interested in, nor that she needs to see. She just looks even more impatient at the delay, fingers tapping on her crossed arms. The expression she shoots at Kaji is her classic get on with it glare.

Smirking, Madam Kaji motions to the final peephole. By now, you've lost your hesitation. If you feel anything, you're relieved that this is the last one. This shuffling around on your knees is not only making them sore, it's embarrassing to do with two people standing silently over you, eyeing each other warily.

You peer in.

At first glance, it seems to be just a man and a woman–nothing so strange as the other ones. The man is dressed in dark blue, his hair tied up in a knot like Mizu’s. But then the girl turns to the man, pushing his yukata off his shoulders; it's not a man, but another girl, bared to the touch of the first woman. They kiss, bodies molding together with no hesitation.

You tumble back abruptly, eyes wide, feeling your face flush so fast that the skin on your neck is prickling.

“What? What?” Momentarily distracted from glaring, Mizu looks startled by your reaction. When you shake your head in silence, worried that explaining would give your secret away, she glares suspiciously at Madam Kaji. She's clearly bristling at your apparent distress, assuming you've had a trick played on you. She reaches down to haul you to your feet with a rough tug to your arm, shoving herself half in front of you. “What did you show-...him?”

Kaji’s eyes narrow a fraction at Mizu’s brief stumble on your pronouns, and she smiles, sharp as a knife. With a little click, she slides the peephole shut. “Desire. A complicated thing,” she murmurs in that teasing, seductive tone. “We are not always ready to face it when it first finds us.”

She slides open another full panel, revealing a pleasantly decorated little room. A couple of the girls are in there, already, setting up a table with ink and paper. They look up and giggle when they see you both, their eyes lingering on your flushed cheeks. You can feel them darken again under the scrutiny, and drop your eyes to the mat until the girls leave. When you hear the panel slide shut, you look up to see Madam Kaji’s eyes on you. As soon as you make eye contact, her gaze slide away, to Mizu.

She doesn't look at you again until the moment of Mizu’s proposal.

You both can see the moment that the refusal in Kaji’s eyes wavers, but something else flickers in their depths when she glances between you, and you know what's coming. She wants to talk to Mizu alone.

With Mizu's husky name your desire still bouncing around in your head, obliterating your every other thought but how much you want her, Kaji's desire to exclude you makes you want to bite the woman like a territorial dog. You take a half-step closer to Mizu as Kaji suggests that she take a walk with the gentleman “one-on-one”.

“Perhaps the gentleman’s apprentice would like to enjoy some of the pleasures of my teahouse while…he waits?” She asks sweetly, her smile warm and her eyes hard as gemstones.

Mizu looks at you expectantly, seemingly unbothered by this; she'd probably agree to making you wait on the roof if it got her the information she wanted. You shake your head instead, giving her a look of incredulity in return. Obviously no. When is she going to start trusting you to stay at her side? What do you have to do to prove yourself?

“I haven't got any money,” you reply cleverly, keeping your voice as hushed as you can to disguise it, your eyes flicking up to meet blue orbs like a challenge. You can't really refuse, given that you're playing at master-and-apprentice, but you can make it hard. She can't keep shutting you out. Not this time; now you have an excuse. What prostitute will keep you busy for no money?

A brief light of pure, gremlin devilment comes into her eyes–it doesn't happen often that her rare sense of play is roused, but from what you've seen, that never means good things for the recipient. You should have known better; Mizu never tolerates being maneuvered into allowing something she doesn't want.

She holds the money bag out to you with a little shake to jangle it, and you deflate visibly.

For a moment, there's an unspoken moment of confusion and communication both ways; at first, Mizu holds the money bag out with an almost teasing smirk, clearly indicating let’s see how you manage this one. She doesn't see any danger in it. You can always just sit in the room alone. She's only interested in making a point; this is about negating your excuse.

But when you slump with such an obvious air of rejection, the playfulness drops from her gaze, replaced with a bemused concern. She'll be back in a handful of minutes, why is it such a big deal? This isn’t your fight, you don't need to be here to begin with, much less be stuck with her every moment of the day. So… why does she feel such a pang at your hurt face? You in turn see the momentary flash of confused guilt in her eyes, before she drops the money bag in your hands.

It startles you. You didn't expect that she would care.

Madam Kaji, watching all this and not missing a single beat, says nothing. She claps sharply. Two girls pop out of what seems to be nowhere, taking your hand with an air of false promise in their eyes.

“Ooh. you’re a pretty one,” one purrs, tilting her head with carefully practiced flirtation.

“We almost never see any young and pretty boys,” the other concurs. It’s like being slowly engulfed by the coils of a very nicely perfumed snake. At Madam Kaji’s nod, you’re tugged away, looking over your shoulder at Mizu with a distinct air of betrayal. You fully expect her to turn away, but she keeps staring as the girls lead you back into the room, her expression unreadable.

Even after the door slides shut, she doesn’t move, listening to the giggling emanating from inside, her hand clenching unconsciously on the hilt of her sword. It takes a prompt from Madam Kaji to get her moving again. Face snapping into its usual scowl, she turns and stalks away, leaving Kaji to try and match Mizu’s longer stride in the confines of her kimono.

~

“So, pretty apprentice, what can we do?” Asks the one in green, her dark eyes sparkling as they flick to the money bag still clutched in your hand. “How can we serve your pleasure?”

As attached to Mizu as you are, you’ve never been flirted with by a woman before, and you can’t help the blush. But even that isn’t enough to distract you from the melancholy of being left behind like a pet yet again. Waiting in the cold for hours on the bridge to Shindo Dojo, left in town with Ringo in Mihonoseki, watching her leave with Taigen down that narrow chasm… You shake your head, mouth twisting in tandem with your guts. What if Mizu never comes back? You know the trick she played on Ringo; you giggled about it at the time, you recall guiltily. But you can’t track like he can, even if you’re faster than him. And if she leaves you alone for something like this, what is she planning for the actual attack on Fowler? Maybe you really are just a burden she can't figure out how to shake…

“Why so sad?” The one in gold asks, her sympathy syrupy-sweet. She puts a hand on your arm, but you shift away.

“I'm sorry,” You say, distractedly. You aren't watching your tone as well as you should be. “I would rather be alone. Thank you.”

Silence. They don't move to leave, nor do they try to further convince you. You look up from your despair after a moment, becoming aware of their lack of response.

They're both staring. Studying you. Then they look at each other.

Before you can parse why, the gold-clad girl suddenly lunges forward, catching you by the chin and jerking your chin up, staring at your neck. Your smooth, Adam's-apple-less throat.

“Hey!” You yelp, knocking her hand away; she lets you go readily, already smiling with a distinctly cat-got-the-cream air.

“So that's it,” she says, smugly. “I suspected as much.”

“Is it…?” The other asks fascinatedly. Your eyes dart between them, confused, forboding building in your gut.

“Definitely,” says the first. They both turn to you, looking amused and intrigued.

“Playing dress-up, girl?” Asks Green, smiling archly.

Oh….oh no.

You go cold. “I…I don't know what you…”

“Re-lax. You think you're the first to put on men’s clothing in here? Didn't you see the little show we put on for you?” Gold waves a hand dismissively, talking out over top of you.

“It happens all the time. So, what does your man want? To pretend you're a boy? A new flavor to try? Or some training for you?” Green cuts in, raking her eyes over you. “Is he selling you?”

“He’s–…not–...my man,” you stumble. How to even explain that tangle? Clearly they believe Mizu's disguise, if not yours. You're not about to spill any of those beans, more than you need to. “And I would never stay here.” You pause, suddenly hearing yourself, and bow apologetically. An aching heart is no reason to be rude. “Not that I mean to degrade your work. I'm sorry.”

Both women look at each other, then start to laugh. Clearly they've heard worse.

“Then why do you look so sad?” Asks Gold once her laughter has passed, and this time she sounds almost genuinely interested. She pets your hair, gentle, like an older sibling. “Come on, girl, you can tell us.”

You should just tell them to go. But the room is quiet, and warm, and clean, after months of shacks and forest camping and inns full of leering men. And gods… you're so tired. To unburden yourself to someone would be such a relief. You haven't ever been able to talk about these confusing feelings; the only confidant that you have is Ringo, and you do not trust him with that kind of conversational grenade.

Discretion is the whole point of this place right? There are far worse secrets that they must keep.

Green leans against your shoulder, and this time it feels less sensual, and more like a friendly touch. You're surprised by how it loosens a knot in your chest that you hadn't recognized until now. When was the last time you were hugged?

You sigh. “It’s a long story…”

~

As it turns out, it's a long enough story to require two pots of tea–and then a relocation, as the girls drag you back to the dressing room to re-tell all the juicy details to the rest of the girls.

It's…therapeutic, to bare your heart to a group of open-minded, half-drunk women. They’re clearly connoisseurs of gossip, and they make extremely good listeners; gasping in all the right parts. You can't help but enjoy it a little, finally just venting it all out, lounging with the ever-shifting number of girls as sake replaces the tea. Girls come and go from the room as they head to various clients, but except for one they call “new girl”, who keeps her face turned away from you, they all come over to listen for a while.

(As you're surrounded by girls, slowly explaining the tangled story of your time with Mizu, Mizu returns from her walk with Kaji to find the room empty of you.

She pauses, surprised by her own disappointment. She can't admit it to herself, but she had expected you to have shaken off the girls and be waiting for her. You're always there when she comes back. Something burns in the pit of her stomach to find you gone; after the heavy deal she just made, she has need of the comfort you bring her–not that she'd admit that to herself, either. The images of you, somewhere in the brothel at this moment, half-dressed and flustered, makes her stomach flip. But then she imagines you under some faceless nude woman and her throat tightens. She sits down with a thump in front of the mirror and removes her glasses, studying her own face critically. It must be nice for you to be seeing pretty women for once, instead of her…)

“But why him?” One finally asks, wrinkling her nose, as you pause for breath. She's in a pink kimono–you think the others might have called her Ise. “You're a pretty girl, even in disguise. You could do better. He's hardly a looker.”

Your head snaps up, frowning in offense. The girls giggle at your suddenly icy glare, all warning Ise to duck, and Ise dramatically throws her hands up in front of her defensively. “Alright, alright, don't get your sword in a knot. I'm just saying…”

A couple girls nod in agreement. “Those eyes…” one murmurs. The white-haired girl in the corner turns to glare at her as a few others titter.

“Like a demon,” another says with a shudder.

Your fingers clench against your thighs, brow darkening. “I think they're beautiful.” Your voice is quiet, but hard as stone; the girls all fall silent, looking at each other uncertainly. There's a world of emotion in your heavy tone; a sincerity that they know, better than most, is rare and precious.

It’s Ise that smiles, slowly, with a dark, wicked gleam in her eye. “Do you want an answer?” She asks you bluntly, making you forget your anger in confusion.

“To whether he wants you,” she clarifies with a sigh.

You hesitate. Do you? If the answer is no… gods, that will hurt. And you know in your heart that you won't stop holding out hope, even then. You'll stay. You'll keep loving her. So does it matter?

But what if the answer is yes?

Slowly, wordlessly, you nod, stomach clenching. Ise smiles wider, and reaches for your topknot. “I know a method that never fails.”

~

Mizu looks up when you slide the panel open a crack, brow plunged in a deep scowl.

“I said I didn't–...Oh.”

You duck your head, wordlessly apologizing, even though you’re not even sure why. She only looks marginally less annoyed, watching you come in and sit down against the wall. Ringo is there, too, and he greets you brightly, looking rather pleased with himself. His kimono is slightly askew.

“Where have you been?” Her tone is sharp, her eyes sharper, as she takes in the tousled hair and haphazardly tied clothing on you. The girls had agonized over exactly how much to tousle you. That had honestly taken up the most time.

You shrug a little sulkily, keeping your eyes down. Part of you wants to abandon the idea, now that you've gotten snapped at–is it worth the risk of antagonizing her?--while part of you is still upset at getting left behind again. But the thought of Mizu picturing you doing… that…is making you blush yet again. Ise had explained what they were going to imply you did, which gave you a mind full of images that you know will probably haunt you worse than they haunt their intended target. What if Ise was messing with you? This is never going to work, you're already botching it by getting flustered.

In your mind, your avoidance is a dead giveaway that you're being shady…but to Mizu, the tousled appearance and shamefaced blush give exactly the impression Ise planned, and her fingers clench again, until the knuckles crack. Her lips tighten and thin, but she says nothing further, turning back to the mirror with a faint huff. Silence descends, but there’s a strange tension to the air that even Ringo notices. He glances between you two, gaining the worried expression that always makes you want to immediately reassure him.

“So, how much of my money did you spend?” Mizu abruptly spits at you, as though she's finally thought of an excuse to be angry. There's an unusual amount of venom behind her tone, harsh enough that Ringo’s eyes widen and he sits up a bit straighter, while you shrink in on yourself a bit. Wordlessly, still avoiding eye contact, you reach into your haori and pull out of the money pouch, tossing it to her.

She can tell as soon as she catches it that you haven't spent a single coin. “...Hm,” she says again, heat immediately bleeding out of her voice as her expression lightens. She surveys your disheveled appearance again, quirking an eyebrow.

“So why are you–” she starts, before there's another knock at the door. The panel slides open a crack as Mizu heaves a loud sigh of exasperation, her eyes rolling.

But before she can reiterate yet again to leave her alone, two girls’ heads poke in, and they aren't looking in her direction. They're whispering and giggling, completely unprofessionally, nudging each other, and staring at you.

“That's him,” one points.

“No! Is it really…?” The other gasps.

Both Mizu and Ringo turn to look at you, mirrored looks of confusion on their faces. Your expression is that of a dog facing down a speeding horse cart, unable to move, wide eyed. You regret agreeing to this; you want to sink into the tatami.

Their next whispers turn all three of you into statues.

“Ise says she finished three times…”

“Didn't even charge him…”

“He never even undressed–”

Ringo’s eyes and mouth all drop wide open, looking avidly between you and the door. Mizu is… frozen. Her face has taken on that blank expression that you've learned has all the safety of a rumbling mountainside. You don't dare shift an inch, but you can't help but stare at her. Your eyes slide from her stricken face to her hands; they're slowly curling into fists. Is it… working?

More giggling from the hallway, and something thumps the panel. It sounds like there are more girls gathering in the hallway. Another head pokes in, gets pushed back, and more sounds of muffled tussling leaks into the room. It sounds like most of the girls in the teahouse are having a little too much fun with this; they're probably thrilled to get to act out a little.

“Don’t shove–”

“Let me see! I want a turn–”

“... haven't had an orgasm like that in forever–”

“I can't wait to have a good scream–”

Oh gods above. Your face is crimson. You should have expected that they would go straight to vulgarity. Ringo chuckles with surprised and impressed delight, thumping you on the shoulder with one wrist like a comrade. This is so embarrassing.

One of the girls, braver than the rest, managing to wrestle the others back, calls out, “Mr. Samurai, can we borrow your apprentice?” This produces an absolute cascade of giggles and more heads poke into the door again.

“Yeah, me next!”

“Only after me!”

“You don't need him tonight, right, Mr. Samurai?”

“We promise not to break him–”

Mizu finally moves, moving towards the door with a speed that actually makes your heart clench with fear for the prostitutes. They all fall back, a chorus of shrieks and yelps echoing in the hallway as she almost seems to abruptly materialize in front of them.

“We're busy.”

Oh.

Her voice is so frozen with fury that it's a miracle she doesn't breathe out icy smoke. It’s a tone you've only heard a handful of times, always followed by blood spattering across snow. You can feel that familiar twisting ache of mingled fear and arousal in your core that you've grown to associate with Mizu at her most deadly. But this time it's complicated by a second layer of blending; uncertainty–is she just irritated by these twittering women?--and hope, delicate, frail, slowly blossoming.

Is she…jealous?

She slams the panel closed hard enough that there's an ominous wood crunching noise.

Silence falls. You watch Mizu, warily, as she stands at the door, her fingers still white-knuckling the edge of the panel.

“Wow, what did you do?” Ringo demands. You turn to look at him, startled. You were so focused on Mizu's reactions that you almost forgot he was a second witness. “How does that even work?”

“U-uh…I…” Oh gods, what do you say? You didn't actually do anything! Your idea of arousing is Mizu standing over you after a spar, the tip of her sheathed sword digging into your throat, an icy, smug satisfaction in her eyes. What do normal women find titillating?

“Come on, you gotta tell me. I wanna get with prostitutes for free, too!” Ringo gives you puppy eyes. “How'd you do it without them finding out… you know.” He gestures at your clothing. “Was it your hands? Is that the secret?” He asks, holding up his wrists and looking at them worriedly, as though hoping that that isn't the answer. “Wait–” he squints at you. “Where did you even learn to do anything like that anyway–”

“No more questions.” Comes the snarl from the door.

You glance away from Ringo to Mizu.

She's still got her back to the room. Her shoulders are drawing up in a hard hunch, free hand clenching tight again. The rumbling from the mountain is getting louder. You're not sure whether you should be exulting that she actually seems bothered, or be worried about the upcoming danger if she pops. She's not usually the type to explode, but when she does…

You both fall silent, watching as her shoulders heave in one deep, steadying sigh, before she finally turns around. Her face is composed, back to its usual resting glare, and you feel a bit let down. Maybe she just found it all annoying. All that, for no real answers…

Ringo stays quiet long enough for Mizu to return to her seated position by the mirror, but you can see him fidgeting. Before long, he leans over closer to you. His voice is hushed, trying to be discreet. For Ringo.

“So was it a tongue thing, or–”

THUNK. Mizu’s fist strikes the lap table hard, hard enough to upset the elegant centerpiece. You both jump and turn to look at her, freezing in place.

“If you want to know so badly, go ask them yourself.” Every syllable burns, blue eyes blazing.

Ringo, undeterred as ever, leaps to his feet. “I will!” He chirps, padding quickly over to the door. There, he pauses, bowing to Mizu. “Thank you for the permission, Master.”

Mizu watches him leave, her glare never wavering. After the door shuts, she snaps her gaze back to you. Your heart beats a little faster, as ever, feeling that little tingle that comes with getting her focused attention.

“You.” She jabs a finger at you; you flinch. “You. Don't. Leave this room again tonight. And nobody but Ringo comes in. Got it?”

Oh gods, she's jealous, she has to be, she's actually–

Now probably isn't the time to be cheeky and point out that she didn't put herself on that list. You nod. You've never been so happy to be glared at before. She wants me here. With her.

“Of course,” you say. “That's fine.”

Her glare softens at your voice.

You can see the way her eyes flick to your mouth as you form the words, and your heart flutters again. It's real, it must be, oh gods above– no way that this is happening, no way– You open your mouth again, unsure what else to say, but wanting to reassure her, to tell her that here is the only place you want to be. But before you can do that, there's a knock at the door again.

Mizu’s eyes blaze. She actually growls this time, turning towards the door with the feral speed of the truly enraged.

“I said we're busy,” she snarls, whipping the door panel open hard enough that it rattles the entire wall.

You see her freeze, as a soft, delicate voice rings through the room. “May I serve you?”

A pit suddenly opens in your stomach at the absolute stillness in Mizu’s posture. Even from behind you can tell she's staring at the girl’s face. The voice is so pure, so sweetly feminine that you can picture the kind of face it must belong to; a perfect doll, sparkling eyes, symmetrical features, neat teeth behind full, petal-soft lips. No blemishes, no scars, no days of sweat and greasy hair after too long on the road. Your heart twists; finally, finally Kaji has found someone perfect enough to take even Mizu’s breath away, and your chance with her is gone.

Is this how your little trick made her feel? This pain in your chest must be karma come knocking. The second you're away from this brothel, you’re coming clean; you can always say they just wanted to prank her. But you won't leave her believing it truly happened. No more of this back-and-forth of jealousy–if it ever was that on her end.

But then maybe she won't care by then. And I would deserve that. This pain is wrong, it was wrong to bait her because you were too cowardly to be honest about your feelings. She may have given you moments of jealousy before but they were never intentional. And now–

Mizu takes a step away, turning away from the girl towards you as she walks back to her previous seat. Her expression makes you pause on your internal journey of self-pity. It isn't lovestruck, or lustful. Not a flicker of a blush; she's all business. Her eyes seek yours out, a split-second look that you know all too well. The look that comes with a new, unexpected layer of trouble.

Your eyes flick towards the girl, now revealed as she steps into the room. She's as lovely as her voice would have suggested, tiny, exquisitely made up. But it's not your accurate prediction of her perfection that makes you freeze just as Mizu had. It's that you know her, from that bridge in Kyoto. As before, your every memory of that trip is seared in.

You don't dare try to catch Mizu’s eye again; this might be a problem, but for the moment, the girl clearly doesn't realize her hand has been revealed.

Just like that, the jealousy and pining take a backseat, as they so often have on this shared journey. Once again, you and Mizu are a united front, dealing with a new threat.

And through the chaos that quickly devolves around you, clarity comes to you. You didn't need to play this charade. All this time, all the worrying about who feels what, when that look Mizu shot you a moment ago says it all. In the moment where things got serious, upset with you or not, she trusted you to understand immediately. In the moment of trouble, she looked towards you.

–

When she comes back from her mysterious task, you're waiting in the hallway, too restless to stand Ringo’s chatter and Akemi’s sniping. Akemi had heard it all, of course, in the women’s dressing room, and she wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to needle you, since she couldn't seem to needle Mizu effectively. You don't doubt she'll blurt the whole sorry tale out to Mizu at her first opportunity, and standing in the dark in the hall leaves you with little to do but fret about that.

It hasn't been as long as you would have expected, when she comes back.

You look up at the quiet footfall, and pause, heart clenching at the sight of her face in the shadowy hall. Mizu pauses, too, stopping a little distance away from you, as if afraid to get too close. She's carrying her hat under her arm, and her face looks…gods. You've seen her furious, cold, exhausted, conflicted, even amused.

This is something else, something worse than anything you've ever seen. She looks bereft, hollowed out, her eyes staring ahead as though looking at some horror no one else can see.

In that moment, you move without thought of rejection. Something in her face just calls to you, more deeply than words, drawing you together like magnets.

You push off the wall and step up to meet her.

“Mizu…?” You keep your voice as soft as you can. She doesn't raise her eyes. Instead, you can see the lids lower until they fall shut.

Slowly, you reach up to cup her face; you expect her to push your hand away, but you would have tried anyway. It’s your heart reaching out to touch hers in the only way you can, and it cannot be suppressed. In this moment, even though it's the closest you've ever been, you're not thinking about wanting her, only wanting to soothe her. Strange that your first moment of deeper intimacy should come from this clear pain, surrounded by the trappings of lust itself.

She doesn't fight you. When you bring your hands to the sides of her head, slowly pulling the glasses away, she lets you guide her face down to you, until her head is resting heavily against your shoulder. Her arms remain at her sides, hanging limp. When your hands cradle her head, her hair, she shudders violently for a second with a little choke, remembering the way she cradled another head, and then subsides.

You stand that way for a long time, in utter silence, utter stillness. The only movement is a very faint shivering that suffuses her frame. She's breathing slowly, with an exaggerated evenness as though deliberately forcing herself to do so. Your mind is racing; what on earth could have produced such a response?

Mizu… what did you do.

You already know you aren't going to ask, and make her relive it. Maybe someday, if she wants to unburden herself… but it doesn't matter now. It doesn't really matter at all; you know there's very little you wouldn't forgive her for. And you could see the regret in her eyes, that no matter what heinousness produced this, she feels no peace in the aftermath.

“It was a girl.” You can barely hear her.

“What?”

“I killed a girl tonight.”

Your heart constricts at her quiet voice. She says it tonelessly, unemotional, but you can feel her shoulders tensing under your hands. To her, this is the moment; you, seeing the monster that she is, pulling away, refusing further comfort.

“A girl?”

A faint shift of her head against your shoulder that might be a nod. A chill runs through you; she feels your shudder and braces for the shove, the exclamation of horror.

“Was it…necessary?” You ask slowly, instead, trying to understand. You've never known Mizu to kill an innocent before. There must have been a reason.

You can feel the way the question strikes her, unexpected. When was the last time anyone asked her about why she does what she does?

“...I don't know,” she says bleakly, her voice cracking.

Another long silence; the shoulders grow even more tense. She almost seems to stop breathing. You turn your face to her hair, silently, and feel her body go loose again. There's nothing you can say to fix this; only offer your steady presence.

“... Thank you.” This time the voice has a hoarse, shaky edge. You make a questioning noise, your fingers stilling. You hadn’t realized you'd been stroking her hair.

“For not…pulling away.” Her voice is growing quieter and quieter with each word; she turns her face harder into your shoulder, as though she can hide her vulnerability along with her face. “For not… thinking ill of me.”

“Never.” Your whisper is vehement, your fingers tightening against the back of her head.

“You should.”

You pause; the contrast of her gratitude and disapproval flummoxes you for a moment. You have no recourse but to be honest.

“I knew what this path would be when I chose to follow. I will not reject you for following your ember.”

You're shocked to hear a faint sniffle before she straightens, and even more shocked to feel wetness cooling on your shoulder. She hadn’t made a single sound of weeping; not a sob, not a hitch of breath. You saw no tear slide down her face.

Her expression is a different story; as stoic as ever but for those red-rimmed, haunted eyes. She’s still staring into the middle distance, unfocused. At the sight of her, your resolve snaps; you blurt it out. You can't fix this pain killing her inside now; you can only right the wrong you had done earlier.

“It didn't happen.”

“Mm…?” she looks at you, finally, but it's as if she is seeing someone else.

“The… the girls,” you stumble on your words for a moment. You want to be honest about what happened, but now doesn’t feel like the time to confess love, not when she's so wreathed in this empty sadness. You settle on, “I didn't do anything with them.”

She blinks, starts to focus a tiny bit. “Then they-…and you never…”

You shake your head.

She blinks, then blinks again. She doesn't look immediately relieved, at least not straightforwardly, but she looks strangely more alert. It's as if the weight on her shoulders was heavier, but it was a weight she was more willing to tolerate. Her brow pinches as she seems to think of something.

“I'm…sorry you had to look through those holes,” she says finally, staring down at your feet. Her voice is soft, barely above a breath. “You're… not meant to see all of this.”

“It wasn't so bad,” you reassure her. “I can handle it.”

She shakes her head impatiently.

“This isn't how you should be seeing…I'm…supposed to–…” She stops, looking confused by her own words. You stare at her in surprise. Supposed to what? Protect me? That would be a departure indeed from her constant insistence that you are here of your own free will, that she isn't responsible for you, that she isn't your protector… and so on.

You laugh a little, warmly. It's not funny, any of this, but there's a tiny bubble of something warm glowing in your chest, something that feels as though it's solidified between you, and the icy wall of uncertainty that plagues your every step has begun to trickle away.

“I can protect myself now, thanks to you,” you murmur, ducking your head a little to try to meet her gaze as she hangs her head. The next words are hard to say, but you want her to hear them. “And, truly…I don't think there's a better place in all of Japan than next to you.”

She looks up at you, eyebrows quirking up in surprise; it's the last sentiment she would expect to hear from anyone right now. The eye contact in this moment is lightning-sharp; a myriad of emotions run through her gaze, her face twitching through what looks like guilt, shame… and then a deeper, aching longing. The potency is as intense as every other emotion in her, and it arrests your very breathing.

You know. In that moment, you know; the trickle becomes a meltwater flood, soaking warmth through your ribcage. You’re pulled into the undertow of ocean eyes that glow in the cocooning darkness.

Her lips press together tightly as her eyes flick to your mouth as they did once, hours so. She looks suddenly lost; too emotionally overwhelmed by the events of the night to keep her walls up any longer. Distraction, validation, reassurance… human weaknesses she normally scoffs at. Tonight, her last rest before Fowler, before possible death, she'll let herself be human. She will seek comfort from someone that will touch her like she isn't a monster, confirm to herself that she can be capable of love, softness. That after her revenge, a happy life could be possible for her.

“I'm glad–...” her voice hitches as she leans closer to you, then sways back again, uncertainly. In the dark, her blush doesn't show, but the flustered expression is enough to make your heart suddenly race. “I'm glad that… you didn't. With them.”

You can't breathe. Your heart is in your throat; its rabbiting beat is making you shake so strongly with adrenaline that you have to force your teeth not to chatter. You've been waiting for so long, with never the slightest inkling of hope…

“...I am, too.” In the intimate darkness surrounding you, your whisper feels loud. Her gaze focuses in like a beam of burning light; your own expression says everything.

This time she steps closer again without flinching, and you feel like you might pass out. The hesitant look flickers across her again for a moment, before her brow suddenly furrows. You have a half second to recognize the familiar look of determination that precedes every risky move before there's a long fingered hand curling around your nape, and a pair of thin, sculpted lips on yours.

Oh.

It's as though every muscle in your body melts away in an instant. The second you lean into it with enthusiasm, you’re enveloped; her arms are like iron, clutching you tight. It's every bit as mind-numbing as you had fantasized; the taste of her lips is tea and copper, blood-hot as her tongue slips against yours. Mizu does nothing halfway. She kisses like she fights; overpowering, ruthless, clever and swift. Every twitch of reaction is caught and dragged free of you again and again as that famous adaptability is turned on you and achieving your pleasure. Her hands roam restlessly, mapping over the lines of your body, prompting a squeak when they suddenly squeeze tight, nails dimpling your flesh, before sliding on. You hope that every time her fingers sink in, there's a mark you'll see tomorrow, until she's littered every inch of your skin.

Your mingled breaths are loud in the silence of the hall. Your own hands are in her hair, slipping down her neck, reveling in the shift of the muscles in her shoulders; you can touch her now, you can touch her, she's kissing you, she wants you, gods above–

“Mizu…” You can't stop the soft whine, muffled by her lips; it thrills you to feel her shudder in response to it, her arms tightening around you with a hushed groan. The hand at the back of your neck grasps a hank of your hair like a handle, tugging your head to the side with accidental roughness. The pain sparks like flint against the heat building between your thighs, flaring it to a roar. Your little hiss is choked off by a gasp as she buries her face in your neck and inhales you, deep and greedy, indulging herself, before biting down hard on the soft skin below your ear.

Your grip on her shoulders tightens with a bitten-back cry, lust shooting through you like a grassfire. It runs molten between your thighs, softening your legs until your knees buckle–swift as an arrow, your world spins.

Your spine thumps into the support beam, her front molded to yours as she pins you against it; you can feel her heartbeat pattering against her bindings, the sharpness of her hipbones against your belly. Everything in your body pulses with one hard beat of desire; it thuds from your throat to your fingertips every time you hear that harsh inhale of her panting through her nose between kisses, the soft grunts of response to each slide of tongue and teeth. You don't notice your haori part until cool fingers slip along your ribcage. You flinch with a gasp, your back arching wanton and shameless into the touch. The husky chuckle at your ear makes your core throb so hard it hurts.

Your thighs tangle together without a care to your surroundings. “Ngh–” Another desperate, muffled groan vibrates against the side of your throat when you press your leg up between hers. Her hips spasm and buck, her groan fracturing into something soft and needy–“ah-...ahh”--breath puffing faster over your skin; there's a searing softness pressing against your thigh, already damp through the thick fabric of her pants. In response, the lean muscle of her own leg presses up between yours, hiking you higher against the wall until you’re spread across it, your own weight bearing you down against it with a cruel pressure to the very source of your ache. As you’re yanking her hair free with a high-pitched moan of her name–

The soft sssh-thnk of a door panel makes you both freeze.

“Master? Are you out here? I heard–...oh.”

Mizu slowly raises her head from your neck as you turn your head. Is this how you die? Of embarrassment?

Ringo’s eyes are like saucers; behind him, the faint sound of Akemi protesting spills out into the hallway as the three of you stare at each other in silence. “What? What is it? Ringo? Hey! Untie me! Let me see!”

Ringo opens his mouth, then closes it again. A wide, delighted grin slowly spreads over his face. Without another word, he slowly leans back into the room, shutting the panel behind him.

You both stare at the door for a minute. Akemi's complaints can still be heard from inside. Then you look at each other.

You giggle first, trying to stifle it, horrified at yourself as it bubbles free. “Sorry, s-sorry–” you hiss, more giggles escaping you, edged almost hysterical. It's not funny, at all, but you can't seem to stop.

Mizu watches you, perplexed at first, her mouth twitching as though she's not sure whether she should be laughing with you, or not. Finally she just sighs, too exhausted to give a damn, leaning her head on your shoulder again. This time you don't hesitate to wrap your arms around her, nuzzling into her hair as her own arms curl around you tightly.

It's not okay, nothing is okay, but, this… this is good.