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peachdues · 6 months

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THE GREAT WAR

PART I ♤ SECRET PREGNANCY AU

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

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

LISTEN TO THE PLAYLIST HERE

January, 1915

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

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

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

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

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

Odd.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she was glaring at him.

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

A slow blink. “I am Tomioka.”

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

“What the hell is a Tomioka?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you think there are more?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A while.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d rather not.”

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

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

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

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

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

Giyuu resisted the urge to snort. Helped, indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———-

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

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

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

“What do you think you’re doing?”

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

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

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

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

“It is nearly dark.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-you! Susumo sputtered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hashira.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the crow remained.

———

Spring, 1915

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

He rolled his eyes. “Protection.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve made that abundantly apparent.”

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N glanced up at him. “In what way?”

“You’re trying to avoid me.”

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

Giyuu paused. “Why would that matter?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are very odd, Tomioka-sama.”

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

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

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

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

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

—--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slowly, her cohorts all turned to look at her.

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

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

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

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

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

“Or what? What would you do?”

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

Information; specifically, gossip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She only wanted more.

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded. “Then I require your assistance.”

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But — you’ve only just arrived —“

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

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

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

—-

(One week later)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hence, his irritation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please.”

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

Late Summer, 1915

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A husband.” He said flatly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And in his dreams, her face remained a constant.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I wanted to give you this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tomioka-san, you do not-“

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

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

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

Y/N turned scarlet.

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

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

“And it wasn’t just salmon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She did not want him to go.

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

“Giyuu.”

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are a dreadful liar.”

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

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

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

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

“You won’t give any further details?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t a question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Especially her.

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

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

————-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——-

Autumn, 1915

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

Until that night.

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

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

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

That was when they’d spotted the smoke.

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

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

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

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

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

They were priceless; irreplaceable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now!”

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

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

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

Because the girl was not alone.

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

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

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

Demon. A voice whispered in her mind. Demon.

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

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

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

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

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

Hot; they were still hot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit, shit, shit!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

The night had been unusually peaceful for the Water Pillar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

She was fucked; well and truly fucked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kissed him; the shrine maiden had kissed him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His shrine maiden.

His.

—

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

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

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

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

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

She only hoped he felt the change, too.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why did you do it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought your crow was older?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

December, 1915

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The one person who held her heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She could scarcely breathe.

He was leaving and he might never return.

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

But she hated it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was a goodbye.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And just as hungry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He moaned softly, lowering his head back down to reclaim her mouth firmly with his own, his lips beseeching her to let him consume her.

She was only too happy to do so, parting her mouth so that his tongue could slide in and dance languidly with hers, as he reached between them, gripping hold of his aching length and positioning himself at her entrance.

The first brush of his hot, velvety tip against her folds broke their kiss, both gasping at the new yet intoxicating feel of the other’s most intimate area.

Giyuu braced his free arm by her head, his fingers stretching to run comfortingly through her hair, as he pressed his forehead against hers. “If it becomes too much, just tell me, and we can stop.” His voice shook ever so slightly as he waited for her signal, the ache in his groin becoming nearly painful.

The Miko grazed her lips against his throat. “Don’t stop.” She murmured. She hitched her legs higher up on his hips, angling herself so the trembling man above her would have better access to her.

Slowly, so very slowly, the tip of Giyuu’s length began to push into her, and Y/N felt herself temporarily forget how to breathe. Above her, Giyuu’s eyes squeezed shut in a concerted effort not to sheathe himself within her in one stroke.

“Y/N,” Giyuu panted, unable to stop the shaky moan that fell from his lips as he sunk into her warm heat that wrapped tight, so impossibly tight around him.

The shrine maiden winced at the unfamiliar and slightly uncomfortable sensation of being slowly stretched and filled by the Pillar. She felt as though she was a wave, crashing and breaking and parting around a rocky shore with every inch gained by the press of his hips against hers.

Giyuu hardly had a quarter of himself seated within her when he felt his head brush against a thin barrier. His eyes opened to look down at the Miko, panting beneath him, her eyebrows pinched in slight discomfort. When she noticed he’d stopped, she peered up at him through her thick eyelashes, her cheeks flushed.

The hand Giyuu had held at his base to help guide himself within her lifted to grip her hip, her legs relaxing as his fingers massaging soothing circles into her flesh. Giyuu removed his forehead from its resting place against hers and he buried his face into the side of her neck as he pressed his body flush against hers. The hand he’d used to brace himself found hers, and he lifted to rest above her head, his fingers twining tightly with her own.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, pressing a sweet kiss against the shell of his ear. Giyuu nearly shuddered at her words, and he pressed his hips forward, his cock finally breaching that thin, inner barrier to the rest of her welcoming heat.

Y/N cried out at the bright spark of pain that flared through her as Giyuu claimed her as his own, but the Pillar held her steady, pressing open-mouthed kisses against her neck.

A hitched gasp blew past Giyuu’s lips as he became fully seated within her heat, her core gripping him like a vice. He panted against the sweat-dampened skin of her neck as they both adjusted to the sensation, her nails digging harshly into the skin of his back as she waited for the discomfort to subside.

Giyuu pulled his face back to look down at her, the hand he’d had on her hip rising to cup her face as he brushed his lips across her cheeks and eyes.

“My beloved, are you all right?” His breath came hard and fast as he panted, the growing friction between where they were connected becoming hotter, more demanding the longer he remained still.

Y/N’s eyes slowly opened to meet his, he felt her relax as he kissed her, slow and gentle.

Her lips broke from his and she nodded, shakily. “You can move — just hold me. Please.”

Giyuu let his full weight fall against her as he wound an arm tightly around her waist, his other hand tilting her face up so he could kiss her fiercely, eager to show her what she meant to him when his words otherwise failed to do so. As she opened up to him, tongue flicking out shyly along his lip, Giyuu rolled his hips experimentally against hers.

Both the shrine maiden and the Pillar cried out in unison as Giyuu’s movement stoked an intense pleasure where they were joined.

It was like a spark of flame had ignited between her legs before shooting up to her belly, making her insides clench and pulse.

It was addicting, and, judging by the way the raven haired swordsman above her hissed, he’d felt that jolt of electrifying pleasure, too.

“Oh,” Giyuu moaned as he began to move atop her, his cock sliding in and out of her heat as he worked to set a pace. “You feel – this is –” his stutters broke off into ragged pants that melted into broken moans with every movement as he found his rhythm.

The grip he had on her hand tightened as he pulled back from her neck in favor of watching her body jolt and bounce with each of his thrusts.

His head dropped down to study how his length, now coated in something shiny, appeared with every long draw of his hips out before disappearing back into her warmth.

He threw his head back. “Heaven,” the Water Pillar groaned out, a tendon throbbing in his neck as another cracked moan slipped free from his throat. “You are heaven.”

Shallow thrusts turned deeper, more purposeful, as the Water Pillar settled into his tempo. Each push of his hips opened her up more, bit by bit, until Y/N’s limbs liquified and she was left moaning and whimpering in time with his movements.

One particular thrust made her cry out, caused her legs to reflexively tighten around Giyuu’s hips as something hot flared deep within her stomach.

“M-more,” she managed, her voice tapering off with a squeak. She needed to feel that spark again, wanted to feel that jolt of electricity that made her stomach clench. “P-please — ah!— Giyuu —“

With something between a moan and a growl, Giyuu angled himself to thrust deeper, his weight pushing her hips back from the floor. Her legs were forced to hike higher up his waist, her ankles locking instead against the dip in his spine rather than his backside.

The new angle meant that Giyuu was able to hit at a spot that sent a bolt of lightening between her legs, and she could feel herself tighten around him.

The combination of her walls fluttering and pulsing around him and the strange fullness she felt was both overwhelming and exhilarating. She did not think she could stand to feel empty again; to not feel him consuming every inch of her.

Gradually, the small garden hut was filled by the sounds of their pants and moans, weaving together to form the melody of a song meant only for them.

Giyuu began thrusting harder, and soon, a dull clap of skin began to reverberate off the hut’s slatted wood walls, adding a steady beat to the rhythm of their pleasure. Though the air inside the hut had been nearly as frigid as what lay beyond its door, both the Miko and the Slayer found themselves coated in a thin sheen of sweat that made their skin glisten in the faint, orange glow of her lantern.

Above her, the Water Pillar was as lost in his pleasure as she. Guided purely by instinct, Y/N arched her lower back away from the floor until her breasts were flush against his sternum, desperate to feel that jolting spark between her legs.

She felt the walls her of her core clench tighter around Giyuu’s length with her movement, and he answered her with a deep growl as his arm cinched tighter around her waist.

Deep; he was so deep within her, that she wondered whether he might reach her soul before they had to part.

Giyuu’s thrusts quickened, the base of his groin grinding against that sensitive spot between her thighs that had her wanting more as she moaned, her thighs squeezing the Hashira’s hips.

His head was thrown back, his eyes tightly shut as the most beautiful sounds of pleasure Y/N had ever heard poured from Giyuu’s mouth.

“I — fuck.” He growled as one arm tightened around her waist to the point of pain, the other grabbing her hand to bring it to his lips in a futile attempt to stifle the sounds lilting from him like song.

His name fell from her lips like a hallowed oath and Y/N’s legs fell to the side, allowing Giyuu to chase the crescent of his release, as hips pistoned into her with wild abandon.

“Y-Y/N,” her black-haired beauty of a lover grit through clenched teeth, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. “My treasure, I-I’m gonna-“

The Water Pillar buried his face into the side of her neck, cradling his groans into her throat, and Y/N could feel his length twitch within her.

As Giyuu’s hips slammed into her one final time, so to did the realization that she loved this; she wanted always to be this close to him, wanted always to be unable to tell where she ended and he began.

She loved him.

But the bitter truth was that she’d never again get to hold Giyuu the way she was right then, legs wrapped tightly around his waist as she felt something warm gush through her, a pleasured groan, so beautiful and husky tumbling from the Hashira’s lips as he pressed a sweet kiss against her collarbone.

She would not get to love him past this most sacred rite.

If she were honest, she’d likely never again experience this intimacy with anyone, for as long as she lived — for how could anyone else ever possibly compare?

She supposed she’d been doomed to never hold onto the people who were meant to love her since the day she was born. She should’ve known better.

But as the roll of Giyuu’s hips into her heat slowed, and his labored breaths eased, Y/N could not find it within herself to regret it; to regret him.

Because, fool though she was, she loved him.

Giyuu collapsed against her, his face nuzzling into the crook of her neck as he came down from his high, still buried inside her as the two panted.

Her hands moved of their own accord to card through his raven hair, fingertips massaging his scalp as his breathing slowed, his breath adding further moisture to the already sweat-dampened skin of her neck.

She wished they could remain like that always; that the dawn creeping over the horizon would not herald forth the sun, and they could stay on the floor of the garden hut forever, wrapped in one another’s embrace. She desperately wanted to memorize the tempo of his heart as it beat steadily against his chest, the vibrations of which she felt against her ribs. Such a beautiful melody, it was, and yet it filled her with such despair to know she might never again hear its sweet song; that it might cease playing forever, the moment Giyuu resumed being the Water Pillar once more, and walked through the shrine gates for the last time.

But Y/N had never had anyone she could call her own, and as much as she loved the man nuzzling her neck as he whispered sweet nothings against her skin, he’d never been hers to keep.

“My beautiful, beautiful Y/N,” Giyuu murmured, kissing his way up her throat to her lips. “Are you alright?”

She held his lips for a moment before breaking away, letting her eyes roam his face, and she nodded. “Are you?”

To her utter surprise, the Water Pillar chuckled softly, his laugh breathy and his smile heartbreakingly beautiful. “Yes, my treasure. I am more than alright.”

He brushed a kiss against the tip of her nose. “After all, I am with you.”

———-

He’d brought her against his chest and they’d laid there together, simply staring at one another, trading soft kisses as Giyuu traced a finger over every feature of her face at least twice.

If he was to die, he knew his last thoughts would be of her, and he wanted to be sure he’d committed every last detail of her face to memory.

Soon, far too soon, the deep indigo of the night sky was broken by the first, watery rays of morning light, and both the Miko and the Slayer knew their time was up.

The lovers dressed quickly, their backs to one another as both steeled themselves for the goodbye they could no longer avoid.

And now, that time had come. Though it was Giyuu who walked to his likely doom, Y/N felt as if she was embarking on her own death march as the pair drew near the towering Shrine gate. Perhaps she was; after all, he would be taking her heart with him, and she was unlikely to get it back.

Y/N did not know whether to lean in and kiss him, one last time, or whether such a display of affection would only scratch at the gaping, open wounds they now bore on their chests, where their hearts had been.

Giyuu, apparently, did not know what to do either, so the two only stood there beneath the Torii, eyes swimming with emotions neither could bear to voice.

There was a beat, and then the two moved toward one another, drawn together like magnets as they locked themselves in a tight embrace. Giyuu’s hand cupped the back of her skull as Y/N pressed her face hard into his shoulder. Her fingers dug into the fabric of his haori, desperate to keep him rooted to her — to life, safe and away from demons.

But he couldn’t stay; she knew that. And so, with a deep inhale in a desperate attempt to memorize that mahogany and citrus scent of his she so adored, Y/N pulled away. She made to step back from him entirely, to put distance between them, but those warm fingers caught her under her chin, tilting her head up to face him before his hand slid to cup her cheek.

The emotion swimming in the azure depths of his irises threatened to chisel away at the lock she kept on her own. Tears burned in her eyes, but she would not let them fall; she would not make this harder for herself — for him — than it already was.

“If you do not hear from me, leave the mountain. Go to the city, and do not go out at night. Keep your dagger and wisteria on you at all times, even when you sleep,” Giyuu’s eyes were serious, the hand on her face holding her in place. “Live, Y/N. Grow to be an old woman. Die only from age.”

The shrine maiden closed her eyes as she willed herself not to cry. “And if you win?”

Giyuu hesitated for a moment and Y/N knew better than to ask him to make a promise he could not keep.

“Send a crow, if you can.” She whispered, feigning a small smile. “It would be nice to not be afraid to go and gather night-blooming herbs.”

The Water Pillar nodded, his hand smoothing through her hair one last time as his lips pressed against her forehead. “Thank you, Y/N.”

She didn’t need to ask what for.

She hoped she’d never forget the way he said her name; the longing and the breathless passion that dripped from every syllable, and the way it sent shivers down her spine.

Giyuu broke away from her and set off towards the east. Y/N watched until he was nothing more than a speck on the horizon, before he disappeared entirely.

He did not look back.

————————

He hadn’t trusted himself to look back at her, though every fiber of his being had screamed at him to turn around and behold her beauty one last time. But the Shrine Maiden had become his largest weakness, and Giyuu knew if he’d looked back, he would never make it back to his estate; to the Corps.

And if you win? She’d asked him, and he hadn’t been able to form the words of the answer he’d so desperately wanted to give her.

Because while Giyuu Tomioka never made promises he couldn’t keep, that did not mean he didn’t hope. Right then, more than anything, his greatest desire was to win this war; win it, and come back and tell Y/N that she no longer needed to fear the night.

In any other life — if Giyuu had been any other man — there would be no question as to who he’d choose to spend the rest of his days with.

And so, Giyuu thought as he forced himself to march forward, his eyes burning, if he made it out of this war alive, he would go back to the Shrine and tell Y/N of their victory himself.

And perhaps she’d then allow him to make her his wife.

Keep an eye out for Part II to see if Giyuu comes back and makes good on his promise!

COMMENTS, REBLOGS, AND LIKES ALWAYS APPRECIATED!

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #giyuu tomioka #kny #kny x reader #giyuu x reader #kny giyuu #kny fanfic #demon slayer fanfic #kny smut #demon slayer smut #demon slayer giyuu #kny tomioka #tomioka giyu x reader #tomioka giyū #hashira #kny hashira #giyu tomioka #giyuu

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pynkfairyheart · 4 months

Text

pairings: eren x virgin!reader

warnings: smuuttt 18+

Stress Reliever

“Mama, calm down” Eren followed as you paced around the room, before plopping down onto the bed, a pout resting on your face.

“But Eren, what if I fail?” Tears of frustration building in your eyes. Tomorrow was the day you presented your capstone project, and reasonably you were stressing.

Eren had been doing his best to calm your nerves all week, giving you massages, making your meals, and helping you study. It just wasn't enough for you though, you were too nervous.

“Baby, you're not gonna fail, you're the smartest girl I know, and we've been over it a thousand times, I know you're gonna do great you just have to believe in yourself, baby”

“Let's just go over it one more time” You stood, immediately silenced when he lifted you up and laid you back down on the bed, hovering over you as he started to litter kisses onto your face.

“Stop worrying ma, you'll do great, just relax” His grip tight as his fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs, spreading them to make room for himself.

This simple action having your heart race. Despite being together for almost a year nothing happened between you two. Mainly because you both wanted to build a relationship that wasn't based on sex, but also because you were nervous. He was your first everything, and as gut wrenching it was to say, you weren't his.

“Eren” Your breath hitched as his bulge brushed against the crotch of the thin fabric that made up your pajama shorts.

“You gotta relax, ma. You gone let me help you?” He murmured as he kissed his way down your neck.

Maybe this is what you needed, your anxiety to just flow out of you with a mind boggling orgasm.

“Yes” You released a breath.

“Good girl” He smirked kissing you once more before he undressed you, savoring the way you squirmed underneath him.

“You're so beautiful, mami” He whispered as he took his time exploring every inch of your body with his hands and mouth before stopping right in front of your pajama clad pussy, traces of your arousal seeping through the fabric.

His fingers hooked around the waistband of your pants as he tugged them down, your clit slightly peeking out from behind your glistening folds.

“She's so pretty, baby,” He groaned, his thumbs spreading your folds apart as he pressed light kisses to your clit.

“Eren” You silently begged for more friction.

Indulging in your neediness he licked up a long stripe of your arousal. Strings of the fluid mixture connecting his tongue to your pussy.

“Shit, baby, you taste so good.” He dug his fingers into your thighs, burying his face into your folds.

His tongue flicked against your clit, teasing you with each lap before sucking softly, tongue swirling around the bud as your hips bucked. The flat muscle slurping up long stripes of your pussy.

“Fuck, Eren oh my god” You heaved, hands pushing the loose hair out of his face.

He hummed in approval, the vibration sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. The sound of his name leaving your lips only spurred him on as he sucked harder, teeth grazing the sensitive bud lightly.

“I'm so close, pa” You whined, looking down at him, his eyes closed as he ate you like a starved man.

Your thighs closed around his head as a response to the tightening knot in your tummy, the bite he delivered to your inner thigh releasing a yelp from your glossy lips as you opened them wide. The glare he sent your way turning you on more than it should.

“Let go mama, I'm here” His low voice muffled by your folds as he added a thick digit into your sopping pussy, walls clamping around it at the curl of his fingers and his tounge tracing a zigzag pattern on your clit, before he sucked on the pulsing bud.

“Papa” You cried as he slurped up the juices flowing from your pussy.

“Wait, pa, I can't- too much” You protested, thighs clamping around his head as he lapped at your pussy, sliding in another digit.

“Just one more ma, you taste so good” He licked the insides of your thighs, before pushing them up to your chest.

“And don't close your fucking legs again”

˚୨୧⋆.

“Did so good for me, pretty” He panted after ripping two more orgasms from you. Kissing and licking his way up your body, before he engulfed you in a passionate kiss, your taste lingering on his tongue.

“Need you inside, now. Please papa” You begged.

“Are you sure?” Despite just sucking your soul from your pussy, he was still a sweetheart. Green eyes rapidly scanning your face for any sense of doubt.

“Yes, please” You tugged on his shirt revealing the sight sheen of sweat on his toned muscles.

“I'll go slow, but all you have to say is stop and I will okay?” He reached down into his sweats, stroking himself before pulling them down. Boy was he hung, prominent veins along the circumference of his dick, and his red tip leaking pre-cum from the occasional grind he delivered to the mattress while having you cream on his fingers.

“Okay” You let out a shaky breath, nerves rising as he rubbed his tip through your folds, collecting your slick before lining up with your entrance.

“Don't worry baby, just relax for me” He whispered in the crook of your neck as he pushed himself in.

The stretch was borderline unbearable as you felt him slide into your walls. He was thick, and having a hard time moving an inch without you squeezing him so tight.

“Relax princess, let me in” He whispered, taking note of your nails breaking the skin of his back, and your furrowed eyebrows as you tried to adjust.

“M’trying s’jus too big” You practically cried.

“I know, mama. Wanna stop?” He pressed loving kisses to your forehead.

“No, no I can take it. Just keep going” He went slowly, taking his time to minimize the discomfort, and look for any signs of pain as he nestled in between your legs, tip brushing against your cervix.

“Doing so good for me, princess. Just relax” He soothed once you gave him the green light to move.

Before you knew it he was whispering nasty things into your ear as he pounded into you, your second orgasm from his thrusts building in your lower stomach.

“Taking this dick so good for me, ma. Fat ass pussy squeezing me so tight” He grunted, tits bouncing at his feverish movements.

The room was hot and filled with your moans, and slapping skin as Eren pounded into you. He was slowly losing control, relishing in the way your pussy welcomed him in, the white creamy stickiness at the base of his cock having his brain go fuzzy. His only objective to have you cum on his dick over and over again till you were fucked senseless.

“Papa t-too much- mhmph too deep” You cried, despite wrapping your legs around his waist to bring him closer.

“S'too deep? Thought you could take it, baby. Thought you were my good girl” He faked his concern, bullying his dick into your warm walls.

“I am” You pouted, nails digging into his biceps as he pressed down on your chubby tummy, smirking when he felt his dick poking his hand.

“Then nut on your dick, mama. Be a good girl for daddy” The dam breaking immediately when he rubbed tight circles on your clit.

“Shit” He moaned, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he painted your walls with his sticky cum.

“Did so good, baby” He whispered in between kisses as he fucked his load back into you.

“S-sensitive, pa” You whined as you pushed his hips away, earning a pinch to your hand and fake pout.

“I know” He faked sympathy, pushing your legs up against your chest.

“But I want you to do well tomorrow, lemme make sure I fucked all the anxiety outta you. Yeah?”

wrote for my babes who needed an eren during their finals week cause ik i needed one ૮꒰ྀི˶˃ ⌓ ˂˶꒱ྀིა

anywayssss i gotta question. does anyone have any tips on how to length the smutty scenes i feel as if they're too short but im not 100% sure on how to add more detail. any feedback is appreciated mwah<333

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inkdrinkerworld · 6 months

Note

If you’re writing for James 👉🏻👈🏻 a touchy james potter who gets too excited whenever you’re around and always has you on his lap, arm around your waist, linking arms while sitting next to each other in class, and cherry on top, learned how to braid so he can play with your hair more.

Sirius and Remus are over, sitting in your living room with James off to one side.

They’ve all been leaning over a puzzle for the longest time- Remus in actual curiosity, James in interest and Sirius just to humor Remus should the man decide to withdraw bedtime kisses from him.

You’d been in the shower, washing away the day and by the time you came back you were dressed in one of James’ hoodies and a pair of shorts.

“Jamie,” you sing his name as you practically skip into the living room. You’ve your hair oils and combs in hand as you stop in front of him.

“Lovie,” he pats his lap, moving just a little away from his friends to look at you. “What do you need?” His eyes soften as he notices your attire, his hands grab onto your waist. Fingers a little rough but still gentle as he squeezes the fat of your skin there.

You grin, digging your toe into the tile. James gets this look in his eyes when he watches you, this lovelorn, terribly lovestuck look in his eyes and you never know what to do with it.

“Wanna braid my hair for me?” James adores that you still shy under his gaze, he loves it even more when you giggle and squeal when he says yes and sits you down between his legs.

“Aw, look at them, Moony.” Sirius coos as he turns to you both, catching James scratching the base of your neck before picking up the comb.

“They’re cute Siri, Jamie’s in love.” James makes zigzag parts- having learnt that straight ones are too harsh the next day.

“We can hear you,” you remind them and Sirius barks a laugh, his eyes glued on his friend who pays them no mind as he oils your hair and then picks up three strands.

“No doll, you can. James only hears words that leave your lips.”

#jamespotter #james potter #james potter one shot #james potter fanfiction #james potter blurb #james potter fluff #james potter imagine #james potter headcanon #james potter fic #james potter drabble #james potter x black!reader #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x yn #james potter x y/n

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starlightervarda · 9 months

Text

I can't sleep so Star Trek TOS/SNW dashboard simulator

🪆 chekovsgunman Follow

to this day I can't understand why they're called the Three Musketeers if there's FOUR of them? Did Dumas just forget his own main character???

🪴 plantdad Follow

You've got to be kidding me

🪆 chekovsgunman Follow

I know right? A mistake like this would never happen in Russian literature!

5,324 notes

🩺 therealmccoy Follow

After months of taking care of everyone else on this giant tin can I really earned this shore leave. Now I get to drink, relax, flirt with some lovely ladies and sleep until noon 😎 Just what the the doctor ordered!

🩺 therealmccoy Follow

Update: A fucking purple tree ate five crewmen. Again.

955 notes

🖖 iamspock Follow

Despite being among humans for close to a decade, I still find their tendency to overcomplicate and avoid aspects of social situations to be confusing at best and infuriating at worst. So much time is wasted on tedious matters such as who gets to 'make the first move' or 'not come off too strong'.

For example, everyone aboard my vessel is keenly aware of Lt. Uhura and Engineer Scott's 'budding romance'. But their need to extend their oddly avoidant courtship ritual, rather than outright state their interest in one another, is pointless, as well as frustrating to witness.

Why do they do this? Why not 'get it over with', as they say?

I encourage answers from all cultures, human or otherwise.

💅 janicethemenace Follow

I'm sorry Scotty and Nyota are WHAT

💉 xtinechapel Follow

DELETE THIS

💖 ofmanytongues Follow

SPOCK NOOO HE DOESN'T THINK OF ME LIKE THAT 😭

🔧 scott-free Follow

But I do! I thought you knew and were just being nice about it!

💖 ofmanytongues Follow

DMing you rn 😳

🖖 iamspock Follow

You're welcome.

24,103 notes

🌟 j_tiberius_k Follow

PSA: If you visit Antares VII, stay clear of any yellow plants, their pollen can have some...inconvenient effects on the biology of humanoid peoples.

My XO and I suffered through troubling symptoms until it was almost too late. Thankfully, we figured out a cure in time.

🪴 plantdad Follow

I can only find info on the symptoms. What was the cure? 👀

🌟 j_tiberius_k Follow

Do I really have to say it?

6,322 notes

💊 mmmbenga Follow

The galaxy if Klingons didn't exist

⚔️ glorytotheempire Follow

Wow. Humans are openly advocating for our disappearance yet Klingons are the bad guys? I thought your federation stood for peace.

💊 mmmbenga Follow

Cry harder you genocidal wrinkly-faced bitch I hope your planet gets sucked into a black hole

#If you think a joke is on par with what they do then book an MRI because you might have brain damage #fuck Klingons and anyone that sympathizes with them

35,007 notes

😎 ortegaaaas Follow

So I can either skim through this asteroid belt on Warp 2 for 3 hrs or on Warp 5 for 15 mins

🚀 mitchiemitch Follow

Erica no! That's not how navigation works!

😎 ortegaaaas Follow

FLOOR IT???

🚀 mitchiemitch Follow

ERICA NO

😎 ortegaaaas Follow

HOW ABOUT WARP 7 FOR 15 SECONDS?

💖 ofmanytongues Follow

ERICA YOU'RE GOING TO CRASH THE SHIP

😎 ortegaaaas Follow

I AM GOING TO HARNESS LIGHT-SPEED TO ZIGZAG THROUGH THE VOID

🚀 mitchiemitch

ERICA P L E A S E

112,517 notes

🐴 sirsilverfox Follow

I know some species are very private, but you'd think they'd share the important stuff, esp when we should trust each other by now.

How are we supposed to enjoy my weekly dinners if you all don't tell me what to watch out for :/ This is the third time this happens to the same person and I had to get the answer why from our CMO

💫 numerouna Follow

Wait what did I miss while I was gone

🐴 sirsilverfox Follow

Spock got wasted on my chocolate fudge cake and hit his head on the counter ://///

2,904 notes

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klemen-tine · 8 months

Text

White Whale Part 2

Platonic! Yandere Batfam x Deaf!Male Reader

A continuation of this one.

https://www.tumblr.com/klemen-tine/736839222321922048/white-whale

Thoughts

Sign/Morse Code

Speaking

Trigger Warnings: Disability Discrimination and a mention of suicidal thoughts. Its like on sentence.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Y/N sat near the window, his processors off and a book on his lap. His attention was drawn to the snow falling outside and covering the ground in white, watching Damian walk Titus around the yard to experience the frozen water. Not like the giant dog hasn’t walked in snow before.

He pressed his forehead against the glass, feeling the freezing melted sand press against his skin and without a doubt making it red. His tan was slowly fading, which made him all the more depressed whenever he looked in the mirror, now resulting in him wearing long sleeves in the hopes that he wouldn’t have to see it fade faster. His finger running down the spine of his book over and over again, tracing over the embroidered words and his short fingernail picked at the strings.

Y/N pulled away from the window, before Damian could see him, and he set To Kill a Mockingbird down on the lamp table beside the small nook near the window. It was his secret little stowaway, one Y/N knows that if they wanted to, his family could find it easily. There is nowhere in this manor that is unable to be discovered by them. He thinks Alfred is helping in keeping this spot a secret. Assuring the bat family that Y/N is safe and there is no need to tear apart the library to look for him.

All the windows in the library are sealed besides three, and those have sensors on them. Even if they didn’t, Y/N wasn’t stupid. He knows that those trackers he had dug out from his body are back in him. There is one in his inner thigh, deep enough that if he were to take the same scalpel he used the first time, the chance of nicking his artery was a higher possibility than he felt was worth risking.

Sometimes, when he presses down on the soft skin, he could feel the cold metal sear his muscles and capillaries, reminding him of his captivity without the chains.

Y/N connected his external processors, and winced when the world began to make noise. There was the buzz of some lightbulbs the hummed in the air and the heater was making a thrumming noise. Before his ‘trip’ to the Dominican Republic, Y/N would have thought that this was quiet. He would have believed that this was almost silent and there was little chance of it becoming any more quiet.

Now it was just loud. Obnoxiously so.

Looking out the window once more, Y/N couldn’t help the turn of his eyebrows and the downturn in his lips. Even his safe place felt like a cage.

Walking out of the room, he zigzagged through the bookshelves and into the main room, where the large couches, the fireplace, and coffee table are. The fire was crackling and popping, the bright oranges, reds, and yellows casting a warm glow on the sofas.

“I was wondering when you’d come out.” Y/N didn’t even look at Tim, his gaze still on the flames and the burning embers of the fire. It matched the heat that was beginning to burn in his chest whenever he was around any of them. It’s embarrassing, but it took Y/N a few days to realize what exactly it was he was feeling towards them.

Anger. Y/N was so, undeniably, pissed at all of them. It got to the point that he wouldn’t even eat with them. Alfred, the kind man he is, would bring his meals to his room and Y/N would eat there. Dick once tried to drag Y/N out of his room, but he got a solid kick to his leg and Y/N’s enraged voice screeching at him to get the hell out of his room.

Even Jason was receiving the cold shoulder. When he tried to read to Y/N, taking their usual spot and position, Y/N just scrunched his nose and moved. Ignoring his twin’s call and slamming his door hard and loud enough that it made his processors ring.

Tim sighed, watching his brother stew and brew like a shaken pepsi bottle, ready to erupt with words that will stick to the skin. Y/N didn’t acknowledge him, his jaw clenching and nose scrunching, before he turned away and left the library. Tim stood up and followed him, jamming his foot in between the door and the door frame to stop Y/N from shutting him out.

“Go. Away.” Tim pushed into the door, and even though he and Y/N are about the same size, Tim is Red Robin. A vigilante used to put down villains twice his size and three times his weight. Y/N is just… Y/N. He muscled through, inviting himself within Y/N’s room which he took a scan of.

The window was closed, the bed was made, the desk clean, and the laptop locked. When he had gotten back, his laptop had been installed with monitoring software, allowing everyone access from the Batcomputer to see what Y/N was doing. His phone had been given the same thing, only the child settings were enabled. His bags, duffle, suitcases, backpacks, all of them had been taken and if he ever needed them then he would need to go to Bruce.

If Y/N had anything to say, he didn’t share it. When it was all explained to Y/N, he wasn’t even looking at them, or Bruce, and instead was staring out the window. Damian believed that the other didn't even listen to them, but the lack of questions proved he had heard them.

“We really need to talk, Y/N.”

“No, go away. I don’t want you in my room.” Tim sighed, watching Y/N seethe in front of him. He held firm, “I will leave, once we talk.” Y/N rolled his eyes, “About what? There is nothing to talk about.” Those raging E/C eyes followed Tim’s every move in his space, and if it were any other time, Tim would have been thrilled to have Y/N’s attention on him. Those eyes focused only on him.

Tim sat on the chair in front of Y/N’s desk, ignoring Y/N’s scandalized expression and instead taking in the desk. All of Y/N’s writing tools, journals, pens, and markers have been confiscated. Instead, he only had the iPad to write down his thoughts and notes for when school starts. An iPad that is monitored.

Y/N seemed to accept that Tim would not be leaving, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it. Scrunching his nose, he disconnected the processors, pulled them off of his head, and debated about chucking them at his brother. He tossed them on his bed. He saw Tim deflate from the corner of his vision, and when those E/C eyes filled with irritation and smugness met Tim’s blue eyes, Y/N couldn’t help the vindictive smirk that formed on his face.

‘Bruce wants you to keep those on.’

“What do you want, Tim? If you have nothing good to say then get out, I want to nap.” Tim nodded, adjusting himself so he had space to sign.

‘How long are you going to keep pouting?’ Y/N’s face scrunched and he stared at Tim in disbelief. Not in disbelief that he said that, but disbelief in that that was what he wanted to say at this point in time. He could feel a headache forming and the rage building in his chest to the back of his throat. The words scorching the sensitive skin and making him feel as if he was about to catch fire.

“I tell you to have something ‘good’ to say, and that’s what comes out of your mouth? Get out, Tim.” His brother stayed in the chair, and Y/N marched over and grabbed the collar of Tim’s shirt. Which, if he had a clearer mind, Y/N would have not done that. It only allowed for Tim to grab his wrist and maneuver them so that it was Y/N who was pinned.

Icy blue eyes stared into boiling E/C eyes. Tim sighed, releasing Y/N so he can sign, ‘It is getting out of control, Y/N. I can understand a month, but you are pushing three.’

“You can’t tell me how to feel or how long I can feel it.” Tim looked ready to throttle him, and Y/N hoped that Tim rolled his eyes enough that they got stuck like that.

‘Y/N, just what was so important about that shack that is keeping you acting like this?’ Y/N pushed Tim, startling his younger brother and if he was calmer, Y/N would also be startled. He’s never been a violent person, choosing to look away when things got bloody in a movie or show. However, the spike of rage and aggravation he felt towards Tim and the situation had made his body move before he could really process it.

He glared at Tim with a new rage, and now he had wished he had thrown those external processors as the so-called genius. He balled his fist, “It wasn’t the shack! It wasn’t the ocean, it wasn’t the country, for fucks sake Tim, it wasn’t even then whales!” Y/N reached across his desk and threw a copy of Alice in Wonderland at the other.

He ignored the annoyance when Tim caught it.

“It wasn’t any of that! It was what you all took away! It wasn’t the sun, it wasn’t the outside, it was the ability to make my own decisions!” Tears burned Y/N’s eyes and he wondered just how many nights he spent crying and wishing for a chance to escape.

“Why… why am I the only one who doesn’t have any say in how I want to live me life?” Tim set the book down on Y/N’s bed, and walked closer. Y/N stepped away, “Why am I the one who is held here like some kind of… prisoner when everyone else can go and–and do what they want?”

Tim’s heart broke, ‘No, no Y/N. You’re not a prisoner, we just want you safe and the safest place is here.’ Y/N gave him a look of exhaustion and disappointment, “What else is this then? Where else are people monitored to this extent?” Prison. Hell, Arkham doesn’t even have this level of monitoring and Gotham’ worst and craziest people were there.

Y/N knows that all of this is done out of some sick and twisted form of love, but if this was love then Y/N wanted no part of it.

“Y/N,” Tim winced. He didn’t feel bad about what they have done for Y/N, but he did feel bad that it was somewhat affecting Y/N like this. It wasn’t their intention for Y/N to feel trapped, but Y/N just doesn’t get it. The world is mean, cruel, and horrible to those who don’t fit in. Tim, Jason, Dick, Damian, Bruce, the entire Bat clan knows this because they are the ones out there and witnessing this.

They all know just how awful this world can be, so why would they not want to protect Y/N from it?

“Dinner is ready.” Tim’s attention snapped to the door, where Damian stood. Y/N’s attention also turned to Damian, and the boy softened under Y/N’s hurt gaze.

‘Alfred made your favorite.’ Y/N wanted to bury his head in his hands. He didn’t want to read this conversation anymore. Pursing his lips, Y/N plopped down on the edge of his bed and looked out the barred window.

“You say I am not a prisoner… then am I a pet?” He mumbled, his voice barely above a murmur. Damian moved further in the room, so Y/N can see his hands at least.

‘Of course not. You are our most prized person.’ Damian didn’t see Y/N as a person. It is cruel to admit and he had almost been choked-out by Jason when he said it out loud. Y/N, in Damian’ eyes, was the Wayne’s family most prized possession. Next to the Batcave, the library, the Barmobile, and even Wayne Enterprises, Y/N stood next to and in front of it all. They could not function without him.

Like every prized possession, like diamonds, sapphires, and jades, they wanted to protect him. They gave him the best care they could and the best security. The difference was that jewels don’t have opinions or a desire to roam the earth. Something Y/N did have, and Damian blames the books for that wanderlust. Specifically that Moby Dick book.

When Jason took it from Y/N, Damian had to stop himself from throwing it in the fire. It was a first edition, the cover and binding still the same from when the book was first published, and if he looked closely he could see the faint line where Y/N has traced the spine of the book numerous times. Damian knows there is only one person in this world Y/N hates, which is the Joker, and Damian does not want to be added to the list should anything happen to that book.

Still, it was tempting.

Damian has read the book, and the lesson was as obvious as an East Gothamite amidst the upper echelon of Gotham. Damian knows what Y/N’s ‘white whale’ is, and he can’t help but to wonder why Y/N can’t draw the same conclusions like everyone else did.

Just like the story, Y/N will drive himself crazy trying to obtain something that they will never allow. Diamonds, sapphires, and jades are always protected by glass cases and security systems. That is how Y/N should see this.

‘Your safety is the most important thing.’

“More than my happiness?” Damian and Tim stared at Y/N with the answer clear in their eyes, but Y/N wanted to see them say it. He wanted to see them admit that they did not care for his happiness as long as he was trapped within these thick walls and gilded windows.

‘You were happy before.’ Y/N sighed, “That is because it was an illusion.” E/C eyes, dull and lacking emotion, “Tell me Dami, how can I go back to that illusion when in the morning it is the sun’s reflections off the bars on the windows that wake me up? Or the feeling of those trackers in my body replacing the collar you all want to put around my neck?”

++++

Bruce stared at the photo, taking in the smiles and the way those eyes used to shine. Y/N always had a great smile, full of his emotions and rarely ever fake. His eyes always the most expressive, and it is why Bruce found it easy to see when he was lying.

Granted, in Y/N’s defense, he’s never had a real reason to lie before. He was open with everyone about his thoughts, opinions, and desires. Bruce made it that way. Bruce swaddled him in the comfort that only he and the family could provide in order to make it so Y/N would always rely on them for that. He made it so Y/N would never have to lie, or feel the need too.

Then Y/N just had to get curious. Bruce doesn’t know who is to blame for this sudden defiance in Y/N, but he does put a lot of blame on those ocean documentaries. Even when he was young, Y/N always had a fascination for them. Watching them over and over again, reading the subtitles, memorizing them, so now he can just watch the documentaries while already knowing what is going on.

His attention turned to the photo he had bought from that photographer in the Dominican Republic. Y/N was freediving and looking like he was in his element.

Bruce didn’t feel bad for taking Y/N back, but he did feel bad about cutting a hobby short. There was denying that Y/N was a natural at this sport, and Bruce had always wanted to encourage each of his kids’ interest.

But not this one. Not one that meant Y/N had to live far from them and was dangerous. At least with vigilantism, Batman was there in case anything turned south. There was no one in the water for Y/N in case something happened. Free diving is dangerous, and the ocean is unpredictable. Bruce can’t help Y/N if he goes free diving, especially if he goes alone.

Sighing, Bruce rubbed his forehead and checked the surveillance cameras one more time. Y/N and Dick were in one of the study rooms. From what it looks like, Dick is trying to talk to Y/N who was standing next to the windows, looking away from the other.

Perhaps, it’s about time Bruce steps in. Y/N hasn’t talked to him since the day Bruce grounded him, about two months ago and the other has done a great job in staying out of Bruce’s radar. The only time Bruce has seen Y/N in person is when he goes into Y/N's room at night after patrol to make sure that he is still there. A new fear unlocked that one night, when everyone is out and Alfred is asleep, Y/N will disappear once more.

No one knows how Y/N got out that one night, and no matter how many questions were asked, Y/N never said anything. Damian had tried bargaining with him, telling him that if Y/N told them how he got out then some days of his grounding would be taken off. Y/N huffed, a bitter smile taking over his face.

Bruce rose from his desk, shutting down his computer and leaving his own study. It is about time he and his son have a conversation. One sided or not.

He walked over to the study room that Dick and Y/N were in. Halting before the door and listening to the voices coming from inside.

“Y/N, I am telling you that no one is going to believe you after the stunt you pulled.”

“But you will be with me. Dick, I just want to go to the beach. We did it all the time.”

“Mmm, and look how that ended up.”

“Me being happy for a few months.”

“You’re still on that, Y/N?” Bruce opened the heavy doors, silencing the conversation and causing two sets of eyes to land on him. Dick was leaning against the desk, and Y/N had his back to the window. Both of their faces showed their surprise and confusion, until E/C eyes flickered to the ceiling and the corners of the room where he saw the cameras. Confusion became annoyance, rolling his eyes and turning back towards the window.

Dick and Bruce made eye contact, and when Bruce nodded his head towards the door Dick didn’t fight it. He took the hint and walked out, sparing Y/N and Bruce one last look before shutting the large oak doors.

Y/N refused to look at him. Bruce walked closer, behind the desk and next to Y/N, standing next to the window.

“Y/N.” His son moved to pull out his external processors, but Bruce grabbed his wrists within his large hands, effectively stopping his son. Bruce set his jaw, “None of that, we need to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Then listen.” Y/N scrunched his nose and furrowed his brows, glaring at Bruce. The older man sighed, but held his grip on those thin wrists, noting that Y/N had stopped tugging his arms and was in fact waiting for Bruce to start talking, “I understand that you are upset, and that you are upset at us for meddling.” Y/N raised an eyebrow, his face slowly smoothening out and his lips no longer in a pout.

Bruce sighed, releasing one of Y/N’s wrists to push aside his bangs. Gently brushing his son’s forehead and pushing the rest of the strand behind his ear, minding the processing unit resting behind Y/N’s ear.

“And I know you’re aware that if you had asked, we would have said no.” Y/N’s lips pouted once more and his eyes became a little downcast. Sadness blanketing over him and Bruce felt a bit bad for revealing that, but Y/N knows it already.

“Y/N, why are you insistent on wanting to be independent? There are millions of people in this world who still wish for their parent’s support, and thousands of people who would give up everything to have a life and opportunities that you have.” Y/N scrunched his nose, feeling guilt curl in his chest.

He knows that he is lucky. Y/N is aware of how fortunate he is to have all that he has and then some. He knows that there are people in this world who would kill to have what he has.

Yet, just like there are millions of people who want what he has, there are also millions of people who strive for their independence against their family. Millions of people who take pleasure in making choices that affect only them. Millions of people who don’t let their disabilities define their life, and learn to accept and live with them.

“I am aware that I am fortunate, that my deafness has only been a part of my life instead of completely defining it,” Y/N acknowledged, turning his attention back to outside where it was beginning to snow. He ignored his reflection, not wanting to look at the weak person in front of him.

“I am grateful for all you have done, along with Alfred and everyone else. No amount of ‘thank you’s’ will ever be enough. But Bruce–” Y/N turned his eyes once more to Bruce, E/C eyes meeting ocean blue, “– No amount of money or gadgets is going to deny the fact that I am deaf.

“I am reliant on you all for a lot of things, and you raised me that way so that I can forever depend on you. Which… I know it wouldn't bother some people but it bothers me.” Y/N’s eyes shined with unshed tears, as if the very thought of having to rely on them was shameful.

“I am not fragile, nor am I glass. I am from East Gotham, just like Jason.” Bruce is aware of that. Like every East Gothamite, the both of them had the stubbornness that made Bruce question if he had a lineage that tied him back to that part of town. Y/N is strong in his own ways, and stubborn in others. Bruce will agree on that. He will agree that Jason and Y/N are more like brothers than those Bruce has seen when blood related.

However, Jason and Y/N are not the same. They were different pieces cut from the same cloth. Jason was shaped and molded to withstand the toughest and dangerous situations, to be durable and take a beating.

Y/N was not molded like that. Y/N was refined and polished to be treated gently and kindly, to only know the kindest hands and gentlest of uses.

“And I know that compared to the rest of you, I am weaker. I… I am not strong like you or Jason, I am not fast like Damian, nor am I as smart as Tim, or charismatic like Dick.” Bruce’s grip tightened on the one wrist he was still holding, wanting to deny everything Y/N had said because he hated hearing Y/N self-deprecating himself like that. Y/N is kinder than any of them, easier to talk to, and has almost the same amount of medical knowledge that Alfred has.

Y/N is the normalcy they all crave for when they come back from a patrol or mission. He reminds them in the gentlest ways that they are human. They are not just vigilantes, not another person hiding behind a cowl, a cape, or a domino mask. He reminds them that they are brothers, friends, allies, a father (in Bruce’s case).

“But just because of that, do you really have to control every part of my life? I wish you had more faith in me to let me go and learn to be strong on my own, just like you do with everyone else.” Y/N stared up at Bruce with a hurt expression, E/C eyes staring into Bruce’s blue eyes through those lashes that normally would be able to grant Y/N anything he wished. A simple bat of those lashes and eyes would have everyone running around trying to do as he wished.

“Y/N–”

“If you can’t trust me, at least trust yourself that you taught me well enough to be by myself.” But the thing is, is that Bruce doesn’t trust himself. He’s failed so many times and he fears that this one failure will be the one that breaks him. It’ll break the boys, the girls, Alfred, him. It’ll break everyone.

Y/N doesn’t realize it, and Bruce wonders if it is because he doesn’t want to get it or he just doesn’t. He wonders if Y/N chooses not to see his importance in this family so the burden doesn’t feel as heavy. If anything should happen to Y/N, Bruce can’t guarantee the safety of Gotham anymore. He couldn’t guarantee the safety of his Robins, past and current. If Bruce couldn’t protect literally the easiest person to protect, then who was he to try and protect a city?

Y/N, sensing Bruce’s hesitation and unease, tried to withdraw his hand from Bruce’s grip and shrug off the hand that was resting on his cheek. His hopes and wants crashing onto the carpeted floor, replacing his chest with anger and disappointment. He's been feeling those two emotions a lot lately. They are carving its way in his chest like it is their new home, and he wonders if it will be. Will he hold onto these feelings for the rest of his life as he stares out these large windows and reminisces what the sun felt like on his skin and the breeze through his hair. Does the biting cold still turn his nose and cheeks red, and does the heat and humid summers still make his freckles pop and skin gleam?

“...Forget it. I… it was stupid to ask that of you.” The raging inferno of anger died, filling his chest with the smoke of its fury and his stomach warm with the dying embers. A new emotion, one he is intimately familiar with, filled him instead. It is one he knows like the back of his hand, an emotion that is more of his identity than his deafness.

Sadness.

It is like a steady stream, filling the smoking cavity in his chest with cold water, putting out the embers and making that smoke turn to steam. Burning his muscles and organs with a painful sting, and filling his person with ice cold water instead of the burning fire. Y/N knows sadness. He knows the emotion well and sometimes it reminds him of a scar. Never truly gone, just sometimes forgotten. It sits at the back of the mind, hiding behind the good times, the happy emotions, until it is accidentally hit and it draws your attention. From there, it is no longer at the back of your mind, but all you can think about.

Sadness, to Y/N, is like a scar that has marred its way across his face. Never forgotten and for the whole world to see, unless makeup and a smile is put on it.

Y/N, in the basicness of emotions, is sad. He is hurt, upset, exhausted, and sad.

“Leave me alone, Bruce.” Bruce’s grip tightened once more, and his jaw clenched. He’s finally got Y/N within his vicinity to talk, like hell he’s letting go. Y/N narrowed his eyes and pulled his arm, “Let go, Bruce.”

He pulled again, “Bruce.” The man’s iron grip never waivered, and Y/N felt the air in his lungs begin to escape quicker than it could fill the organs. He brought his other hand up to try and peel those thick fingers off his wrist, but Bruce grabbed his other hand.

“I still don’t understand why you would want to leave.” Y/N scrunched his nose, “If you can’t understand, even after I spelled it out for you, then maybe you should stop being a detective.” Bruce didn’t feel insulted or slighted at Y/N’s words, chalking it up to Y/N being upset still.

“How can I make you want to stay here?” Y/N sighed, and Bruce could feel that fight leaving his son’s body. The tension in his arms disappeared.

“How can I know that it is here that I am meant to be, when I haven’t been anywhere else?” Bruce opened his mouth, to which Y/N effectively cut him off, “East Gotham doesn’t count, and the Dominican Republic would have counted if you all hadn’t kidnapped me.”

“We didn’t kidnap you.” Y/N gawked at him, and the fight returned, “You did kidnap me! Do you need a dictionary definition of what kidnapping is?! It is the unlawful abduction, aspiration and confinement of a person against their will!”

“You. Live. Here.” Bruce gritted out and Y/N’s jaw clenched, “Well I don’t WANT to be here!” He snarled and tried once more to loosen Bruce’s grip on his wrists.

“What is it with all of you NOT comprehending that?! No matter how you look at it, no matter what angle you try to take this from, Bruce. I am a prisoner within this manor!” Y/N glared at Bruce, “Just what did I do that warranted the surveilance, the trackers, the stupid god for fucking sake imaginary collar you all want me to have on?!”

Bruce growled out, “You left when you are only meant to stay here. It is the consequences of your actions.”

“I am not your property!” Y/N snarled, “ Nor am I a pet that you can keep chained and trapped in the house!” Bruce felt something snap within him and he released Y/N’s wrist and watched the other stumble from the sudden loss of support.

Y/N righted himself, still glaring at the man. Bruce took a deep breath, “Fine.”

“Huh?”

“You want to try your luck out there, then go. I will give you an hour's head start.” Y/N stared at Bruce in suspicion, “What are you getting at?” Bruce made a show of adjusting his watch, “I will give you an hour, only one. If you can outrun us, out maneuver us, or outsmart us until sunrise, you can choose how your future plays out.”

“‘Us?’” Bruce smiled, “All of us.” Y/N wanted to bite out a ‘not fair’ comment, but found a more pressing matter, “What about the trackers?” Bruce fished out his phone, and made a dramatic show of pressing some buttons, he then showed Y/N what appeared to be a small map, like a GPS, on his phone.

“Turned off.” Y/N ignored the feeling of disgust seeing that his location was literally on their phones.

“Start running Y/N, your hour has already started.” Y/N bolted out the study room, not looking back.

Bruce stayed in the room, looking out the window as the sun began to set and the snow turned dark. Light footsteps entered the room, and Bruce could basically hear the eyebrow raise, “Not now Alfred, save it for when Y/N comes back.”

The old butler humphed, “He’s always gotten sick when playing in the snow.” Bruce hummed, “Then I guess we better make this quick.”

“Are you sure an hour was a good idea? He did sneak out of the manor before.” Ocean blue eyes filled with mirth, and he tapped his ears, “If Y/N wants to know what it’s like to be deaf, then he’ll play this game deaf. It’ll teach him how lucky he is to have his hearing.” Alfred’s eyes widened, “They turn off without his knowledge.”

“Once he reaches a certain distance, they do, and he can’t turn them back on. Only I have the power to do that.”

In the hall, suited up and waiting in the shadows, were the rest of this crooked family. Waiting for his orders, “Give him an hour, then find him.”

++++

Y/N knows this is a losing game. He knows that this game is set for his failure, and he knows that once this game is over, he will most likely never be able to set foot outside again. Not without a babysitter.

When he external processors cut out, he knows what angle Bruce is playing out and he knows that his chances of making it to sunrise have become nearly 0%. He may not be as smart as Tim or anyone else in his family, but if you live with geniuses you learn how to read between the lines.

He somehow managed to flag down a taxi before telling them where to go. Not missing the slight judgment cross their face and Y/N wonders if they know he cannot hear them. Y/N wonders if they know he is being chased and he essentially is just digging a bigger and deeper hole for himself. The bars will get thicker and the chain will be heavier, but if that is the outcome of this, then Y/N believes that this will be worth it.

He clutched the bag closer.

When he arrives at the station, he knows his hour is up and he knows that Barbara is watching him through the cameras. She is watching him buy his ticket, and is retelling everything to his siblings. He knows this because in front of him is Nightwing, drawing a crowd and making everyone look around for the villain.

‘Going somewhere?’

‘Only temporarily.’

‘Temporarily is too long Y/N, let's go back home. Alfred has a peach cobbler ready.’ Nightwing held his hand out as if Y/N would actually take it. Which is fine, because Y/N knows through the giant circular mirror hanging from the ceiling, that Spoiler and Red Robin are behind him.

Y/N stared at the hand once more, and he wondered if this is what it feels like to know the path you should take and still choose the other one. Taking a deep breath, Y/N said the one word that would get everyone running. It would have people scrambling and trying to seek cover and get out of a place that made everyone have a close vicinity to each other.

“Joker!” Like someone shouting fire, the world was set into motion and Y/N watched as his view got obstructed by the rush of people. He disappeared within the crowds, dodging idle hands and ducking into the crowd. He may not be able to hear, but he can feel the panic that everyone else was feeling. Y/N saw parents pick their kids up, lovers grabbing each other’s hands, and strangers pushing and shoving other strangers.

He rushed down the escalator, towards the Amtrak that had his destination written all over it. Y/N didn’t have to turn around to know that it was Nightwing right behind him. He can feel the heavy and frantic gaze and if he could hear, without a doubt his name would be filling the air.

His heart picked up at the sight of the doors closing, and through some luck, he squeezed in at the last minute. The metal shutting behind him, and large latex covered hands slammed into the glass. Dick’s frantic face stared at him, and Y/N couldn’t stop the smile from creeping on his face.

How it must feel for the rabbit to slip through the Hunter’s fingers.

When the train began moving, Y/N wiggled his fingers in a mockery of a goodbye. He now sees why Jason loves teasing Dick. Dick’s angry expression really does tickle a sore spot in Y/N. Choosing a spot near the windows, Y/N prepared himself for the 10 hours train ride. The sun will not be rising when he gets there, but he never expected to make it to sunrise. Peering into the duffle bag next to him, Y/N gave a bitter smile and turned his attention back to the passing sight of Gotham city.

In the Batcave, everyone was pacing and figuring out the best way to do this.

“Are you sure that is where he is going?”

“For the last time, I saw his ticket, yes. He is going there!” Jason winced at Barbara’s raised voice and he grit his teeth in irritation. He massaged his temples, “Why North Carolina? What is even there?”

“The beaches.”

“No shit you little spawn, but which one.” Nightwing didn’t bother reproaching his brother, and instead tightened his fist. He was so close to grabbing his brother. So close.

The very knowledge that his little brother had barely escaped him stoked two different emotions in him. Pride in knowing that his brother was fast, fast enough to get away from him, and irritation because he did slip through Nightwing’s fingers. Batman didn’t seem bothered.

In fact he looked awfully relaxed for someone whose son had just hopped on a train to North Carolina. Nightwing glared at him, “You know where he’s going.” Batman shrugged, “An idea.”

“Where?”

“Y/N took his freediving gear, and there’s only one beach in North Carolina that is worth freediving.”

++++

Y/N felt the water encompass him, hugging his limbs and freeing him of gravity. The light attached to his forehead illuminates the sea and sees marine life at night. The train ride had been long and restless, but he did manage to at least sleep for 4 hours, before his nerves woke him up once more.

It was still dark, but at 4 am in the morning, it would be stupid to assume there would be any light. Navigating to the pier at Wrightsville Beach had been difficult, constantly looking over his shoulders to make sure he wasn’t being followed. Then there was the actual jumping off of the pier that if anyone saw would have the cops racing over.

Finally though, he was here. Swimming in the water and just letting himself be. It was a poor replication of freedom, but if this will be all he is allowed he’ll take it. Who knows how long it'll be before he could do something like this. Y/N isn’t stupid. He knows that Bruce knows where he is at.

He knows his siblings are on their way over. Probably letting him get off the Amtrak first before jumping in the Batplane, or maybe even the Batboat. Y/N surfaced, and took a deep breath before diving below the surface once more.

God, this was all a terrible joke but here it was happening. Y/N could have never imagined his family doing this. When he was younger, he chalked up Bruce’s need to constantly check on him as anxiety because it was the first time the man had a completely normal person in the house. Jason had always been touchy, and then Dick came along who would ruffle their hair. Tim would hold his forearm and Damian would follow him where he went.

It wasn’t weird at all. That was Y/N’s normal, until he went to college and started making friends. Friends who were mature enough to see past his lack of hearing and shared their own sibling experiences.

Experiences that didn’t match Y/N’s.

His little trip outside the country only proved it, and Y/N wondered if it was a bad thing he decided to do in person classes instead of online. If he did online, he would live in the fantasy that his family was normal and they loved him as a person. No red flags would be waving because Y/N wouldn’t even know they are flags.

He felt the water around him begin to vibrate and from the way the fish started spazzing out, Y/N knew his time was limited. How funny it would be if he never rose to the surface again.

Sinking a bit further, he looked towards the surface and watched as the water distorted and ripples began to form, each one acting as a timer. Closing his eyes, he held his breath as long as he could, until his lungs began to ache. Lightheadedness caused him to almost inhale water.

Rising to the surface, he could see the ominous black shape and the people looking over the edge. Here he was swimming back to his captors’ arms. Like a mouse headed for the trap. A fish into a net.

Y/N has never hated himself more then when he took that breath of air and met the sight of cowled Batman, and masked Robin and former Robins.

‘Ready?’

“Even if I wasn’t you’d still take me.”

‘You lost Y/N, get out of the water.’ He accepted the ladder thrown down to him, and as soon as he was within arm distance, Red Hood and Red Robin hoisted him over the edge of the boat and it was Robin handing him a towel. Taking off his snorkel and flippers, Y/N let himself be guided to the inside, where an unmasked Dick sat at one of the tables with two cups of coffee. Red Hood pushed Y/N into the seat, squishing his body against the window as he laid his giant self on him. Sighing in relief and going limp.

Y/N didn’t mind. From his seat, he watched the sunrays begin to slowly peak over the horizon. The warm glow gently illuminating the darkness, the sun not in sight yet but it’s very beginnings making itself known. Y/N wonders if one day, he can fall into the illusion of once more having a choice in his decisions. That there will be multiple paths in front of him instead of just one.

A large hand patted his head, and Y/N felt disgusted that he welcomed it. Back to normalcy. He has to go back to normalcy. If he didn’t, Y/N really does believe he will go crazy. His fate has been chosen from the start, and he knows that there is little chance of changing it. He knows that all of this comes from a sick and twisted form of love, and Y/N wonders if this is the type of love he has always been destined for.

The worst part is if given the choice to start over, Y/N wouldn’t stop himself from meeting Jason. He wouldn’t stop Jason from stealing the Batmobile tires, and he wouldn’t stop Jason from being Robin. He would try and stop Jason from dying, but he wouldn’t stop Tim from being Robin, or anything really. Y/N loves Jason, he loves his family, he loves their flaws and vices, even if it means letting go of somethings. His desire to be on his own was temporary anyways, only a few years and he would come back.

It was never good to have a ‘white whale.’ That is what Moby Dick taught everyone who read it.

If freedom was his white whale, then his family are the whalers. Killing it and completely destroying anything that made him want to chase it.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Honestly.... I'm not to sure about the ending.

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 4 months

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thinking of mermaids AGAIN sooooooooooooooo

Merman!Ghost x Mermaid!Reader (for Mermay 2024)

cw: dubcon elements, rough sex, SELF-INDULGENT and therefore weird mermaid biology, (suspend disbelief idk and idc about mermaid biology, i just wanted to write ghost fucking a mermaid.), forced?-ish breeding (both parties were aware of the risks)

Merman!Ghost who's actually a selkie... of sorts.

Merman!Ghost who took the coat of a GREAT Greenland shark over three centuries ago and has lived as a shark ever since...

Merman!Ghost who's a deep dweller and has become quite the hunter, using the darkness of the depths to attract dumb prey so he can kill them.

Merman!Ghost who's not above mauling humans, in fact he despises them, especially when he finds them hurting animals. Sure, he kills them, but he's an animal himself.

Merman!Ghost who when he's bored causes issues on purpose, including scaring fish and other underwater life, and finds great humour in it.

Merman!Ghost who constantly gives trouble to fishing boats by trying to sink them, slamming his tail on the side of them to send them rocking side to side... and by ripping their nets with his teeth...

Merman!Ghost who has had horror stories and cautionary tales told of him by many navigators, pirate captains, sailor crews... who has become somewhat of a legend, a myth, and gets referred to as "The Creature".

Merman!Ghost who's not immune to mermaid song, surprisingly enough, but who can resist it plenty well.

Merman!Ghost who hears the lilting of your voice through the dark water but doesn't seek you out.

Merman!Ghost who succeeds in resisting... for days, weeks, months...

Merman!Ghost who awakes to the endless sound of your singing bubbling into his ears, and gets lulled to sleep by it as well.

Merman!Ghost who finds himself going insane by your voice, that follows him like a backdrop for every waking moment of his life, and cannot tune it out.

Merman!Ghost who eventually bites the bait and allows himself to rise from his domain.

Merman!Ghost follows your voice as it carries for miles upon miles.

Merman!Ghost who comes across a natural cave by the beach. Way too close to the beach. Close enough for him to know he'll end up washing up and getting stuck.

Merman!Ghost who checks both sides, making sure the beach is empty before he tentatively strips off his coat for the first time in years.

Merman!Ghost who stashes his coat between the rocks, covering it with algae before he dares venture into the cave.

Merman!Ghost who can't see as easily without the shark eyes, who can't swim as well without the shark fins, who can barely walk because all his human muscles are atrophied.

Merman!Ghost who wades in waist deep water into the darkness of the cave, looking around for you, his burly, calloused hands using the rocks as crutches to seek you out.

Merman!Ghost who only notices you when it's too late... when your song suddenly stops and the water splashes as you dive back in.

Merman!Ghost who watches you zoom past him in the water, a slippery fishtail propelling you in a zigzag amidst the rocks before you emerge out of the cave.

Merman!Ghost who watches you grab his shark coat and try to make off with it...

Merman!Ghost who takes his sweet time returning back to the mouth of the cave, watching you bob on the water with a mischievous smirk on your lips.

Merman!Ghost who demands "Give it back."

Merman!Ghost who scowls when you tell him "No." and "If you want it back, you have to marry me."

Merman!Ghost who crosses his arms and glares at you, shaking his head and refusing.

Merman!Ghost who scowls even more when you tell him "Then I guess it's bye bye to your skin.".

Merman!Ghost who despises being a human more than he despises the prank you're pulling on him.

Merman!Ghost who tries to negotiate and offers you something in exchange for his coat.

Merman!Ghost who pushes you against the rocks at the entrance of the cave as the cold water and seafoam wash over you both while he kisses you, pressing his tongue, the only warm part of his body, into your mouth, toying with yours.

Merman!Ghost who licks at the salty sea water glistening on your skin and the scales adorning your pretty neck, an arm wrapped around the small of your back.

Merman!Ghost whose human fingers, pale and wrinkled from the salt water, wrap around your exposed breast, softly tugging on the pert nipple while his mouth kisses and sucks at the patches of skin amidst your scales.

Merman!Ghost who tsk's at you for having been singing for so long to attract him, and scolds you for getting him so riled up for weeks on end with your song.

Merman!Ghost whose hands push you up onto the rocks so he can dip his head down your chest, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples, sucking it slowly and watching you mewl and cry so beautifully.

Merman!Ghost who gets a reminder of the one positive side of being a human, as his human cock rises up suddenly and stiffly, large and thick, already oozing precum against your tail scales.

Merman!Ghost who carefully grinds his leaking cock against your slick cunt, right before the spot your thighs meet and blend into a tail.

Merman!Ghost who turns you over, bending you over the rocks, one hand on the back of your neck, the other steadying you around the bones of your hip...

Merman!Ghost who plunges his hooded cock deep into your cunt, causing you both to cry out in delight, eyes rolling and jaws going slack as he bottoms out.

Merman!Ghost who bullies his cock deep into your cunny, feeling how your warm, gummy walls contract and squeeze around him while he groans loudly.

Merman!Ghost who pounds away at you again and again, hearing your voice go high-pitched and squeaky with each snap of his hips, finally shattering the mind-numbing and intoxicating mermaid song he's had stuck in his head for weeks.

Merman!Ghost who watches you squirm and whine as you cum around his thick cock, nearly choking it with how tight you get, before he slams his hips against the back of your tail a few more times, and shoots his cum deep inside you.

Merman!Ghost who watches smugly how blissful, quiet and calm you are after he's done, breathing heavily and your body buzzing.

Merman!Ghost who snatches his shark coat from your hands as you're too fucked out to remember you're meant to keep it out of his reach.

Merman!Ghost who puts his shark coat back on and morphs back to the shape he's comfortable in, then wraps his maw around your tired body, beginning to drag you underwater with him.

Merman!Ghost whose body rumbles with a laugh when you try to get free and loosen his grip on you, demanding he let you go.

Merman!Ghost who tells you "I thought you wanted me to be your husband? Well, I made you my broodmare too... Now I have to take care of you."

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strkie · 2 months

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dog eared. logan/wolverine x male, wolf mutant, reader

logan finds you by chance in the mountains, the first mutant he meets since his memory wipe. he spends his best days there with you, up in your cabin.

notes. yea just saw the new deadpool movie ;;

details. guns, death. no pronouns for reader, but implied masculine pronouns. hurt/comfort. set before the 2000 film.

He meets you in the middle of the Colorado mountains, funnily enough. The trees glower over him and the rock beneath his feet are just starting to develop a frosted layer of snow, then there you are, standing with a rifle pointed at him.

This doesn't immediately intimidate him— a lot needs to intimidate him, and you pointing a weapon that won't kill him at him doesn't deter him in the slightest, especially when it's just the two of you up here. The winds howl and the only thing that indicates Logan's presence is the way his hands tighten on his backpack and the smell coming from him. He has long since tuned out his own scent, but the way your nose twitches lets him know you can acutely sense it. Not entirely human then, he decides, even without your own mutant smell coming off you. It explains why you're so easily pointing a gun at him— mutants are still a rare breed these days, but as you analyze him the barrel of the rifle gradually shifts downward instead. You blatantly stare at him for a moment before promptly turning away and hiking back to wherever you came from.

Logan is young still, not scarred by the X-Men and their enemies just yet even though having gone through the two World Wars, so the sight of another mutant throws him off a little. Mutants aren't a publicity known thing just yet even with all the speculations, and seeing you so nonchalantly dismiss him grates him a bit, if he's honest. It's easy to decide to follow you.

Regardless that there's no one for miles around up here, he doesn't shout to get your attention back, and just stumbles after you instead. He follows your scent as you zigzag through thick tree trucks and bushes, ducking under branches and leaping over a stream until you both get to a cabin. The home is wooden and obviously handmade, but something in Logan lurches unexpectedly at the sight of it. You easily sneak inside the doorway leaving him along to look around, though apart of you knows he will follow you inside. As his feet take him to the house, he slowly gazes at the vegetable garden in a small fenced off yard, can hear the sounds of a chicken coop nearby and the rushing of a fresh water source. It's picturesque, and he longs to live in a place such as this.

When he does open the cabin door though, the sight that greets him as just as unexpected as the house, if not more so— there's a herd of dogs lounging inside, all peeking up to look at his arrival. Logan stops instantly, taking in the situation. The dogs aren't hostile and seem to follow your lead as you stand in the middle of the group, shotgun still nestled in the crook of your arm and head held high. Still, you don't immediately shoot him, so he takes it as a good sign.

You continue to stare at him for a moment, your masculine energy shining in Logan's senses.

"You are a mutant." You say calmly, though there is still a tense way to your voice. Obviously it's futile to deny it, so he agrees, looking into your eyes but still aware of all the dogs.

"So are you." Logan says, cocking his head a bit. You shift your feet, uncomfortable, but then nod in affirmative. The dogs crowd around you in a mass of fur and dark eyes, acutely noting that you are anxious, but they do not seem harmful unless you make the first move. Logan can't help but notice it, stare lingering on the biggest mutt.

There's a stiff pause between you before you speak again.

"Want a beer?" You say more casual than Logan excepts, putting your rifle down on the nearest surface. You turn your back to him and head to the kitchen, but all the dogs continue to watch him if he does something wrong, and Logan knows you're the head of the pack just from that. He grumps, but slowly follows you through the herd of dogs and to the refrigerator as you pull out a beer bottle to hand to him, careful not to step on any tails or paws.

"What's with the dogs?" Logan can't help but ask, and sees you smile for the first time.

After that afternoon, it became a sort of routine to have Logan on your property. He usually only comes for the beer, but apart of you knows he also likes your company, if not because of your personality then because you're also a mutant. Sometimes you see him cutting firewood or tending to the chickens, sometimes looking at the gardens with obvious confusion, but whichever way it warms you.

Having lived on your homestead for so many years just with your dog pack, you don't necessarily know how to interact with him normally at first, but seem to learn quickly. You only go into town for the basic necessities, like milk or bags of dog food, occasionally bringing back the stray dog as well, so being with Logan in your own environment is weird sometimes. You do like it though, you like him, having another humanoid to count on.

At first he was obviously begrudgingly attracted to you, staying at arms length despite curing your fridge of alcohol, but you don't mind. You never kick him out, never shout and are always polite and patient, even when he makes mistakes. He keeps coming back for that, to the point of sleeping on your couch and being a cushion for the friendlier dogs. He still doesn't know what your mutation is even after five months of this, and you don't know his. He thinks you know about his healing abilities though— he can't help but be a little clumsier because he knows he can heal, and you always make him a bit more vulnerable, so it's easy to accidentally physically harm himself. But he has never shown his claws to you before, and at this point is scared to do so. Regardless that logically you won't be afraid of him, he still wonders about it sometimes.

When he does eventually find out about your mutation, it's not super difficult to understand.

Logan wakes up on morning from hearing a wounded animal call outside the cabin, realized you weren't there, and rushed out to find a dead deer with a giant wolf over it. The rest of the dog pack were calm and collected, helping the wolf with the deer or just staying around it. The wolf is much bigger than any dog, but when Logan takes an actual look at it it's obvious the wolf is you. You seem quiet and anxious, though when Logan helps you carry the deer into the butcher shed is when you realize you are completely safe with him.

After that you slink around in your wolf-form much more and for longer periods of time, rubbing against his side like a cat or laying near his feet. And, honestly, it's the most authentic you have ever shown him, so Logan doesn't complain. He hardly feels the need to— seeing you as a wolf is as magical as it is terrifying, and he loves it.

When you see his claws for the first time, there is nothing too dramatic about it. You're sharing a bed— not the first occasion this happens, but it still feels more important, somehow— and he unleashes his claws from him skin to show you. He tells you almost everything that night— how he doesn't remember his past but knows he's been alive too long, how he knows the metal in him is not normal, and how he's afraid of it. You kiss him first afterwards, sharing a meaningful silence and gripping his hand in a tight fist, promising him that he could never hurt you, no matter how he doesn't believe it. You kiss him long and hard at first, but then ease into a smile and a soft moment of weakness, tearful and gentle. He lets you hold him, but you both wake up with his arms around you instead. It feels like this is what you both are destined for.

One day, after coming home from wood chopping, Logan finds you dead in the cabin with a mutant hunter's bullets in you. The hunter himself is dead too with your dog pack surrounding his corpse, but all the dogs are whimpering or crying in anguish. Logan buries you out by the stream, leaves the hunter's body in his truck on the base of the mountain, and leaves with a newfound emptiness in his chest.

#male reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x male reader #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine x male reader #wolverine #logan x male reader #x men #hugh jackman #logan howlett x reader

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remxedmoon · 2 months

Note

What are your thoughts on ISAT's magic system?

AUTISM BLAST

okay long rambly post incoming. for the record like 90% of this is pure unfiltered headcanon. and almost all of this is about colors. sorry if this is hard to follow!!! i need to get this all out of my system.

oh also! a lot of this is based on a really good post by @/chronologically-challenged that shows off the differences between each character’s craft style! go check that out it’s really good

okay!! so!!! colors. this is just my own thing, but i personally like to color code the different types of craft!

don’t worry about those middle tones yet just put a pin in those

there’s still a little bit of color variety within craft types (for flavor), but generally, rock is blue, paper is yellow, and scissors is red. i’m not going to lie to you i only did this because the splatoon testfire had these colors. it’s also why my triplets designs are colored like that!

i think these colors also just fit the descriptions of these crafts? red feels like a more aggressive and active color, which matches how piercing craft is generally more focused on dealing damage, blue tends to be calmer, which matches protective craft being more supportive , that kinda thing. something something children’s hospital. yellow is a bit of a wildcard here lol, it just looks nice with the other two.

putting aside the colors for a mo! don’t worry those’ll come back soon. i’ve also been thinking a lot about how dual craft types work, though this is a little more speculative. i’m entirely basing this on how mira works. basically, one craft type seems to be more ‘dominant’ over the other. while mira is both paper and scissors, she’s still weak to rock, her basic attack is scissors, and her scissors skill (jolly round rondo) does much more damage than her paper skill (artsy silent burst). she behaves more like a scissors type, with an extra affinity for paper. which i think is interesting!!!

in terms of colors, i think this would manifest as mira’s craft being tinted orange, as a mix of both her craft type’s colors! this is partially what those uncategorized colors are for. while her scissors attacks are only slightly tinted, her paper attacks would be a lot closer to orange! and this would apply to other dual crafts as well. a rock/paper type would have more greenish attacks, a rock/scissors type would have more purply ones, etc etc.

i think this color mixing would also apply to single craft types trying to use a craft type that isn’t their own, though it’d prolly become less pronounced the more a person ‘gets used’ to using that craft type, so to speak. in a while rockodile would be pretty solidly purple, while rock bottom is more of an indigo color, and odile’s craft skills probably only slightly tinted as well.

ok!!! that was a lot about colors. i’m really fucking normal about colors. onto craft styles!! this is still kinda about colors tho sorry. also, again, go check out @/chronologically-challenged’s post if you haven’t already, it’ll prolly explain this better than i will

for a tl;dr on that post, each country has a different way of using craft. the forgotten island has lightless craft that tends to manifest as stars and zigzags, vaugarde has big, rounded bursts of grey craft (with smaller circles around it), and ka bue’s craft is more diamond shaped/triangular and tends to be on the lighter side.

this is also the part i’m a little less sure about. i haven’t drawn these out in my normal style!! so a lot of this is subject to change. sorry about that!

anyways. i wanted to preserve the island’s lightless craft while still making it colorful, so i decided to give it a sort of. halo effect? i guess? i wanted it to vaguely resemble the ring of light around a black hole or a solar eclipse, but that is a lot harder to do with the zigzag shape of the craft + my color limitations. and as i’ve recently learned, glow effects look really weird with my pixelly art. so this is all just flat colors 😓

shhh don’t mind the art here i’ve totally posted it before 🩶

vaugarde is pretty simple comparatively!! the craft is a sort of midshade ingame, so i just made the main color the normal craft colors. not much to say here!

and ka bue is in a similar boat! i did kinda draw it in my odile sprite redraw, but i didn’t really look at references so it’s kinda boring looking there. not much to say here either!!

and!! as we can see from the king’s special attack art, craft styles can kinda mix together. king’s style follows the general shape of vaugardian craft, but keeps the shade and stars from the forgotten island! i think it’d be fun to play with that a little more teehee. i imagine these are a lot more variable depending on how engrossed someone is in a culture, hence why odile’s craft doesn’t borrow from vaugarde’s style. unless she does? it’s not like we see other ka buans using craft in game. who knows.

also because i forgot, some extra bonus doodles of that craft color mixing i mentioned earlier! yipee!

and that’s it!!! there’s probably some other stuff that i am. currently forgetting. but this post is absurdly long enough!!! thank you so much for the ask i’m so sorry for autism blasting you about isat and color theory. am i still cool. here’s all of my craft doodles as compensation for reading this giant infodump. i’m so so sorry.

#do i tag this as marshdoodles? i probably should #marshdoodles #marshtalkin #isat #in stars and time #isat spoilers #‘i’m just going to make a quick post about my craft hcs this should only take an hour or so’#im so sorry for dropping a category 5 autism attack on you #also sorry if there’s like. typos or grammatical errors in here. i had to rewrite a few bits.#i’m so normal and sane about isat. and color theory.#please stick your fingers between the bars of my cage :3 #updating the link here since op changed their username!

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

Text

Roads Untraveled 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, pregnancy, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Single and pregnant, you discover a super soldier in the dumpster but he might not be hero you think he is.

[This is a rewrite of a series of the same name which I removed a couple years ago]

Characters: Silverfox!Steve Rogers

Note: I finally did this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

‘When he went away The blues walked in and met me Oh, yeah if he stays away Old rocking chair’s gonna get me All I do is pray...’

You sway to the melody as you wipe dry the last plate. You set it in the rack as Etta James’ soulful crooning wafts around the kitchen. Just the simple task of washing the dishes has you out of breath. You can no longer hum along as you’re suddenly light headed with sweat speckled across your brow. Even the breeze drifting in through the open window can’t cool the constant heat brewing within you.

You brace your lower back as you reach for the dish towel and pop open the cupboard. The music drones to silence as the next some in queue loads. Your rounded stomach presses to the counter as you take a mug and dry it inside and out. Strange, you don’t remember the song starting like that; the strange warbling noise much unlike Marvin Gaye’s rich tones.

You set the mug on the shelf and back up. Another noise peaks your attention, too tinny to be a snare. You rub your stomach mindlessly as you sling the cloth over your shoulder. You waddle across the tile to the folding table beneath the window. You tap pause on your phone and the bluetooth speaker goes silent.

Your fingers pick the damp fabric away from your bump. These days you can’t avoid getting soaked. Even as you can’t forget about the burden of your condition, you’re still oblivious to how it gets in the way until it does. You sigh as you listen for another clue.

A pained deep grunt floats up from below. Distant but decisive, another rustle beneath the unexpected noise. You lean over the table, a hand on the ledge as you push the pane higher. You bend, stomach pressed to the speaker, and peer down. You expect another dumpster diver searching for empties to trade in; rather you meet a most unexpected sight.

There is a man in the dumpster, alright, but he isn’t moving. From there, you can’t see very clearly. You squint at the figure strewn among the trash but the zigzag of the fire escape obscures your eye line.

You shouldn’t go and see. Not only is it a lot of effort, but it’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be wandering into alleys to check on strangers in dumpsters. You don’t know any good reason someone might be swimming in garbage. Nor do you think they would want to be bothered.

Still, the prickling in your neck urges you to do something. There’s just something so peculiar about the angle of the arm you can see clearer than the rest of the body. At least they’re moving, even if they sound agonized.

You take your phone and untether it from the bluetooth speaker. You unlock it and keep your thumb ready to dial out. You move as quickly as you can, not very, and waddles along the back of the couch into the entry way. You take your keys from the hook near your door and step into your cushy slides.

You turn back the latch and leave the door unlocked behind you. The slides shift on your swollen feet as you rush down to the elevator. God, your back hurts. You try not to lean too far back as it only adds to the pain. You need a belly belt but they’re so darn expensive.

You’re out of breath as you step on and turn to watch the numbers count down. You’re still panting as you reach the lobby and push through the front doors, leaning into the heavy grated iron until it creaks loudly. You clamour down the steps to even ground and your hips pang.

You put your hand under your stomach, trying to lift it and ease the pressure in your hips. You blow out between your lips as you have to slow down. You shuffle across the grass and into the paved lobby. The stink of the trash brings you back to those early days of morning sickness. And afternoon sickness. And night sickness.

You try not to inhale too deeply as you step between the brick buildings. You bring your phone up, ready to hit those three digits in a heartbeat. You should’ve done so already. Even if you do, it’ll take hours for anyone to come out here.

You stop and listen a few steps from the dumpster. You don’t hear anything now. You look up at the sky, dimming towards evening in a mixture of pink and blue, the moon peeking palely through the hue. You grip your phone tight, keys jangling with your movement as you continue forward.

“Hello?” You call out, “is someone in there?” You linger near the corner of the dumpster, the trash reeking in your nostrils, “do you need help?”

No answer. You stare up, wondering how you might see inside. If you weren’t built like a keg, you might be able to see from the lower level of the fire escape but you can’t even make it one rung. You blink and call out again.

“Hello? Are you okay?”

You wait for a response. Silence again. Maybe they found their way out on their own. You huff. So much for all that. All you’ve done is added to the pain in your arches. You turn on your heel and a groan gurgles and plastic crinkles noisily.

You stop again, wavering, and peer back over your shoulder. A hand appears over the tops of the dumpsters edge and grips it. You face the large metal bin as the knuckles strain within the stained brown leather, fingertips poking out nakedly, blood and dirty tinged across the flesh. A long grunt follows as the figure drags himself to look over the top.

“Sir, are you--” you begin, voice catching at the sight of the cowl and the man’s square jaw. The white star on his chest stuns you. It’s him. Everyone knows that uniform, that face, even under his helmet. New York’s own Captain America.

You gape as the super soldier strains and swings himself out of the dumpster with one arm. His other is hanging limply as his feet hit the pavement. His knees crack and buckle. He drops down onto them and hisses.

“Captain America?” You utter dumbly.

He puts his fist to the ground and leans on his arm. He hangs his head and heaves. He drags a leg forward, planting his foot, and makes himself stand. He pushes his shoulders back and winces, reaching to cradle his dangling arm.

“Steve,” he rasps, “goddamn.”

You don’t expect the obscenity. Not from him. He leans against the dumpster and turns his chin up. He gnashes his teeth as he grips his arm and jerks, moving the heavy bin with his effort. The pop of his shoulder is sickening as he growls tightly. He stomps his foot and as he shakes out the arm he just put back into place.

He reaches up and peels off his cowl as he puts his head straight. He looks at you as he wipes the streak of blood from lip to chin. His blond locks are streaked silver and his face is lined. He looks much older than the magazine covers and the TV screens. The magic of editing, right?

He swipes the sweaty hair from his forehead and huffs.

“Steve,” you rest your phone on your stomach, “are you okay?”

He pushes himself away from the dumpster and puffs, “I’m fine. Just... a hiccup.”

You stare at him. He looks tired and worn. You believe him when he says he’s okay. He's a super soldier and the world has seen his many feats. Yet he looks completely hollow.

“Are you sure? I could call someone or...” you step forward and point to the slash that borders chest and shoulder, “you should clean that out, shouldn’t you?”

He looks down and grimaces, “had worse. I got comms. HQ doesn’t care about a few scratches.”

He goes to step forward and stumbles slightly. He snarls and kicks his foot into the gravel. He wiggles his knee and bends to rub the joint.

“I...” your mouth opens and closes. This isn’t the man you’ve seen in the media. He's not smiling and golden and shining. Still, he’s the Captain. “I live above,” you gesture upward, “I could help... or maybe you can just... sit for a little bit. Get yourself straight?”

He looks at you. As if for the first time. His forehead smooths as the tension eases from his jaw. His gaze slowly crawls down to his stomach and you see the dimple in his cheek.

“Your husband okay with that? I’m a bit of a mess,” his tone is lighter as he fixes his grip on his cowl.

“Oh no, I don’t have--” you chew your lip and look at the brick wall, “it’s just me. But I have first aid kit and learned to stitch in summer camp. I think I can still remember how.”

He glances around and nods, “got a back door?”

“Yeah, it’s... past you,” you nod in his direction.

He pivots stiffly and cranes to see around the dumpster. You near him and your keys jingle again. You follow him to the metal door with the glass window and you shove the key in and twist. You pull it open a few inches. It’s heavier than the front door. He grabs it and wrenches it all the way back.

“Thanks,” you murmur. “There’s an elevator.”

“Hm, fewer people see me, the better,” he sniffs as the door clanks behind him.

“It might take me a while,” you warn, “I’m slow.”

“What floor. I’ll meet you,” he offers.

“Sure, it’s three.”

“Number?”

“310.”

“I’ll find it,” he states and marches towards the stair sign.

You go to catch the elevator, stewing in disbelief on your ascent. You step off and continue on to your apartment. He’s already there. He stands with his hand on the frame, looking over his shoulder as you waddle down the hall towards him.

“It’s unlocked,” you say.

He opens it and waits for you. You thank him as you enter and he follows. He locks it and lingers behind you. You put your hand to the wall as you slip off your slides. He gently lays his cowl on the corner table and bends to unlace his boots. You hang the keys on the hook and place your phone on the small table.

He leaves his dirtied boots on the mat and limps forward. You stand in the open doorway of the living room and peek back at him. He looks around reluctantly.

“Please, sit down,” you insist and wave through the doorway before you pass through.

“I...” he begins and you hear his uneven gait down the hallway. “I don’t want to dirty your couch.”

“I have a steam cleaner,” you assure. “Sit, I’ll get the kit.”

He stares, his eyes once more scanning the space. Does he think this is a trip? That you’re some covert agent who all too conveniently found him? That’s absurd. Look at you.

You shrug off that ridiculous idea and cross to the kitchen. You open several drawers before you remember it’s in the bathroom. Of course. Your brain likes to play games these days. You grab the metal tin from under the sink and return to Steve.

He pulls off his gloves and balls them on the side table next to the couch. You come around the other side of the couch and sit, leaving lots of space between you. You squeeze the kits as you’re once more out of breath.

“You okay?” He turns the question on you.

“I’m not the one bleeding. Just pregnant,” you smile.

You balance the kit on your stomach as you lean back. You sanitize a needle and weave it with surgical thread. You put that aside and fish out an alcoholic swap. You shift the kit aside and push on the back of the couch as you try to sit forward. You shake and he helps you, a humbling assistance.

“First,” you turn to him, “we’ll see how deep it is,” you tear open the swap, “can I...”

“One sec,” he dips his fingers into the fabric and tears the sleeve, renting the fabric like tissue. His arm is thick and well-toned despite the years. A centurion like him can’t complain for the shape he’s in, even battered. “I can do it myself.”

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be easy.”

You reach as he angles towards you. You gingerly dab around the gash and he tenses. He takes a sharp breath, “you don’t have to be so gentle. I can handle pain.”

“Right,” you work more diligently.

He’s quiet as you tend to him, picking out gravel and some metal slivers. You worry that you might miss some. You lean in closer and he steels himself at your proximity.

“So,” he clears his throat, “just you and...” the kid?”

“We all make mistakes,” you chuckle. You can only laugh about it, as scared as you are.

“Mmm,” he flinches as you sweep down the length of the cut. It’s not that deep, mostly superficial.

“Let me put some steri-strips on, shouldn’t need the stitches, ” you say as you sift through the kit with one hand, “if you’re hungry, I have leftovers. You like chicken?”

You don’t know why you’re offering. Maybe it’s because you owe him. Like everyone in the city. It’s your chance to give back to the hero who gave so much. Or maybe it’s because you’re so damn lonely talking to your own stomach.

“I should go,” he insists as you place a strip across the cut.

“Up to you,” you say, “I don’t mind either way, but I’m not going to chase Captain America out of ym apartment.”

He doesn’t say anything. You finish dressing his wound and gather up the wrappers and all. You crumple it in one hand and rock yourself to stand. You’re overly aware of him watching you. You touch your stomach and rub it, soothing your nerves. You find him watching the movement of your hand.

“You must be pretty far along,” he says.

“Six months. Chicken tortellini, if you want. I was gonna reheat some. I haven’t eaten since work.”

“Work?” He frowns and stands, moving better than before. “Should you be?”

“I’m at a desk. It’s nothing. HR got me some ergonomic stuff. Nothing compared to what you do.”

You put away the kit and toss the garbage. You wash your hands before you search out the container of pasta in the fridges. You sense him behind you, just in the wide archway that peers into the kitchen. You reach into the cupboard you left open and take the single plate that isn’t in the rack.

“So, you want some?” You ask.

He’s silent with contemplation, the shift of his weight creaks in the floor, “I appreciate it, yes, please.”

“I might have something you can change into,” you say. You wonder why you’re doing all this. Maybe it’s that maternal instinct kicking in. “The father, before he took off, left a few things.” You peek over your shoulder, “he was a bit smaller than you.”

He shrugs then winces at the careless gesture. “Do you mind if I wash up before I eat? I smell like garbage. I don’t wanna overstep--”

“Go ahead, it’ll take a while to warm this up,” you say.

Another long lull. He taps his fingers on the wall and inhales deep enough for you to hear, “promise, I’ll get out of your hair after dinner.”

“Please, take your time,” you say as you put the tortellini in a glass pan to rebake. He backs away and you sense his hesitation, “oh, down the hall, to the left of the bedroom at the end.”

“Thanks,” he intones, “oh, uh, just realised, you know who I am...”

Your brows pop up and you stop before you can put the pan in the stove. You look back at him and give your name. He nods.

“Pretty,” he comments, “also, it’s just Steve, not Captain.”

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #roads untraveled #silverfox au #au #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #captain america #avengers

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girlgenius1111 · 8 months

Text

with a high comes a crash.

barcelona femeni x reader

Alexia heard the sirens. Rationally, she tried to convince herself that it wasn't you. You had only left a few minutes ago, and the sirens were still pretty far. It couldn't be you.

Then the sirens got closer. And closer. And Alexia thought she was going to throw up. She couldn't decide whether to call you or not, afraid to distract you while you were riding if you were fine. She told herself that she was just driving to the dealership after you to give you a ride home. That was all.

She probably shouldn't have been driving, hands shaking as she turned the car on and pulled out of her driveway. The sirens were still loud, and she followed them; not because she was trying to, but because that was the direction she knew you'd been going.

When she turned the corner, and saw the accident scene a block down, she pulled the car over, and got out. She ran the distance towards the wreckage, slowing to a stop when she got close enough to see what was going on. Alexia surveyed the scene. First she saw a car that didn't look very damaged. There was debris on the road, though, and she followed it to find a bike on the ground. Your bike.

It looked mangled, crushed, and Alexia had to take some deep breaths, feeling like she might pass out. Once her vision cleared of black spots, she look back up, and she found you.

Well, what she assumed to be you. An obscured form on the ground, halfway across the intersection from the bike, surrounded by paramedics. The blonde was frozen for a minute, and then she wasn't, running forward at full speed, shoving past anyone who got in her way, until she was a few feet away from you. A paramedic rose from next to you, approaching her.

"Miss? You shouldn't be over here," he said somewhat firmly.

Alexia could only make a choked sound come out of her throat, eyes trained on your face. Your eyes were shut, blood covering the left side of your forehead. You looked so small, so fragile. Alexia clenched her fists, needing to keep it together.

"Miss, are you okay?" The paramedic asked, moving closer to rest a hand on Alexia's arm. She was swaying slightly, and completely pale.

"Is she okay? Is she alive?" Alexia croaked out. The paramedic looked closer at her, before his eyes widened. He did a double take, seeming to recognize you now that he knew who was standing in front of him.

"She's pretty banged up, but she's breathing." It wasn't very reassuring, but Alexia let the words wash over her, nodding her head. She forced herself to calm down, to act rationally. They were securing you to a backboard, strapping you into the neck brace. They were preparing to move you to the ambulance, and Alexia moved to follow them.

"I will go in the ambulance." She declared, and no one really bothered to argue with her, instead directing her to wait for them to get you settled, before gesturing for her to climb in with you. There was only one paramedic back there with you now, getting you attached to all sorts of machines. Alexia got her first good look at you as she sat down shakily on the bench. Her hands hovered over you, wanting to take your hand in hers, but unsure if she could without hurting you.

"You can hold her right hand," the paramedic said. She didn't really look at Alexia, but her voice was kind. Alexia wrapped your hand up in her larger one, as gently as if the the whole limb was broken, ready to crumble into a million pieces. Or maybe, that's just how Alexia felt.

A beeping sound jerked Alexia out of her thoughts, and she looked up to see your heartbeat on the monitor. She tried to figure out what it meant, what the little zigzags meant, but she was a footballer for christ sakes, and she didn't know if the little spikes were good or bad. She decided that they were good, that they meant that you were breathing, regardless of if anything else was going on.

Alexia was silent, gripping the seat under her as the ambulance weaved in and out of traffic. The paramedic seemed to be done attaching you to things, and she placed a piece of gauze on your forehead, holding it there before she looked up at your captain, and addressed her.

"She was moving around a little when we got there, so we're confident her spine is intact. Looks like both of her legs are okay. Pretty bad road rash on the left side, but nothing internal. Her ribs are a different story, the impact with the car has left a few broken. Her left arm is broken, too, probably in multiple places, from the impact with the ground. She was smart, and she had a helmet on, so while her pupils indicate a concussion, it could have been worse. It could have been a lot worse." As she spoke she pointed at different parts of you, explaining to Alexia what the bruises and cuts on you meant. Your left leg did look awful, scraped and bleeding. They'd cut your shirt off, and your abdomen was already turning a nasty shade of blue. The bleeding on your head was stopping, and you looked somewhat more comfortable. Alexia asked the question you knew you'd want her to ask.

"Her legs are okay? Really?" It seemed impossible to her, that the rest of your body could be so beaten up, but your legs were just scraped up.

The paramedic nodded, a bit of a bewildered look on her face. "Somehow, yes. There are no indications of any broken bones, and she was moving them around until she passed out. I don't... I don't know how. I've never seen an accident of this magnitude be so mild."

Alexia felt a shudder run through her at the statement; if this was mild, if this should have been worse... She shook her head. It wasn't worse. You were okay. You were okay. The paramedics studied Alexia for a few seconds before speaking again.

"I'm not supposed to say this, but you can relax a little. All indications are that she'll be alright. Banged up, yes. A few painful months in her future. But it's a miracle that she's alive, and an even bigger one that she isn't more injured."

Alexia let out a shaky breath, feeling like she could have leaned over and kissed the paramedic at her words. She appreciated the kindness she was showing her, the information she gave Alexia, that she wasn't really supposed to. The ambulance was slowing to a stop, and Alexia could hear raised voices approaching the doors.

"It's going to get pretty crazy in a second, and they won't let you in with her, but she'll be in good hands, I promise." Alexia nodded again, clearing her throat.

"Thank you. So much." She said, knowing that her words weren't enough to express her gratitude, but not really sure what else to do.

The doors opened then, and someone was helping her out of the ambulance. What felt like a million doctors and nurses were bringing you in the doors, one of them shouting for Alexia to follow them in, and find a seat in the waiting room.

Numbly, she did, sinking into the first available chair she saw. There were a lot of people she needed to call, yes. People at Barcelona. The other captains. Your teammates. Your national teammates. Her hands were trembling violently, though, and she suddenly felt dizzy again. She was in shock, she realized. How ridiculous. She was fine. Seeing you like that... it was the worst thing she'd ever laid her eyes on.

Alexia didn't make any of the calls she was supposed to. She decided that just for now, she didn't need to be a responsible captain. She could be someone that cared about you, who was terrified, and needed someone to get here and tell her that everything would be okay before she really freaked out.

She called the only person she knew wouldn't be mad at how emotionless her voice was about to sound. The only other person that she trusted to get here as fast as humanely possible, and know exactly what Alexia needed. Someone who could be in charge, just for a little bit.

-----

Mapi and Ingrid had to drive past the scene of the accident on their way to the hospital. Ingrid was driving, deciding that Mapi could call the people she needed to on the way to the hospital. The Spaniard was on the phone with Lucy when they drove by, and she got a glimpse of your bike, crumpled on the ground.

"Joder" She murmured, reaching a hand over to grab onto Ingrid's leg, anywhere she could steady herself on her girlfriend.

"What?" Ingrid asked, glancing over in concern at her girlfriend, who looked like she was about to be sick.

"What?" Lucy echoed from over the phone, sounding frantic.

"Nothing, nothing. Just worried." Mapi said, swallowing the bile rising in her throat. Neither of the other girls believed her, but they let it go.

"Okay, Mapi. I'm heading to the hospital now, Ona's with me, gonna grab Keira on the way. Call Irene. She'll decide who else needs to know."

"Okay." Mapi agreed. Lucy had never experienced such a reserved Mapi Leon before, one who followed her instructions without any jokes or comments. It scared her.

Mapi made the other phone call. Ingrid had grabbed her hand at some point, and Mapi wasn't really sure who was squeezing harder. She got through the call with Irene, who she made promise not to drive herself to the hospital, to have her wife take her.

"You're driving." Irene huffed angrily, not wanting to wait any longer to get to you, and to Alexia. Her wife wouldn't be back for 20 minutes. She needed to be at the hospital now.

"No, Ingrid is driving. Ingrid is calm in a crisis, and Ingrid is driving because my hands are shaking, so don't you dare drive. Don't you dare." Mapi's voice was thick, the horror of another accident happening washing over her. It was a ridiculous thought, but Mapi couldn't help the fear that was choking her right now. Irene agreed, a combination of Mapi's pleading voice, and the reason behind her words, convincing her.

"Okay. Just get there. Fast."

Ingrid accelerated.

-----

They practically stormed into the waiting room. It was mostly empty, an oddity for an afternoon in the city, but both girls were grateful nonetheless. They took one look at Alexia and came to the conclusion that she wouldn't really want anyone seeing her like this, let alone strangers.

"Ale?" Mapi said gently, moving forward. Alexia was sat in a chair, head in her hands. Her whole body was shaking, blonde hair falling into her face and blocking Mapi from seeing the tears that were surely falling. Alexia's head snapped up when she was addressed, and she stood, taking a frantic step towards her friend, practically collapsing into Mapi's arms.

"She was- it was so bad Mapi. The paramedic said she would probably be okay, but it was so bad. The bike was... and she was so far away from it..." Alexia's words were slightly strangled, and Ingrid regretfully pulled her captain away from her girlfriend, directing her back to her chair. Mapi sat next to her, and Ingrid instructed them both to stay put. She went to find water. Alexia was clearly in shock, and Ingrid knew that she would feel that she had to pull herself together before anyone else arrived.

'Calm in a crisis' Ingrid gave herself a minute to rest her head against the vending machine. Ale had said that the paramedic had said you'd be okay. That was all that mattered.

She returned, finding Alexia slightly better off than she'd left her. Mapi had pulled off her own sweatshirt, and yanked it down over Alexia's head. The blonde had only had on a t-shirt, and it was slightly cold in the waiting room. That probably wasn't the cause for the tremors running through Alexia's body, but regardless. Ingrid crouched in front of Alexia, uncapping the water and handing it to her, instructing her to take small sips. Alexia complied, and the couple exchanged a look. They'd never seen Alexia like this. Ever.

Alexia took several sips of water, before sitting back, and running her hands over her face. She relayed everything the paramedic had told her to the others, and they, in turn, told her the situation with the others due to be arriving soon.

After that, they sat mostly in silence, Ingrid taking a seat in the chair next to her girlfriend, knowing that the Spaniard needed her close. She needed Mapi close, too, honestly.

Lucy, Keira, and Ona arrived in a flurry of chaos. Keira was weirdly calm, Ona just looked freaked out, but Lucy was... a mess. She looked disheveled, like she'd been through a wind tunnel on the way to the hospital. She'd barely stepped in through the door before she was asking question after question, pacing back and forth, then sitting down, and then pacing again. Keira sat silently across from the other girls, while Ona hovered anxiously wherever Lucy went, not quite sure what to do.

Alexia's face had transformed completely when the others had arrived. She looked calm, expression deadly serious as she answered Lucy's questions. She was Captain Alexia again, putting her own feelings aside for the sake of the others.

She made Ona eat a granola bar when she decided that the girl looked too shaky. She made Keira come sit next to her, wrapping an arm around the Englishwoman. She finally told Lucy to stop pacing and sit down, after Lucy stood for the 18th time to go ask the receptionist for an update. Lucy listened instantly, sinking back into her chair without an argument.

Irene arrived a bit later, informing Alexia that she'd called Barca, and let the team know what was going on, but instructed them to not come to the hospital, because they didn't want to crowd the place. Only seconds after the words left her mouth, the doors were sliding open again. In came Pina, Patri, Cata, Jana, and Bruna. Irene looked at them, and sighed deeply. Her face could only be described as one of a person "considering early retirement."

To their credit, they were rather reserved, each accepting the tight hug that Alexia pulled them into, before finding chairs and quietly talking amongst themselves.

It was quite a sight to see when the doctor came out look for your family, and instead finding 11 members of the Barcelona women's squad, in various states of distress. They provided a brief update to everyone, before seemingly picking up on the energy Alexia was putting out, that if they didn't take her to see you, she would probably start throwing chairs, and allowing her and one other person to go back to see you.

Alexia followed right after the doctor, practically breathing down his neck. Mapi looked around, at Irene, and at Lucy, who both gave her a nod. You needed Alexia. And Alexia needed Mapi. Ingrid gave her a little push, and the defender walked down the hall, somewhat terrified for what was awaiting her there.

----

Getting hit by a car really fucking hurt, it turned out. Every bone in your body ached, and you were sure that if you opened your eyes, you'd find that you were just one large bruise. You were in and out for a while, not quite awake enough to open your eyes. You could hear people talking each time, though.

First, it was Alexia's voice, strong and confident, talking to the doctor. Then it was Alexia's voice, small and weak, telling you that you better wake up soon before she freaked out. If you were able to talk at that point, you would have pointed out that it seemed she was already freaking out.

Mapi's voice was there, then, telling you that, thanks, now Ingrid was NEVER going to let her get a motorcycle. Alexia laughed at that, but the laugh seemed to turn into a sob, and you could hear Mapi telling her to stop being so dramatic, because you were fine. She was using her soft voice, though, the one she used for the people she loved. (You, Ingrid, Alexia, and the cat. That was the list.)

When you finally did manage to wake up, it was dark out, and the room was slightly more occupied than it had seemed before. Mapi and Ingrid were both asleep in chairs against the wall, hands tangled together. You caught a glimpse of Lucy and Keira in the hall, on the phone with someone. Probably Sarina, you decided. Alexia was in a chair by your bed, as close as she could pull it. Her eyes were on you, absolutely staring into your soul, and you jumped a little when you realized.

"Jesus," you hissed, waves of pain washing through you.

"You're awake! She's awake. Guys, she's awake," Alexia said gleefully, turning to Ingrid and Mapi who woke up rather slowly. Alexia stood, leaning down to press a gentle kiss onto your gauze-wrapped forehead. When she sat back down, there were unmistakably tears in her eyes.

"Don't you ever, ever, do that to me again." She said seriously.

"I'll make sure to tell the car not to hit me next time." You agreed, matching her serious tone. Mapi snickered, and Alexia grimaced.

"Next time. You're never going on a motorcycle again. Or driving. I'm going to drive you everywhere, and you're going to sit in the backseat. And wear a helmet." Her tone was lighter, but you really weren't convinced that at least a part of her didn't want to do that.

You laughed, and then winced as the movement made your entire abdomen spasm with pain. Alexia's face scrunched with worry, and Ingrid and Mapi leaned forward. You didn't want the focus the be on your pain, though, so you asked a question you were dreading the answer to.

"What's wrong with me?" You asked, preparing yourself for the worst.

"Concussion, mild though. Broken ribs. Broken arm. The skin on your legs will be back one day, but no broken bones there." Alexia listed. You smiled again, delighted that your legs were okay, and a little moved at how hard Alexia was trying to make you smile, when it clearly looked like she'd had the most stressful day of her life. Which she probably had.

"When can I play again?" You asked. Alexia frowned.

"When you're all better." She said, refusing to give you a time that she knew you would latch onto, and meet, regardless of how hard it was.

"When Alexia is comfortable with you being more than 2 feet away from her." Mapi interjected, ignoring the look sent her way by both her best friend and her girlfriend.

The doors opened then, and Keira and Lucy walked in. They both lit up at the sight of you, awake and alert.

"You have to be the dumbest person on earth. Could no one have gone to buy your motorcycle from your house? You had to drive it again?" Lucy scolds.

"I like to keep things interesting." You say, smiling at both of them. They roll their eyes in response, each pressing a kiss to your cheek, before sitting in chairs on the other side of the room.

"Sarina?" You asked. They nodded. "How angry is she?"

"Her exact words were 'what the hell was she doing on a motorcycle,' and then 'I'll let Williamson deal with her. Whatever she comes up with will be far worse than anything I could manage.'" Keira tells you.

Leah would be killing you, you were sure. You turn to Alexia, who had been too quiet, and definitely not scolded you enough.

"You're making me move back in with you aren't you?" You ask, eyeing your captain warily.

"Yes." She said, daring you to argue.

You sigh. "Where am I going to park my new bike at your place?"

Alexia's face gets all red as the room falls into laughter and you smile at her triumphantly. "I will lock you in your room." She says through clenched teeth.

"I'll sneak out the window like last time," you dismiss. "Mapi showed me how."

Alexia turns to Mapi, trying to manage some anger, but she's really too grateful for everything her friend had done for her today. her expression softens when she meets Mapi's eyes, and Mapi goes from looking like she's in trouble, to softening as well.

You watch the strange interaction, and realize that today must have really been hell for Alexia. Hell for everyone, but Alexia was a worrier, and as established, she cared a lot about you.

She'll have plenty of time to fuss over you, though. The next months were sure to be painful and awful, and you were secretly glad that Alexia was moving you back in. You weren't good with pain, or sitting out, or taking care of yourself like you should. Everything felt okay, now, because you were alive, and not paralyzed. Tomorrow would be harder. As you have this thought, you reach for Alexia's hand with your one uninjured arm. She turns to you, grabbing it tightly, and sending you a reassuring smile.

Her face told you that she knew what you were thinking, and the determination there told you that she would get you through this, whatever it took. The whole team would. You relaxed slightly. You could deal with tomorrow tomorrow. Today, you focused on the joy of being alive, and joking with your teammates.

-----

hope this was worth the wait :)

not opposed to an angsty recovery part 3 but let me know your thoughts.

#woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #barca femeni #barcelona femeni x reader

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munson-blurbs · 28 days

Text

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Having a secret relationship wasn't as easy as you'd hoped it would be, especially when Eddie wasn't keen on keeping it a secret at all. (7.1k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, anxiety, parental conflict, poverty, Reader wears a sun dress, making out, heavy petting, public displays of affection, sexual fantasies, idiots in love, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

A/N: had to include Eddie's favorite fruit in here. Shoutout to @eddiemunsonsmum for writing the best solo Eddie fics out there.

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter twelve: breath of fresh air

May teetered on the edge of June, the steadily climbing temperatures and the pungent odor of garbage signaling the beginning of another New York City summer.

You awoke just after noon, sunlight pouring through the windows. Whispers of a headache nagged in your skull; not quite a hangover, but scarily close to one. Another drink definitely would have put you over.

With a tired grimace, you shoved the covers aside and started your day. A day just like any other, except that you were still reeling from the fact that Eddie kissed you last night. That precious moment of connection was bested only by the sound of your name murmured from his lips onto yours.

The memory put a smile on your face as you dressed in your standard shorts and t-shirt. You wanted to kiss him over and over, to run your fingers through his mess of curls and hold him close, not parting until you both needed a breath.

You could still taste the stain of nicotine when you swiped your tongue over your lips. Could still hear his breathy moan in your ear like a harmony. Could still feel his belt buckle pressed to your skin, the metal cold yet somehow filling you with a blazing heat.

Stripping the linens off of the bed, you lost yourself in thoughts of how it would feel to have Eddie laying beside you, his body pressing yours into the mattress, hands framing your body as he sank deeper into you—

You needed fresh air. Immediately.

You tucked the pale pink sheets under your arm, time-faded from their original rosy hue to a salmon color, and zigzagged to the recently vacated rooms. The change of scenery did nothing to quell the desire stirring within you. Your mind was wrought with images of Eddie trailing his lips down your throat, or his teeth nipping at your collarbone, or his fingers slipping into your underwear—

“Stop it,” you hissed under your breath. The next stop was Eddie’s room, and you’d be damned if he had any inkling of the feelings you were harboring.

His door swung open before you could even knock, halting you in your tracks. “Heard your footsteps down the hall,” he admitted, sheepishness coloring his cheeks pink.

You only nodded as you caught your breath and your heart floated down from your throat into your chest. Thank God he couldn’t read your thoughts. “Got your pants?”

“Right here.” He held them up, balled in his fist. “Lead the way.”

“I can, um,” you searched for your words, still scrambled from your earlier musings. “I can wash them myself.” You were already throwing in the rest of the laundry; a pair of jeans wouldn’t make much of a difference.

Eddie shook his head, curls bouncing from his temples. “Nah, ‘s cool.” He plucked the bundle of linens from you. “Hasn’t been a lot to fix around here lately, so I might as well do some housekeeping.”

You threw him a playful grin as you led him to the laundry room. “No moochers allowed in my motel, y’know.”

The overhead lighting bathed him in a yellowish haze, matching the once-white walls. Maybe that could be his next project.

“Exactly.” Eddie opened up a few cabinets, frowning when he couldn’t find what he’d been searching for. “Detergent?”

You pointed towards the cabinet below the sink. “Over there.”

Eddie saluted and stooped down to tug the economy-sized detergent tub from its spot. You couldn’t stop yourself from staring when his boxers peeked out from beneath the waistband of his jeans. Those damn Calvin Kleins; they would be your kryptonite.

“Heiress?”

Shit. He’d been talking to you, and all you could focus on was his underwear. “Yeah?”

“Do you have that stuff that makes the clothes smell really good?” He scooped out the detergent powder and sprinkled it in the washing machine.

You laughed. “Sorry, no daisy-fresh pants for you.”

The ensuing beat of silence seemed to stretch on for hours. Words bubbled on your tongue, desperate to continue talking to him. To discreetly sneak glances of the veins that intercepted his arm tattoos or of the sparse hair that adorned where his V-neck undershirt left his chest exposed.

“Do anything fun today?” Christ, were you talking to a toddler? Should you offer him a sticker or a lollipop?

But Eddie perked up at the question. “Yeah, actually. I called my uncle for the first time in…” he scrunched up his mouth in contemplation. “Too damn long.”

“How did that go?”

He set the dial to “start,” the washing machine humming to life. “Pretty good.” He hoisted himself on top of the adjacent dryer. “Same old Wayne. The world might change, but he never will.” Eddie’s eyes met yours. “When I started making money, I offered to buy him a house. Get him out of the trailer park and into a safer neighborhood. And he refused.”

Your brows raised. “He did?”

Eddie nodded, chuckling at the memory. “Said that if he left, there wouldn’t be anyone to feed the stray dogs.” He cocked his head, concentrating on your face. “You two would get along well. Similar personalities.”

“Thoughtful?”

“Yes, but to the point of stubbornness.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Eddie cut you off. “Don’t even argue with me, Miss Social Worker by Day, Heiress by Night.” His feet swayed back and forth, tapping against the metal every so often. “And don’t think I didn’t notice the box of crayons that you keep in the desk for kids like Izzy.”

He might have had a point, but if you were going down, you’d go down swinging. “If I recall, one of us chose to sleep at a bus stop instead of accepting my gracious offer.”

“But I took you up on it eventually.”

“Only because I practically forced you,” you argued.

“Exactly.” Eddie grinned. “Thoughtful to the point of stubbornness.”

A stillness filled the small room, and you wondered if he had the same agenda as you: keep the conversation flowing without bringing up the date. Without bringing up the kiss; the one that seared through you and set your bones aflame. That kiss sent you to bed aching for more, mentally mapping out any way you could sneak into his room without your parents noticing.

Eddie broke the silence. “I meant to ask…did you have a good time last night?” He scratched at the nape of his neck, the gesture betraying any air of casualness.

“Yeah.” You smiled, trying to ignore the fluttering in your abdomen. Your skin warmed at the memory of his touch. “I mean, I got to hear you sing, and I reunited our drunk friend with her boyfriend. I don’t see how it could get better than that.”

He laughed at that and ducked his head. “Those were the highlights?” His eyes met yours; that knowing gaze seared through you and sent your nerves humming. “Nothing else?”

“There was…another highlight.” Longing anchored the words deep in your throat, but you forced them up. You let them seep in, placing the ball squarely in his court.

“Yeah?”

Eddie inched back onto the dryer, the shift opening a gap between his legs. A space for you to fill. Your feet carried you as though they had a mind of their own, your body slotting against his.

“Tell me about this other highlight.” One hand reached out to yours and tugged you closer; he laid the other on your cheek. His thumb slowly swiped over your jaw as though he was memorizing its contour.

“Well,” you started, letting your fingers rest on his denim-clad thighs, “I really liked when we kissed.”

Eddie’s eyes lit up when you supplied the answer he’d been hoping for. “That makes two of us.” He let his forefinger trail down to your collarbone, the slight movement saturated with equal parts awe and desire. “I think we should do it again sometime.”

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper as you asked, “when?”

“Right…” He grinned, and before you could double-check that you’d closed the door, his lips crashed into yours. You felt his tongue cautiously prod at the seam, seeking entry, and you allowed it. The scents of cigarettes and spearmint gum accompanied his tongue in a way that was so uniquely him.

Eddie only broke the kiss to bring his lips to your neck. He was gentle at first, peppering delicate kisses down the column of your throat, but he lost all control the moment you tilted your head and gave him clear access to your pulse point.

The hand on your cheek fell to your waist and pulled you close enough to feel Eddie’s heartbeat against your own chest. “This your favorite spot to be kissed?” He murmured into your skin. You felt him smile when you nodded in response. “Where else do you want me to kiss you?”

Was ‘everywhere’ a valid response? A soft sigh loosened itself and escaped you at the feeling of his teeth grazing your flesh. “Just my neck. For now,” you added, “but I like when…when you bite it, too.”

“I can do that.” Eddie’s voice rasped. He bit down again, swiping his tongue over the mark to soothe your bruising skin.

You gripped his t-shirt, resisting every urge to pull it up over his head. It wouldn’t be the first time you saw him bare-chested; that honor had been bestowed upon you the night he arrived. But now you could kiss it, trace the lines of his tattoos with your finger, with your tongue…

You needed it. You needed to memorize him, to learn every square inch of his body.

His shirt hit the ground and your lips immediately found his shoulders. Eddie’s arms snaked around you, keeping you in place as your tongue explored the contoured muscle.

“More,” he pleaded. “Fuck, keep kissing me there.”

Heat blossomed in your core. Your lips traveled, placing some marks of your own just below his collarbone, where they could be easily hidden. His skin was already tinged bluish-purple where you’d sucked and nibbled, proof that you had been there.

Eddie had pushed your own shirt right below your bra when the washing machine rattled, a stark reminder of where you were. Your chest and his rose and fell in syncopated beats. He loosened his grasp, letting your shirt fall back down your torso.

“Christ.” He chuckled, a low growl in his laughter. “I’m gonna need a second. You…Christ, Heiress.”

Your eyes traveled to where he instinctively palmed the bulge straining against his jeans. You wanted to be the one to touch it, to relieve him of his pent-up frustrations. Maybe you’d even get some relief of your own. But your gradually slowing heart rate informed you that the moment had passed.

“I, um…I didn’t just follow you in here to maul you like some horndog.” Eddie hopped off of the washer. He swiped his shirt from the floor and slid it over his head, once again cloaking his tattoos.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Hey.” Eddie bumped his elbow against your arm. His smile was uncharacteristically shy, which only made him more endearing. “My other reason for following you in here was because I wanted to see if you were free sometime this week.”

His hand brushed against yours. You let your fingers intertwine with his, soft and gentle in their touch. Your thumb grazed over one of the paler spots where he must’ve worn a ring. The coloring was beginning to match the rest of his finger as though the memory of the rings was fading away with time.

“Yeah. I mean, I’m around during the day.”

Eddie hooked his free pointer finger through your belt loop. “Cool.” He cocked his head. “Do people really have romantic picnics in Central Park? Or is that just in the movies?”

You laughed, leaning in and lightly kissing his jaw. Everything about him was so tempting. If there was a way to sneak him into your room without either of your parents noticing, you’d do it in a heartbeat.

“They do, but…” You shrugged. “Central Park is super overrated. In my opinion, anyway.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” Another kiss, right below his ear this time. You could feel his body tense with each lingering touch. “Flushing Meadows is the superior park. Less crowded, shorter travel time, and you don’t have to worry about running into any Upper East Side snobs.”

Eddie tilted your chin so that you felt his lips on yours when he spoke. “Fuck those rich assholes.” The words were muffled and ended with him nipping at your lower lip; the slight pinch of pain from his teeth were sparks that set you alight.

Your hands framed his face as you kissed him, his grasp tight on your lower back. A wanting groan vibrated in his throat when he felt your body against his.

“Heiress.” Your nickname was molasses on his tongue, sweet and slow and syrupy. “Y’gotta let me take you on at least one more date before we do this. I’m tryna be a goddamn gentleman.”

He was right, even if his body seemed to protest. You needed to stop before you caused him physical pain. Needed to stop before you lost all semblance of control. Your first time with Eddie didn’t have to be caviar and champagne—and it likely would not be, given how broke you both were—but the occasion deserved to happen somewhere more private and more comfortable than the motel’s laundry room.

Eddie breathed out consciously, trying to collect himself. “Does Thursday work for you?”

You blinked, batting away the fogginess left behind by his touch. “Thursday would be perfect.”

“Perfect,” Eddie echoed. A cautious, nervous smile curved his lips. He paused for a half-second before leaning in once more and pressing a kiss to your cheek. Its gentleness scorched your skin, flames licking in its wake.

The kiss rooted you to the ground for a second too long, and Eddie was already turning the doorknob before you could listen for any incoming foot traffic.

“Wait, we–”

His eyes widened when the opened door revealed Phyllis heading back to her room. “Didn’t realize laundry was a two person job,” she quipped, revealing a smile of cigarette-stained teeth. “Although…it takes two people to get the sheets dirty…”

“That’s not–we weren’t–” you sputtered helplessly, knowing that there was nothing you could say that would make the situation any better.

“Well, it’s either you two were messing around in there, or he stuck his finger in an electrical socket.” Phyllis gestured to Eddie’s hair, mussed and sticking up from where you’d thread your fingers through it.

Eddie choked out a laugh, red creeping up his neck and coloring his cheeks. Even the tips of his ears turned a delicious shade of pink. “The washer was making a, um, a noise. But it’s fixed now.”

Phyllis’s forehead creased as her brows raised, not believing a word he said. “The noises I heard didn’t sound like machinery. They sounded more like—”

“Phyllis,” you hissed, hoping your embarrassment wasn’t overly palpable.

The older woman took your hint and pivoted towards her room, seemingly satisfied with the buttons she’d already pushed. Though she likely hadn’t done it purposely, her comment about the noises served as a warning: If she heard them, your parents could have, too.

You needed to be more careful. In order for this burgeoning relationship to have a chance at survival, you needed to keep it a secret. Phyllis knew, but her worst offense would be quiet ribbings. Not everyone would remain so tight-lipped.

“Thursday…let’s meet at the bus stop.” There was the chance of someone seeing you together there, but at least it was less suspicious than Eddie knocking on your door.

Confusion rippled across Eddie’s face for a beat before he composed himself. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Good. A definite few steps down from his earlier declaration of perfect. Your heart sank, joining the lead ball of anxiety currently sitting in your stomach.

He’ll understand, you told yourself. He knew how it felt to have all sorts of external pressure pushing down on him; a weight too great to fight. It would all be fine.

Yet you couldn’t convince yourself that that was the truth, nor could you bring yourself to look back at him as you rushed to the front desk. You were suddenly eager for a chore or two to keep your thoughts at bay.

Amy’s Café was quieter than its usual bustling pace during the semester, and you easily snagged a table for three. It seemed like a blessing at the time, but now…

“Hold on,” Nora said through a bite of croissant. She held up her forefinger, signaling you and Ben to stay quiet until she finished chewing. “So you and Eddie were making out in the laundry room—”

“Don’t forget the part where she took off his shirt,” Ben added.

Nora nodded, brushing crumbs off of her hands. “Basically feeling each other up. And then Phyllis caught you, and he pretended that he was fixing the washing machine?” She laughed incredulously.

Ben put down his mug and shook his head. “It’s a good thing you didn’t get carried away. Imagine conceiving your child in the motel laundry room, ten feet away from your parents at the resident prostitute.”

“Oh, my god.” You buried your face in your hands. “We’ve gone on one date and you’re already talking about me having his baby?”

“People have made babies without going on any dates,” Ben pointed out. Nora just snickered.

“I hate you both.” You glanced between the two of them. It was hard to believe they’d met for the first time today. The way they effortlessly teased you in tandem was impressive for people who were basically strangers. “Can we please change the subject?”

Nora leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Not a chance. In fact,” she looked at Ben and then back to you, “we need to know more. Like, what are you wearing for this second date?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off as nonchalant, though you’d been wondering the same thing. “I dunno. It’s a picnic, so nothing fancy, I guess.”

Your friends found that answer insufficient, both of them rolling their eyes in tandem. Ben took a bite of blueberry muffin and said nothing, but Nora plunged right ahead.

“Why do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

Nora sighed. “You never let yourself enjoy things. You should be happy about this. A hot guy is staying at your motel and can’t keep his hands off of you, and you’re all Mopey Magee about it.”

“I’m not Mopey Magee,” you mumbled, but she was right. Every time excitement began bubbling up, you shoved it back down. Every time your mind wandered, dipping into thoughts about a cozy future spent with Eddie, you yanked yourself back. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be happy; you just needed to stay realistic. Eddie wanted to be a rockstar, always on the go and living on the edge. You wanted to be a social worker, to come home and curl up with a good book. You’d be tucking yourself into bed as Eddie’s night was just beginning, and you’d wake up in the morning just as he was going to sleep.

Not to mention the women, especially Death Echo’s badass drummer. And it didn’t help that she was Eddie’s ex. No matter how far you let your imagination stretch, you would never be her.

“Hey.” Ben rested his hand on yours, his eyes kind and free of judgment. “We just want you to be excited. Eddie seems like a…decent guy.” Clearly, he wasn’t fully convinced after the fiasco of their first meeting, though he’d thawed out a bit since Eddie helped clean the vandalism.

Nora nudged him from her seat. “He’s more than decent. He took a cab all the way to school to bring her paper. He sang a lovey-dovey karaoke song for her. And he had enough respect to not completely maul her in the laundry room.” She looked at you and asked pointedly, “Tell us the truth: would you have fucked him if he didn’t stop you?”

“Nora!” Your entire body flooded with heat. It was all the confirmation Nora needed.

“See? He’s a good guy,” she declared. Case closed. “I bet he wants to, like, decorate the bed with rose petals and all of that corny shit.”

“He’ll probably play his guitar and serenade you.” Ben relented with a smirk. “Naked.”

You stood up, the back of your legs pushing your chair behind you. “Okay, thank you both very much for your insight, but I’m gonna go.”

You refused to admit that you were currently picturing Eddie as Ben had portrayed him. His guitar would rest on his bare thighs, his chest on full display. That beautiful body that drew your lips to each inch of skin, no matter if tattooed or unmarked.

“You know you love us,” Nora trilled.

And you did. They only wanted what was best for you. Yes, you would love to lose yourself in daydreams of Eddie Munson, his strong arms wrapped around you, his tongue hungrily exploring your body. Yes, your stomach fluttered each time he smiled at you, called you beautiful, or took your hand in his. But was that worth lying to your parents about yet another part of your life?

The question branded you with a headache, one that sat right behind your eyes and thudded against your skull with each step back home. You did everything you could to focus on the pain instead of its cause.

By now, you were well-acquainted with Eddie’s schedule, which meant you were able to meet him outside the subway station before he returned to the motel. You’d had a moment of panic that morning just as you drifted off to sleep: your parents would immediately be suspicious if they saw the two of you leaving together, especially in your current outfit. Nora had dropped off a floral sundress, the tag still on it, and quietly proclaimed that Eddie wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of you in it. It wasn’t until later that you noticed the back of the tag where she’d scrawled ‘happy boning!’ in tiny letters.

There certainly wouldn’t be any boning; not in the middle of the park. That was too far out of your comfortable zone, even if you weren’t trying to hide your relationship.

“I’m hanging out with Nora,” you told Dad before he even looked up from reading the newspaper. “Be back later.”

Your sandals thwacked against the pavement as you hurried out the door, not even pausing to hear if Dad had responded.

You nearly collided with Eddie halfway down the block. He held his guitar case in one hand and a plastic grocery bag in the other. His focused expression shifted to one of excitement when he saw you.

“Didn’t expect to bump into you here.” He lifted the guitar slightly. “Let me just put this back in my room so I’m not lugging it all over Queens.”

Eddie started back towards the motel, pausing when he realized you weren’t following him.

“You comin’?”

You shook your head. Dad might not have noticed you leaving in your new dress, but he would definitely notice you going back and forth with Eddie Munson in tow.

“I’ll wait right here.” You tried peeking into the bag as he walked away, but he tugged it back and out of your sight. “What’s in there?”

His eyes lit up. “Patience is a virtue, dear Heiress,” he drawled. He leaned in to plant a dramatic kiss on your forehead before rushing towards the motel’s front door.

The spot where he’d laid his lips still tingled for a moment after he left. If you could work up the nerve, if your head and your heart could cooperate, you would pull him in for the longest kiss of his life. But doubt creeped in before even he returned. If someone saw you…if Mom or Dad took a look around the door to see where Eddie was going…if a guest got an eyeful and made a comment about it to them…

“Okay, I’m back.” Eddie grinned, grabbing your hand with his empty one. “Your dad tried to pull me into a conversation about the Mets. I had to break the devastating news that I’m not a sports guy.” He laughed and adjusted his hand to better grasp yours.

You barely registered the movement. “Did you tell him where you—we—were going?” If Eddie told Dad about the date…

Eddie shook his head. “Nah, just said I had to run.” His nose wrinkled in confusion. “Why? Are we not supposed to be going to the park or something?”

How could you explain it to him without hurting his feelings? ‘We can’t be seen together’ might be true, but far too harsh. Nor did you want to embroil yourself in another lie. You mulled over your words for a few seconds before speaking.

“I just don’t want them asking a bunch of questions that even we don’t know the answers to.”

That was honest enough, you supposed. This was only your second date; far too early for any serious ‘what are your intentions with my daughter?’ speeches even under normal circumstances. The fact that Mom had explicitly warned you against dating guests would remain omitted for now.

He nodded in agreement, and your chest sagged with relief that he didn’t push the topic further. Instead, you enveloped yourself in the temporary safety that came with holding Eddie’s hand. The way his calloused palm pressed to yours, his grip tight yet without unwarranted possessiveness. Each brush of his thumb stoked the fire steadily building within you.

You once again tried to steal a glimpse of the surprise inside the bag once you found seats on the bus, but Eddie remained steadfast in his decision to keep it out of your view.

“It’s a surprise,” he practically whined, pouting to make you laugh. “C’mon, I’m trying to be romantic on a budget. Cut me a break here.”

“Fine.” But the moment he let his guard down, you swiped at the bag. Eddie was stealthier than you gave him credit for, and he held it shut between his legs. “Eddie!”

Eddie placed his hands on your cheeks, trapping you in place. “Don’t…ruin…the…surprise.” He kissed you between each word, little pecks on the lips that became increasingly more difficult to land as you both smiled. “You really are impossible.”

You begrudgingly relented, resting your head on his shoulder for the remainder of the bus ride. He shifted his stance every so often to purse his lips and kiss your forehead. You let out a contented sigh, the tension in your body fleeing with each gentle touch.

Flushing Meadows Park was relatively quiet when you and Eddie arrive. Kids were still in school until the end of the month, and nine-to-fivers were still at work. Besides you two, there were only an assortment of joggers, a few bird-watching retirees, and some particularly rowdy squirrels

Eddie led you to a shaded spot beneath the branches of an old oak tree. He dug into his bag and pulled out a cloth, spreading it out on the overgrown grass. The fabric and color looked awfully familiar. It was almost as if…

“Is that your bedsheet?”

Eddie grinned sheepishly. “I couldn’t let you sit right on the grass. Besides,” he added, tone heavy with mischief, “it gives us another excuse to do laundry together.”

“We’re lucky we didn’t get caught the first time,” you muttered. But you couldn’t deny how good it felt to be pressed up against him, to feel him stiffen beneath his jeans as his tongue explored your mouth.

He laughed as you both sat down, a melody if you’d ever heard one. He continued unpacking, placing foil-wrapped sandwiches, a small plastic container of pre-cut melon, and a bag of store-brand chocolate chip cookies onto the sheet. The last thing he dug out was two glass bottles of Yoo-Hoo chocolate milk, handing it directly to you. It was still relatively cold, a miracle in the early summer humidity.

“Only the finest cuisine for my date.” He unscrewed the bottle cap and waited for you to do the same. He raised the bottle, clinking it against yours. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” you echoed, taking a swig. You hadn’t had chocolate milk since you were a kid, and it was all at once nostalgic and too sugary, but you couldn’t get enough.

Eddie’s eyes rake over you, pupils fixated on the neckline of your sundress. His tongue darted out to lick up a droplet of milk that was caught in the corner of his mouth. “You look beautiful. You are beautiful,” he amended. One hand found your knee, and he rested it where the dress’s cotton fabric met your skin.

It had been a while since a man had called you beautiful, save for the cat-callers who pressed their luck from where they leaned against buildings and worked at construction sites. The compliment sent warmth surging through you, your head so airy that you hardly register the smile blooming on your face.

How would he react if you just leaned in and kissed him, mouths crashing together in a hunger that would remain forever unsatisfied? What would he do if you straddled his waist and let the hem of your dress cover the fly of his jeans?

You swallowed the thought, tempering the heat that fluttered in your core as you unwrapped one of the sandwiches. The cheese had cooled but was still melted, and a few strips of bacon peeked out from the sides of the roll. Your mouth watered just looking at it.

Eddie tucked into his own identical sandwich, a groan tumbling from his lips as he savored the taste. “I will never understand how those tiny corner stores make the best food. Like, better than all of those fancy-ass restaurants I went to for dinners with execs.”

“Those ‘corner stores’ are called ‘bodegas,’” you corrected through a cheesy mouthful. “If you’re gonna stick around, you’ve gotta start talking like a New Yorker.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie raised his brows, one corner of his mouth turning up in a knowing grin. “I gotta start tawk-ing like a New Yawk-er?”

“I don’t sound like that!”

He ignored you, continuing to massacre the stereotypical New York City accent. “Maybe on our next date, we can grab some caw-fee and go for a waw-k around the pah-k.”

“First of all, you pronounced ‘park’ like a Bostonian, which is a cardinal sin around here. Second, there won’t be another date if you keep making fun of me.”

“My apologies, Heiress.” Eddie placed his hand on his chest, and you immediately felt its absence from your leg. “I’ll be sure to more accurately mock you in the future.”

He was insufferable in the most endearing way. You took his hand, smoothing your thumb over his knuckles, and brought it back to where it was. He gave your thigh a small squeeze; not inherently sexual, but made your pulse quicken all the same.

You retrieved your breath from where it had hitched in your throat and opened the plastic container of melon. With delicate fingers as to not touch every piece, you plucked a cantaloupe cube from the pile and took a bite. The juice trickled down your chin; you cupped your hand beneath it to catch the droplets before they stained the bed sheet.

Eddie, meanwhile, kept his gaze plastered to how your lips wrapped around the fruit. His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly and he coughed as though snapping himself out of a daze.

“You okay?”

“Y-Yeah.” He managed a smile and popped a piece of melon in his mouth, chewing if only to keep himself busy until he could concentrate on something besides your parted lips. “Peachy keen.” With another slight twitch of his mouth, let out a cough.

It dawned on you, then, that he was losing control, and that you were the cause. If you indulged him in his desire–desire that you admittedly shared–you’d soon find yourselves pawing at each other on an old bed sheet in the middle of a public park.

You couldn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t let desperation get the best of you. You knew better.

Instead, you surveyed your surroundings for any other conversation topic. Grass, blooming flowers, the ants parading towards a puddle of spilled soda.

You took another swig of chocolate milk, hoping it would cool you from the inside out. “Yoo-Hoo was an interesting drink choice.” The words were strangled, forced, too abrupt.

Eddie knew it, too, but he played along. Perhaps more for his sake than yours, but he still loosened a chuckle. “Yeah, I saw them at the cor—bodega, and it reminded me of when I was a kid.” Fiddling with the discarded sandwich wrapper, he continued. “My uncle would buy one on every payday. A Yoo-Hoo for me and a lotto scratcher for himself.”

“Did you get more Yoo-Hoo if he won anything?”

“Nah.” He crumpled the sandwich foil into a ball. “That went towards bills.”

Right. Eddie had told you that he grew up in poverty, sharing a tiny trailer with his uncle. Any extra money wasn’t really extra at all.

You knew the feeling. How many times had you found loose change on the ground or a dropped dollar at the subway token booth and slipped it into the motel’s register?

“How did he feel about you pursuing music?” You were back on the right track, retreating into topics as far away from sex as possible.

Eddie shrugged, his shoulders holding a story that he wasn’t ready to tell. “He wasn’t thrilled. Wanted me to have something steady, something I could count on.” So I didn’t end up bartering to stay in a shitty Queens motel remained unspoken. “But he was the one who bought me my first guitar, so it’s partially his fault.”

There was that smirk, the one that turned your knees into jelly. God, to be on your knees for him, to taste what lay behind that godforsaken zipper–

You scrambled to patch up the cracks that might allow desperation to seep through. “Did you always want to be a musician?”

“Pretty much. I mean, when I was really young, I wanted to be a dinosaur.”

You burst out into laughter, slapping your hand across your mouth to contain it all. Out of all of the things he could have said, ‘I wanted to be a dinosaur’ was nowhere near your list of possibilities. “A…dinosaur?”

“Yup. A triceratops, to be exact.”

“Mhm.” What was going on? How did we get here? You chalked it up to being a blessing in disguise, a definite pivot from your racy thoughts. “Any particular reason?”

Did you want to know?

“The horns seemed cool. And good for impaling.”

You tucked your lips into your mouth and stifled a laugh, trying to keep a serious face. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you.”

“Yeah, I was real bummed when I found out they were already extinct.” He pursed his lips and tilted his head towards you, breaking out into a smile. “So, any updates on social work school?”

You almost shook your head before you remembered. “There’s this event they’re doing where admitted students get to tour the campus, meet each other, talk to advisors...”

“You gonna go?”

“I probably should.” It would be a great opportunity for you to get your bearings and register for classes. “Are you busy next Friday?”

“Next Friday? Let me check my schedule.” Eddie feigned contemplation for a beat, then looked at you with a smile that flipped your stomach. “Free as a bird. Why, does the Heiress need to be accompanied to her Smart People Gathering?”

You stuck out your tongue in mock annoyance. Eddie grabbed it by the tip, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re a brat.”

His eyes bore into yours, holding your gaze even as he let go. He’d set the challenge: You make him beg to tag along, or you back down and admit that you wanted him to join you.

You chose the former.

“I mean, I can take Nora if you’re busy. Or Ben.”

Jealousy flashed across Eddie’s face at your flippant reply. Did you have to add Ben? Probably not. Was it fun to watch Eddie squirm? Absolutely.

“I’ll take you.” He didn’t need to say it; not when his brief scowl already proclaimed that you won.

Grinning, you kissed his cheek triumphantly. “Great.” You wiped at where your lipstick had left a smudge. “But the next time you grab my tongue, I’ll bite you.”

Without missing a beat, he growled, “Maybe I want you to.”

You couldn’t temper your reaction, not with his voice reaching a bass note that signaled that his desire was just as strong as yours. Without warning, you anchored yourself in his lap, legs on either side of his, and let your teeth graze the skin above his collarbone. You bit down just enough to make him utter a tiny yelp.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass as he pulled you forward, your core now directly atop his. Instinct kicked in and your hips moved of their own accord, your cotton panties dragging over his fly, already wet just from your proximity to him.

Teeth clicked and tongues found one another, the kiss somehow sloppier and more ravenous than the tipsy one you’d shared a few nights earlier. You grabbed hold of his t-shirt, the fabric bunching in your shaking palms as you brought him closer, closer, still never close enough…

Eddie nipped at your lower lip, one palm sliding up to cup your cheek. His touch teetered between a timid ‘you’re mine?’ and a possessive ‘you’re mine,’ opposing sides in a battle to claim and be claimed. His own hips hedged upwards, the friction equal parts tantalizing and torturous.

God, you wanted him. You wanted him to flip you over and pin you down, hands grasping your wrists hard enough to leave a bruise. You wanted to remember that he was there, that he was on you, with you. You wanted to stare at those marks from the privacy of your own room and recount how he’d taken you in public.

And then you heard it–your name. Not ‘Heiress,’ nor did it come from Eddie’s kiss-swollen lips. The voice was feminine and familiar.

You broke the kiss, your blood running ice cold as you swiveled around to see Aunt Tam and Uncle Mo standing before you. Aunt Tam’s brows were raised in a combination of disappointment and disbelief; Uncle Mo’s cheeks were splotched pink in pure embarrassment–a feeling you knew all too well.

You froze, your fingers now tangled in Eddie’s frizzy curls as reality sunk in, squashing down most of the lust connecting you to him. You’d been spotted dry humping Eddie in the middle of the park by your parents’ best friends. People who’d known you since you were born.

Too quickly, you removed yourself from Eddie’s lap and smoothed out the hem of your sundress, as though your aunt and uncle would forget what they’d just witnessed if it wasn’t happening anymore.

This was bad. Worse than bad; this was humiliating. You wanted to beg them not to tell your parents, a child with her hand caught in the cookie jar, but the words clung to your throat. Instead, and much more shamefully, tears ran down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, we just–we got carried away, we shouldn’t have–I’m so sorry, please don’t say anything to my parents–”

Damn it. Damn it all to hell. Why couldn’t you just keep yourself in control?

Aunt Tam cleared her throat, shaking herself from surprise. “No, I’m sorry for interrupting. I just wasn’t expecting to see, um, that.” The coloring of her cheeks now matched her husband’s as they hurried away, unable to leave fast enough. “Enjoy your picnic. Good to, uh, see you both.”

Everything was suddenly too much. The sun was too bright, the birds were chirping too loudly, the grass beneath the sheet was too sharp.

You scrambled to clean up the remaining food, all of which now looked as appetizing as a pile of mud. You couldn’t even look at Eddie when you spoke. “We should go home.”

“Heiress, it’s fine. Calm down–”

“I can’t calm down!” Too snappy, too harsh, but you no longer had the capacity to care. “My parents will kill me if they find out we were together.”

Confusion knitted Eddie’s brows together. “You’re a grown adult. And it’s not like we were naked and getting arrested for public indecency.”

His lack of understanding only strengthened your frustration. “No, I–it’s just not a good look for me to be fooling around with a guest.”

There was no mistaking the hurt in Eddie’s scoff. “I mean, we’re on a date…and we’re kinda a…a thing, right?” He chewed on his lower lip, and you felt a wall come up, that same barrier he’d erected when you’d all but accused him of vandalizing Eisen’s. “I didn’t realize I was just a guest.”

“Yeah, no–I mean, we are a thing,” you rushed to explain, “and you’re not just a guest to me, but you technically are still a guest.”

“Right.” Eddie stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I get it. Yeah. I just thought…never mind.” He blew out a breath and stooped down to help you clean up.

You forced yourself to speak again, terrified that you’d shatter this already fragile moment. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice so low that you weren’t sure he’d even hear it.

“S’okay.”

But it wasn’t. You knew it wasn’t okay even when he reached back and laced his fingers with yours. It was no longer an act of affection, but one of needed reassurance. And it didn’t fix the gaping chasm; you weren’t sure how to fix it, or if it could be fixed at all.

It was a Band-Aid on a bullet wound, and time was ticking until it bled out.

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netherfeildren · 4 months

Text

FABLE OF THE DOG : 3. Little Freak

Series Masterlist; Chapter: 1, Chapter: 2,

Pairing: Joel Miller x FMC

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Cowboy/Heiress AU; Discussions of Grief; Daddy Issues; Parental Neglect; Angst and Fluff; Older Man/Younger Woman; Jealousy; Possessive Behavior; Brat Taming; Extremely Bossy Old Man; Rough Sex; Size Difference; Spanking; DD/lg Dynamics; Dom/Sub Undertones; Forced Orgasm; Dirty Talk (like really forreal); Small Boobie Rep; Biting; Over Stimulation;

A/N: really sticking my finger in the father wound and wiggling it around in this one :))))))

Word Count: 10.3K

Read on AO3

3. Little Freak

You pull your sticky fingers from the damp bed of your underwear, the not enough little orgasm you’d been able to rub out still pulsing hot and cold through your cunt.

Horrible man—you’ve never wanted anyone or anything as badly as you want him to need you. And no, not a wanting sort of thing, not a wanting sort of desire—that’s not what you’d demand from him. It’s specific, this thing: it’s that you want him to have no choice in the matter, you want him to be forced, to see no other recourse but you because that’s just how necessary you feel to him.

You want there to be no thought, no compunction in him—only you.

Even more, because lies are worth nothing here in your own mind in your cold bed—

—You want him to love you.

The way your father never did. The way no man ever has, not really.

Face buried in the dark for a moment, you groan softly before sliding belly first off the silk bedding onto your knees, pushing yourself up off the floor unsteadily. You toe your boots off and then step tiptoe on the end of each sock to pull them from your feet. It’d not been a lie—you’re not drunk, limiting yourself to only one tonight, and no liquor, because you knew you needed to be able to focus on the taste of his tongue when you inevitably got your hooks in him, hoping, knowing he’d take your bait and follow, but now, it’s a wholly different sort of buzz zinging through you.

All him. All man. All Joel.

He’d been flavored of smoked whiskey and mint, a hint of tobacco, and you wish you could’ve been more faithful in your pursuit of enjoying the chewing of the leaves he always has, you’d tried for years but couldn’t bear the texture, the green gnashed between your teeth, earthen and organic. It’s not for you, your tastes veering to something hotter and sweeter. But you’ve always wanted to be just like him anyway, and every endeavor at a connection, no matter how small, had always seemed like a valiant one.

Stupid birthdays. Disgusting leaves of mint. Dead fathers and daughters and all the different ways we hurt each other.

Stumbling coltish and uncoordinated, newly birthed down the staircase, you push your way out the back door. He’ll have gone to bed now, you know they’re going up the mountain early tomorrow morning to check on one of the herds, but you’re desperate for one more second of him, being spit out of the house of your dead parents, hunting for the last hint of his presence riding on the fresh air off the Tetons and all this land that’s all yours now.

You veer left then right, a zigzagging dance across the green lawn until you’re far enough away from the house it’s like you can pretend to ignore the ghosts you’re readying to exorcize. One knee hits the ground hard and stinging, limbs loose and strengthless, you feel the stab of a little rock against the curve of round bone beneath easily broken skin, catching yourself on a palm, another too hard scrape and then you’re rolling over into the grass, settling on your back to look up at the stars.

There are so many, an infinite number of lights winking like watchful eyes back at you, and you wonder at the sort of childhood that lends itself to laying in the grass like this beside a parent that loves you and wants you and carves space in their life for a child they'd forced into the world. It should be some sort of crime, you think, immediate execution sort of barbarity, to have a child and not love it the way it demands.

Back of your hands open at your sides, palms to the watching sky, you close your eyes and imagine what it’d be like to have the hand of a father holding it, one that would want you—not a mother because what is she in reality to you but an imagination figure you can’t even truly conjure up? That much of a stranger is what she is—such an alien thing you can’t even bother to dream her.

Drawing your knees up, you press your bare heels into the earth and the wet placket of your panties is ice cold and sticking uncomfortably now, breeze against it. You shouldn't be thinking about this shit, but you think you might cry anyway, sucking in too fast breaths, forcing them out in attemptedly slow little puffs through your nose. A wave of sudden grief, then a plateau, the nauseating up and down of it all. You should be thinking about him, about your victory tonight, about making him so angry he can’t help himself, about what’ll come next—his skin. But that’s the thing about him, Joel, isn’t it? Always has been—the incongruous, make-no-sense feelings he’s always pulled out of you since you’d first set eyes on him, fourteen years old and tender and so alone you didn’t even know there was another way to be but abandoned.

A laugh then—huffing and sardonic and again, incongruous, because now you really are crying. Tears leaking back, hot and fat to pool in your ears and salt the earth beneath you—unloading your grief into the grass as if God were beside you. Nothing will grow here again because of you if you’re not careful, and that’s the next worry—

If he never needs you the way you’re demanding of him, you won’t be able to stay here.

You won't be able to live here and love him and not have him, and you could force him, perhaps, in your own ways. But you’ve done so much of that your whole life—forcing unloving men to look at you and take you into their arms when they’d never really wanted to give you the thing you’d always wanted most.

The tender truth: it would be so much better if Joel decided to need you because he wants to, because he can’t fathom another way than just that.

And you don’t think you’ll ever be able to live with anything else besides such.

Another forced out laugh again—just to feel the feeling of it, go through the motion, mountain air a roundabout gust in your lungs, then to your left: “What’re you laughing at, weirdo?”

Ellie, long and loping and beautiful, come to your rescue. She throws herself down onto the ground beside you and doesn’t even have to ask a thing about it when she places her rough hand in your soft one.

Working girl, mover of mountains, changer of lives.

Ellie has always known how to know you, and it has always been an incredible comfort.

The two of you lay there for a few quiet moments. Friendship as an entity has always been a strange thing to you who have never understood love in a non-transactional way. But the thing that Ellie has always given you, it has always been an incredibly straightforward sort of understanding, simple—that of one abandoned child to another, perhaps.

“Are you drunk?”

“Why’s everyone always fucking asking me that?” Said with another laugh but of the real sort this time, despite the bite in your voice.

“You’re a hazard. What can I say?”

Undeniable. “Oh, shut up.” You dig your nails into the back of her hand, trying to scratch her but probably ruining your manicure instead, she squeezes your knuckles in sideways, hurting you way more than you could manage her. A yelp, and you say, “You know what I’m excited for?”

“What’s that?”

“Skijoring.”

“Fuck no, dude. I almost died last time.”

You snicker, “Yeah, that was the fun part for me.”

Elbow to the ribs, and, “Asshole,” she laughs. And then you’re quiet again together, still gripped by the hands, and it’s the sort of comfortable only two girls who’ve been together since they were truly girls can be.

“You see Cassiopeia?” She points her finger way north.

“Do you think I should stay?” You see it, and easily, and you know if you were somewhere not here, it wouldn’t be so simply found. Maybe that’s a good thing.

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Because of Joel.” It isn’t a question. You’ve never said it with words to her, but she’s always known.

You hum instead of answering, can’t say it out loud anyway just yet. “So you finally asked her.” Dina, she knows what you mean.

And Ellie hums now in turn too. The both of you are so fucked up. Can’t say a thing out loud.

“And?”

“It’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Good.”

“Just good?”

Ellie groans loud and long, baying goat, and you tell her so, which gets another knock to the ribs. “Turn around and don’t look at me so I can tell you.”

You roll over towards the mountains and feel her face the house where she doesn’t see ghosts like you do.

“But you’re not allowed to say anything—just say okay. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I think—well, you know…,” she gruffs, voice dipping low and dropping off before she can say the words out loud again also. Everything’s a secret code here, even the stuff that shouldn’t be.

“You think?”

“You’re such a fucker. I know.”

You hum again but the good and happy sort, pressing your lips together to keep the misty eyed smile at bay. “Okay,” you say back just as low and just as gruff.

“S’why I think you should stay,” she adds. “If I can find happy here, so can you.”

“I’ve never been able to before.”

“But you’re different now.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah—can see it, you know. And this place is different now too—will be different.”

“I was afraid to come back for such a long time. It seemed like the worst thing in the world.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, before she says: “You’re not supposed to be afraid of your father.” A very obvious thing—or at least it should be.

You feel her turn to look at the back of your neck, and you peer over your shoulder at her and when your eyes meet, she looks so sad, like she’s so sorry for you but without the pity, and you do understand what it is she’s saying despite never having had that fearless experience.

“Aren’t you?” A shrug of your shoulder and a helpless laugh but also maybe with real humor accompanying it. Because yes, you’re not supposed to be. You always were anyway. It’s funny in an impossible to understand way.

A beat and then, “Can I say something fucked up?”

“Yeah.”

“He isn’t here for you to be afraid of anymore.”

Funniest of all, you’re the most sad about this. And what you don’t say to her, perhaps for shame or that child’s feeling of having done something wrong but not necessarily understanding what that wrong is—sometimes it’s inevitable, missing the monster.

“Maybe you needed him to die.” Yeah, fucked up. You’d already thought the same thing and were chock full of guilt for it. “Maybe it was like—like I don’t know. It was never going to be the way it should have between you, but now you can remember him, fuck, I don’t know—different. Not that you wanted him to die, but now the reality of him isn’t here for you to see, so you can just remember it all however you like or not.”

“So I should lie to myself?”

“Why not? There are worse things you could do. There are worse things you do do.”

You snort. “Is this what your method is?”

“Yeah. Like—like sometimes, when I’m so happy I can’t believe it’s me feeling it because she makes me that happy, Dina,” she says her name with love, “I pretend nothing from before was ever the way it was, and it’s only here and now and me and Dina and the ranch and there was no shitty, abandoning father and no dead mom and no nothing and only Joel is my dad and it’s all always been okay.”

Joel.

At the center of everyone’s happy dream, why is it always him?

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll try it.” She reaches behind her back then, pawing at your hip until you give her your hand again, and you were wrong. She’s changed too. She can say things now. She’s always had those too perceptive eyes and that too big heart, and she’s changed now in a way that makes her not afraid to let it out and use these things anymore.

You tell this changed Ellie now: “You know that like— that like… I don’t know how to say it. When a person’s life seems like it should be perfect, and you have everything. Everything should be good, right—but it’s just not. Your parents should be kind, they should be loving. They should be attentive and give a shit what happens to you, and it probably seems that way to the whole rest of the world except for the people that have to witness the humiliation behind closed doors, but it’s really just not, and then they probably look at me and wonder how my life could be anything but rose colored, and it all just seems a little silly and empty. Doesn’t it?”

“Nah—don’t know. My life was always shit before I came here and found Joel and Dina and all of them and you. And I'd seen enough to recognize what you were and how it was. Nothing ever looked rose colored to me—just looked like more shit.” You laugh again out loud now and for real, squeezing more tears out over your hot cheeks when she joins you in the sad hilarity as well.

When her voice is finally steady from the belly laughs again, she says, “It’s a grief pyramid, we’re all just going around hurting each other in the name of our ghosts and call it an excuse, an offering to their memory and act like it’s okay. But it’s fucked up. That’s why I decided to stop. I stopped pushing her away, I told her—well, you know. I told her.”

“Say it, loser.” You bump your butt into hers.

“Not to you—leave me alone.”

Say it, say it, say it, you sing.

“I love her, fuck off.” And a little clog of emotion sticks wetly in your throat.

That’s the real question, honestly: How do you make someone love you? How do you make yourself into someone people can love?

“It’s a grief pyramid,” she repeats. “You have to choose to stop adding to it.” And she’s quiet again for a long time, and you can’t fathom how it is one stops building onto something they’d been born into. You think on it so long the feel of her palm clutching yours starts losing itself to sleep in the grass and the breeze comes off the mountains like a blanket over the two girls who’d become women before them until she says again, “Anyway, that’s usually the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid.”

“Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Nothin’.”

“Nope. You’re definitely doing something.” He angles the phone away from her prying eyes, trying to shield his shame with the palm of his hand.

“Mind your own damn business, kid.”

“Is that an Instagram account?” Ellie howls like a banshee, Tommy coming up behind him to reach over his shoulder to try and rip the phone out of his hand. He holds it out of his reach.

It’s just that he couldn’t help himself. He’d heard the boys all talking about it on the ride back down after their long day of work—your Instagram page—as if he knew what the fuck that was. He’d had to search it up on the internet when he’d gotten a moment alone in the bunk, cracking open a beer, muscles exhausted from the hard ride and having to haul a heifer out of a bramble she’d gotten herself caught in, he’d realized it was a thing young people put photographs and such on, a social media thing. But when he’d gone to search your name, it’d told him he’d needed to make an account of his own. Growling in frustration, he’d slowly made his way through the process, too big fingers punching at the too tiny keys of the stupid phone you’d forced on him.

“Can you shut up and just show me how to work this thing. And stop your goddamn howling—Dina’s gonna think she’s dating a hyena not a girl.” She slides into the seat next to him, taking the phone from his grip to finish setting up the account and type in your name, a deck of pictures loading up for him to hunt through like a vandal. Photographs of you in all sorts of different places, draped in fine clothes and jewels and your fucking perfect ass right there for everyone to see.

Oh my God.

“How many people can see this shit?” He asks Ellie, angling the phone back towards her.

“You’re so nosey, man,” she chastises. “Thirty-seven thousand followers.” And a long, impressed whistle from Tommy who he’s going to punch in the face after he’s done with this.

He swallows hard. “What’s that mean?”

“That thirty-seven thousand people are following her and looking at her pictures, Joel,” his brother says. “Man, how fuckin’ old are you?”

“Yeah, you’re not that old, Joel. Come on.”

“Go away now. I’m busy,” he tells the both of them, going back to doom scrolling through your pictures. One’s of you in barely any clothes at all, an itty bitty orange bikini, hands on your ass and sand where his tongue should be.

Joel feels insane again.

“Pervert.”

“Joel… I don’t mean to alarm you, but I think there’s steam comin’ out of your ears, man.”

“Fuck off.”

Blessedly, they leave him to suffer in peace after a while, and thank Christ for that because eventually, the ex-boyfriend shows up in the scroll of pictures too. There for everyone to see in posts dated several weeks back—even one of the two of you kissing, you on his lap, fuck that. Good looking, shiny-boy sort. Joel’s left eye twitches at the sight of the sort of man he has never been, could never be for you, someone of your caliber.

The memory of your cunt grinding against him last night flashes through his mind and his cock throbs once and hungry. He stretches his long legs out in front of him, adjusting in the suddenly too tight seat of his jeans.

A clusterfuck is what it is—this sudden melding of the memory of the girl-child you used to be, the one that up until only recently lived in his mind, good and golden, and the woman you are now. With both figures meeting together with all the characteristics he’d always admired in you, your kind heart, your honesty, your generosity. You’ve turned out to be an exceptional woman, and it’s difficult to let the distant perception from before meet the lust he feels for you now and grapple with it without feeling sick to his stomach about it all.

It’s all an inevitability though, anyway. He knows this just from the rewind memory play of last night, the taste of your mouth and the little sounds you'd made for him, because of him, the way your hips had rolled over his lap desperately seeking.

You’re ending up on his cock one way or another—inevitable.

He’s never claimed to be a good and honorable man—never played the part of one either. He’s not about to start now.

Clicking on the picture of your sun bronzed ass in the tiny bikini again, he imagines himself biting and eating it, shifting his legs restlessly, taking another long pull of his beer. Tapping twice on the image, he tries to zoom in to the apex of your thighs—he’s going to hell, he’s so fucked up, doesn’t matter—when a little heart appears in the center of the image. He clicks it again and the heart appears once more, refusing to zoom into what he wants to see up close. Fucking piece of shit phone and fucking Instagram—frustrated and hard and pissed off at the fact he’s yet to see you all day, he locks the phone, slamming it face down on the kitchen table, and downs the rest of the can.

If he doesn’t get a hold of himself soon he’s going to burst, gut all twisted up into a hot knot of coal. Sick with jealousy and anger and lust, aggressive, the taste of your sweetness ringing in his ears and the sound of your moans on his tongue—his head is not on straight and he better get it fixed quick or all this pent up frustration is going to come out with teeth to take a chunk of flesh out of you.

Groaning loudly, he lets his head fall back, thumbs digging into the sockets of his eyes until he sees stars and not the sight of your slick swollen mouth made that way by himself. He wonders if you slept well last night, if you thought of him, if you’d made yourself come the way he’d ran home to the little foreman’s cabin Kelly had given him years ago, to do himself. Jumping in the shower to jack his leaking cock to the image of what it would’ve been like if he’d been brave enough to pull that flimsy little tease of a thong to the side, let his cock out and force it inside of you, make you take it until you were crying and coming so hard you’d never think to even look at another man again, much less kiss him.

He should’ve hit that fucker harder. He should’ve kissed you longer.

He needs to force you to take all of those goddamn half naked pictures down. No one should get to look at you like that except for him, and he doesn’t give a fuck how insane he sounds.

Outside, he can hear the cowboys hooting and hollering at something, egging each other on louder and louder, the scuffle of them shoving each other and horsing around. He sighs once and long, too tired to deal with their shit right now. All he needs is an evening of peace to get his head on straight and relax and will his boner down for a few hours. He’s acting like a goddamn randy teenager, walking around hard and aching half the day.

Heaving himself out of the chair, back hurts, he grabs another beer before he’s pushing the bunk door open to the sight of half the team huddled together and peering around the corner of the bunk towards the house.

“The hell’s got y’all clucking like a bunch of hens?” He asks, coming around them to stop dead in his tracks when he lays eyes on what it is that’s got them all worked up.

That same ass he’d just been trying to zoom in on, right there in the flesh for the whole ranch to ogle at. Stretched out on one of the sun loungers from the deck, dragged out into the center of the lawn with a little table set up next to you. You’d even gotten someone to scrounge up a huge umbrella, a misting fan spinning lazily, spitting a damp sheen of water every few minutes, a drink and a speaker playing some girly song, whole goddamn set up for all of these fuckers to stand here and take an eyeful of your perfect ass.

Joel tries to take deep breaths, counting back from ten in his head—fails. He’s going to be calm and cool and collected—not. He isn’t going to lose his temper—sure.

Fuck that.

He’s going to spank your ass so hard you can’t sit for a week.

“If you all don’t find something to do in the next thirty seconds,” he growls at them all through clenched teeth, “I swear I’ll have you slingin’ shit for a month.” The can in his grip pops loudly between his fingers.

They all take one peek at the look on his face and scatter like chicken shit until it’s only Ellie left smirking beside him.

“Take this,” he shoves the can at her and starts towards you.

“Bro—” He ignores her. Hey! She calls after him, voice demanding now, stopping him in his tracks before he can go get exactly what he’s been denying himself from the moment you kissed him two nights ago.

Giving him that look she gets when she needs to remind him she knows exactly who he is and that he can’t ever hide it from her, she chews on her cheek for a second before she says, and he doesn’t mistake it, it’s a warning: “She’s a real peach. You know that. Pretty and soft and sweet, but easily hurt. Needs gentle handling, even when she wants to pretend otherwise.”

It pisses him off. Bad. “You think I don’t fuckin’ know that? I understand her—” thumb to chest. Because he did—does. Because he thinks that he really always has. It’s undeniable that he has what you have, what Ellie has. Even what Oswald Kelly himself had had and what he’d seen in Joel when he’d decided to save the life of a no good man in a no good spot with a no good future in front of him—that sadness, that lost doggedness about you all that makes you so like one another, even despite your immeasurable differences.

The two of them look at each other for another long moment, and Ellie knows, Ellie always understands. With a roll of her eyes she spins on her heel, muttering to herself, slugging back Joel’s discarded beer.

Slowly, he rounds back towards you, afraid as if he were looking down the barrel of a gun, just as dramatic, as well. Objectively, he knows you’re doing this on purpose, to piss him off and rile him up and get a blow out reaction out of him. He tries to remind himself of it as he marches towards you, and if he were smarter or less inclined to take your bait, he’d take a beat to finish that count to ten reversal in his head and calm the fuck down before he gets to you—but honestly, he just doesn’t feel like it.

All he sees instead is the baby pink barely there string bikini you’ve got on, the slope of your back gleaming in the sun, slicked in something shiny, the damp from the mister, the lush curve of your ass and the shine of your hair resting face down on your folded arms.

You’re all sunkissed everywhere, and he’d really rather just give you what you want already.

“Get up,” he growls down at you.

One eye winks open, peering up at him before you press up on your elbows to take in the sight of him scowling down at you, and he can’t help it when his eyes flit down to the sight of your breasts cupped precariously in the tiny bikini, skin all sun flushed red against the soft baby pink fabric. You look like you’re made of sugar and sweet fruit and like you’ve come here specifically to ruin him and his whole life and all his self control.

Hmm? You smile up at him wide and teasing. Oh, he’s feeding right into your shit, and you piss him off so badly.

He’s never been this hard in his entire life, he’s even made dizzy with it.

The little wisps of hair at your temples are sweat soaked and curling, looking silky soft. A thousand little details about you and your body—the white of your smile and the flushed heat of your cheeks, sun burnished bridge of your nose starting to freckle—that he can’t help but notice.

Get. Up, he grits through clenched teeth. No one in the whole world deserves to see you like this, looking so beautiful, especially not him. Shading your eyes with the palm of your hand, you scrunch your nose up at him, and he’s got half a mind to bark at you to not do that when he’s around or he’s really gonna lose it. Your smile beams brighter.

“What’s wrong, Joel? Havin’ a rough day?”

“I swear to Christ, if you don’t get your ass up and in the house right this minute, I’m going to put you over my knee right here in front of your whole ranch to witness, little girl.”

You smile up at him again and a muscle at the corner of his jaw flutters madly, he’s about to crack a fucking molar. “Hmm, I don’t think so.” And you flop back down again so that the soft of your ass jiggles slightly, arching your back just a little so that he’s growling once, right before he’s gripping you by the elbow and pulling you upwards against his chest and dragging you all bare and slippery limbed to your feet. You smell like coconuts and sweet sweat and saliva pools heavy beneath his tongue.

“If you wanna act like a brat, I’m gonna treat you like one. You get me?” He yanks you towards the house screeching like a banshee, let go of me, you fucking psycho, you howl. A too little fist swings towards his face, and he catches it in his palm, squeezing tight and feeling your thumb tucked inside your fist.

“Stop that—you’re gonna hurt yourself.” More squawking and howling, skinny wrist slipping from his grip to take another swing at him. “Don’t even know how to throw a goddamn punch—Jesus fucking Christ. Don’t tuck your thumb.” He hauls you up higher against himself, getting a better grip around your waist so he can carry you bodily up the steps of the deck.

You jam your heels into his shins, and he huffs and puffs, trying to keep his hold on you. I’m gonna kick your ass, you screech again, scratching and pinching at his forearms.

Joel is too old and too goodman tired for this.

“No, you’re not. And if you think I’m gonna let the whole goddamn ranch and all the boys stare at your bare ass all day, you’ve got another thing comin’ for you.”

“Well, I’ve gotta show it to someone, don’t I?” You sass back, trying to elbow him in the throat while you’re at it. Blood boiling, catching you by the small joint, he pulls your arm bent behind your back, other forearm banding against your stomach so that his hand is splayed at your hip, feeling the satin soft skin, slippery in your suncream.

And sure, he might be too old or too tired for this, but his cock is still hard as anything at the feel of you all against him like this.

Pushing the door open with his hip, he shoves you inside. The late afternoon sun paints the cool interior in shades of gold and beaming white; everything is beautiful and pristine as always, and yet tinged with the red of his temper and lust. His temples beat in tune with his too fast, pumping heart.

“Where’s Dina?” He’s still got you caught in his grip. He does not plan to let go.

“Let me go, you mother ffff—” He gives you one hard shake, hearing your teeth click and rattle. Little doll caught in his grip. He can do anything to you—and you won’t be able to stop him.

“Where is she?” He asks again, and something in his voice must snap you alert because you settle for a brief second, a little shiver skipping down the length of your spine that he follows to your full ass. He tugs you back, barely moving and slow, just that little bit further into himself so that the lush curve presses against the hard length of his cock—and there it is, the little knowing gasp, finally understanding what it is you’ve gotten yourself into.

“She—” Your belly is suddenly so hot and tight, heartbeat starting up behind your navel. Suddenly knowing what it is this is about to be, and yet now finally confronted with the reality of it for the first time, you can’t even begin to imagine what it’ll be like. “She—I don’t know. She went into town, I— I think,” you stutter, brain short-circuiting, desperate to feel that hardness again. “Waiting for Ellie—they’ve got plans there tonight.” His entire hand is wrapped around your forearm pressed against the small of your back, long, thick fingers overlapping against each other, and you roll up on your tiptoes, trying to arch your back further into him.

He grunts once, exasperated, and then shoves you forward again, rough enough you’re stumbling over your own two feet, full on aggressive panting bull at your back.

That’s good, he says so low you barely catch it before he’s pushing you up against the wall by the front door, cheek smushed against the silk printed wallpaper.

Your mother decorated this room years ago, melding the masculine taste of your father and her love for European decor. The walls, wrapped in hand painted English wallpaper on the top half, and paneled at the bottom with a mahogany so fine it gleams an amber golden glow when the afternoon sun shines in through the windows just so.

Everything beautiful; still, even after all this time.

He holds you there for a long moment, his breathing quick and shallow, bellows of hot air at the nape of your neck, disturbing the escaped hair from your claw clip curling there.

“Joel?” You ask once, voice wavering just a little bit because he suddenly feels so large and imposing behind you that something like trepidation beats behind the soft of your kneecaps. You know he worked all day, and his big body is a steaming blaze of heat, waves rolling off of him to burn the naked length of your back and limbs.

He pulls your arm trapped between his forearm and your stomach to the small of your back to join the other, holding you there in a lock pinned against the wall, reaching up slowly to let your hair down, long and swinging. You listen to the clatter of your clip against the hardwood floor, and then he’s circling the side of your neck, the tiny beating pulse held in the cup of his palm so that it feels as if it’s reverberating back into your head, a staccato rhythm, and echoing all through your body. A chiming bell, ringing and ringing and ringing, telling you that it’s time now. His hand smooths down the slope of your throat to your shoulder, and you listen to the rumbling half humming moan he lets out at the feel of your sweat sticky skin, then down the flat wing of your scapula, thumb nail scraping against the edge of your jutting bone for the way he’s got your arms trapped behind you.

You let out a high pitched whine, almost a scream, another puff of sound in the assimilation of his name, pleading now, rolling up onto your tiptoes again to push your ass back against the hard of his cock. Everything is so, so sensitive.

Quit, he snaps once and mean. Ordering. In a tone that says he’s in charge, and finally.

It’s such a relief.

You whine again, higher, needier, like you’ve never felt before, and there’s a nauseating thrum of electrified butterflies in your tummy, sticky sweet and cloying for attention. Joel, please, again and the wings beat faster. You’re sure he’ll enjoy the sound of your begging, it’s just something you know. Tiptoes straining higher so that the soles of your feet ache, he smooths that work roughened palm down the slope of your spine, thumb against your vertebrae, feeling the round little notches of bone beneath sensitive skin until he’s reached the twin dimples at the low of your back right above your ass, and presses there and hard—mean—so it hurts. Keening loudly, you crush your cheek harder, harder against your mother’s wallpaper until the bone aches, until there’ll surely be an indent of your shape left in the wall, and his thumb digs even harder anyway, gripping you tight enough to bruise.

This is how it’ll be—surprising, but also not. In all your years of imagining, you still don’t know what it is you expected.

“You’re carved so fine,” whispered against your skin and gooseflesh spreads like wildfire, nipples going tight and aching. His nose skims the slope of your nape, smelling you. “S’like you’re made of sugar. Is that what you’ll taste like too?” And his words are slurred, drunk-like and you feel the same way also, legs on the verge of giving out.

You press your hips back again, desperate for any sort of pressure, and he jostles you once, hard enough you bite your tongue. Quit moving, he snaps, shoving his knee between your legs and spreading you wide and immobile, thigh hooked over his own so that the toes of that leg barely skim the ground and now you’re precariously balanced on one foot, held up and pinned entirely by him.

Caughtcha, he murmurs.

You couldn’t move even if you wanted to.

The palm at the low of your back splays wide, his long fingers reaching from side to side and pressing hard against your skin and then all of a sudden he’s gone, and only for a second, before he’s back and slapping you hard and painfully stinging on the ass. A downward swipe of his thick fingers so that it really fucking hurts, and then the palm is back at the small of your waist, hooked thigh over his leg, unable to move, unable to do anything except take it.

He presses your belly into the wall, and the pressure is so intense and so deep—his breathing is so rough behind you. You know he worked the mountain all day, he should be exhausted, but the strength he’s trapping you with belies the possibility.

His hand goes away from your back again, and he’s spanking you once more, and you can’t tell if it’s harder or not this time, if it hurts worse than the previous, but the fire pain of it snaps all the way down from your thigh to your calve, pooling there in a knot of painful ache. An animal baying noise warbles in your throat, he tuts once, a cooing click of his tongue and cups your ass right at the rose of pain he’s left, kneading the skin gently, palpating the hurt like he’s looking for the physical imprint of it beneath your skin.

“Yeah, baby? Like that?” You sing the little animal song for him again. “S’what you needed, right?” His voice now is not the Joel-voice you’ve always known, but it is the one you’ve always dreamed of. The kneading fingers slide whisper soft down the back of your thigh, up again, down again, callused skin scraping. On the up again, his thumb catches at the edge of your bathing suit wedged between the cleft of your ass.

And lest he thinks he’s bested you, you say, “Yes, that’s what I needed,” and he laughs a rough laugh that makes him sound like he’s been gutted.

He squeezes the thick of your ass between his thumb and forefinger, an almost pinch and then smoothes his thumb beneath the pink edge along the curve, precariously close to danger. The sound of his name loses meaning, you’re praying it in a litany almost, over and over, begging. Hush now, he gentles, more in a sort of voice you recognize while your heart beats so hard against the wall it must surely sound like someone’s knocking on the front door for entry, like it must surely send echoes all through the ghost-house.

His smoothing thumb continues its journey until it’s between your thighs, pulling the wet lycra wide away from your skin so that he can tuck the rest of his fingers flat against your cunt, and now he’s there.

One of you says the word fuck another lets out a whimpering sort of noise—you’re not sure which is who, it’s all only a cunt-throbbing need you know he’s feeling leak and pulse against his hand.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs all reverence like. Joel—touching your cunt and sounding like he can’t believe it. His hand slides back along the curve of your sex, and you really are so wet the sound of it is slick and lewd, his fingertips at your entrance, a gentle probing and then forward again, a circling not touch around your clit, like he’s learning for himself this new little place that belongs to him now. Your mouth falls open on a spit-full moan, your eyes closed because you don’t even have strength now to keep them open and watchful. You’re so wet for me, he says again and again like he can’t believe it all either.

He drags his finger flats against you once more and then another time and then taps twice with all four of them, two little almost slaps to your clit that make a sticky wet splashing sound. Good girl, and you don’t know which part of you he’s talking to. You’re practically leaking onto the floor, trying to widen your hips, arch your ass back further and present your cunt to him for fucking. And then his fingers side to side in a swiping motion and fast.

Oh God. Oh God. Inside, inside, you need him inside. He needs to go inside.

“Please, pleeease, Joel. Oh, please.” Delirious.

“Please?” His fingers move fast and your vision goes entirely away. “Please what? Please what? You, please.” He switches front and backwards again, and then two fingers draw a little ghost circle at your entrance. You, please, he says again. His hand flips over, palm facing downwards, and he starts to slowly, slowly press a single tip of one inside. “Please behave. Please don’t— don’t—fuck— please gimme a second to breathe, to think, to catch up. God, fucking tight little cunt. I’ll never fit in here, baby.”

Your vision whites, then blacks, then goes blinding bright and colorless—zero frequency. Up to the first knuckle, and he wiggles the tip inside, making you cry and squirm, pulls out and then two fingers are pressing inside and downwards. “We’re gonna have to take it so slow in this little cunt.” Shit—shit.

“Oh my God, yes.”

Your hips shiver and shake as he penetrates you, his forehead tucked against your shoulder so he can look down at what he’s doing, and drool slides along your mother’s wallpaper from the corner of your mouth as he pushes his fingers in and out of you so slowly, the slick slide, the pressure against your front wall so heavy, and spread so wide like this but held so immobile—it all makes you feel like you’ll wet yourself with such little control over your body. A few slides in and out again, “Good girl, just a little more,” before he’s wedging a third into the mix, trying to put it inside of you as well. A little more? The stretch is too much, burning, and you wail and cry, arching again but this time to get away instead of steal more.

“Okay, okay. It’s alright,” he soothes. Hush. “It’s okay.” He pulls his fingers entirely out and covers the slick mess of your mound with his entire palm possessively. Rubbing soothingly at your wet, his fingers slide over the satiny smooth skin of your lips.

“You’re all bare,” he whispers, shocked.

You swallow hard once, shoulders and neck starting to ache. “I— I got lasered.”

“Lasers?” Voice confused.

“Yeah.” You swallow again, can’t catch your breath. “Yes.”

“Gotta see.”

He pulls you from the wall, shuffling you like gambling cards in his hands, that’s what this is, a gamble, so that you’re facing him as he walks you backwards, bikini bottoms askew and cunt bare to your parents living room; your dead father’s best man about to fuck it raw.

Pressing up on your tiptoes at the same time that you’re tugging him low by the collar and the slightly too long hair that curls over it to press an open mouthed kiss to his lips with eyes kept open. You need to see his face, his reaction, that even though he’s all rough, he’s still Joel and he’ll still take care of you now.

One strong forearm bands around your back, pressing you up high and close to his chest, fingers tangling in the bikini string at your back so that it pulls tight and bites into your skin, the other reaching around the back of your thighs to take a squeezing handful of you ass as he lifts you clean off the ground, lumbering slowly towards the couch while the two of you stare at each other with something that smells suspiciously of wonder.

On the high ground now, you stare down at him, held as you are and kiss him again, for real this time, with tongue, an eating of his mouth. Trying to taste him as deep as you can go, digging your manicured fingernails into the rough whiskered planes of his cheeks until he grunts roughly.

Showing him that you can hurt him too.

His knees hit the edge of the couch, one palm going to the back to hold himself steady as he sets you down, following your path to fold over you nose to nose. Watching each other for a blink, predator, predator, lashes tangling and then his mouth is sliding wetly over your burning cheekbone, drawn out groan like dying. Down to the hinge of your jaw where he sucks sharp once and his tongue flutters down the column of your throat, tasting your pulse, his palms everywhere at the same time too. Over your shoulders and down your goosefleshed arms, cinching at the nip of your waist to slide around your hips and to your ass, pulling you forward and open when he goes to his knees on the floor at the edge of the sofa between your spread thighs, with you draped diagonally across the cool leather that sticks to your sweaty, coconut flavored skin.

One palm slides down your chest, dragging over your breast, the other catching at your nipple with this thumb, nail scraping and pulling the wet fabric along with him, baring you to the first glance of his eyes. A sound that’s a little like a whimper precedes his latching mouth, sucking hard and with teeth so you’re arching and crying and when your head rolls to the side, eyes bleary and barely seeing, he’s got your small breast in his mouth, jaw hinged wide and hungry. His teeth scrape, one wide palm sliding over your thigh to the back, pushing your knee up high and open to your shoulder, lips skim over your belly, smell so fucking good, sharp edge over your hip bone and the lave of his tongue, taste so fucking good.

“I’m gonna eat your cunt.” Bikini askew, one little tit bared to the cold AC, nipples hard enough to hurt, he pinches it once and mean and stretches the soaking wet center gusset of your bottoms wider.

He looks and looks and grins and everything inside of you pulses.

Boyish smirk and a cocky glance up at you, oh, pretty, “Perfect little princess pussy, huh? I see now.” He sticks his thumb into his mouth, pulls it out with a pop to rub it spit slick against your clit. Yeah, yeah, like that, and you can’t help the whining cry.

Pushing your other thigh up high, the grin turns to something a little more menacing before he bends to your cunt, whole mouth covering you there like he’d swallowed your breast. His thumbs dig painfully into the backs of your thighs like they’d dug in your back, leaving little spots of hurt all over your body is what he’s doing, spreading you wide open.

Every touch is possessive, full of ownership.

“What are you doing to me?” He groans as he eats your cunt, doing exactly as he said he would, flat of his tongue licking all over you, dipping inside. Purse of his lips then and he’s sucking hard and pulsing in quick successions, and there’s your first one—little gush of slick and your belly so tight it hurts, you need something inside of you so bad—your first orgasm forced from you and onto his tongue, swallowed down into his stomach. He groans like an animal—doubles his efforts, tongue spearing inside, pulling away to press two fingers in—fuck, fuck, and you grab hold of your own thigh to keep yourself open for him, knees trembling beside your ribs.

The hand not inside slides across you, smearing slick over your belly, it’s everywhere, and presses down as he crooks those two fingers forward. His hair’s all fucked up, eyes glazed a maniacle shade of hazel that makes him more intimidating than you’ve ever seen him and also hotter than you could’ve ever dreamed, that boy’s smile again.

His mustache is soaked in you. “Little pussy’s so small ‘nd wet, baby.” He wiggles his fingers, pets against the blindingly sensitive place inside of you. “Feel that?” Fingers twisting—almost too much, the stretch burns already and just like this.

“Please, put it in,” you beg stupidly, a tear leaks and then another, not at all smart of self preserving.

He clicks his tongue, and you can’t tell if it’s soothing or condescending or both, your eyes screwing shut at what he’s doing to you, trying to paw at his shoulders and pull him towards you at the same time. “Can’t—too small.”

No, no— His palm at your belly presses down, fingers petting forward, again, again, head bent once more to suck on your clit, licking it roughly if a tongue can be rough because it’s heavy and strong and intentional—I can take it. There’s your next one, obeying the come here order of his fingers. Mid-come and he’s forcing that painful third one from before inside, and now it’s split open and sloshing wetly—your cunt—hiccupping into another left over shaky orgasm, fucking hurts a little bit. More tears and his soft chuckle—you’re really in it now.

When he slurps at your leaking again, fingers leaving you to gape empty and wanting, your hips shiver, trying to shake him away and rock against him at the same time. He says something you can’t make out, can’t even open your eyes, you just need a second, you swear, and then the clink of his belt, the shuffle of clothes, and he’s pulled his shirt over his head—you’ve enough mind left to open your eyes for this.

He’s so strong, built for fucking and working and heaving. You knew this already, you hadn’t needed to see him without clothes to know.

And all yours now, too.

Your fingertips paw greedy at his chest, muscular, the thickly corded arms and shoulders. One hand wraps around the slim of your ankle, manacling you while he undoes his fly, your heart skips with the split of the zipper’s teeth and pulls his cock out, letting it fall heavy on your stomach—a threatening, aggressive thing. It drags against your cunt, so big it doesn’t stand up straight and jutting like the others you’ve been used to, but bobs low and hanging.

Reaching forward you flit the tips of your fingers over the wide head—barely there butterfly touch—and your hand looks comically small next to the thing as you pet at the dark head swelling out of the thick skin around it, soft and burning hot—he growls like a wolf at your touch.

“I’ve never— I’ve never… with one like…”

He pulls your hand forward, wrapping it tightly around the thick length with his fist over yours. “Nah, baby. You’ve never had one like this. It’s alright—I’ll show you how to take it.”

You’ve half a mind to roll your eyes at him, but he distracts you with the soft touch at the split indentation in your knee from your romp in the grass last night. “What happened here, little thing?” His words and his touch are so soft, eyes warm and caring, as if he weren’t threatening at all, as if that thing that’s about to split you in half and make you cry hasn’t started to slick itself back and forth between your legs, parting the lips of your cunt, sticky sound on every pass with his fist wrapped around himself—too many things happening to you all at once by his hand.

“A rock hiding in the grass last night.” You start to roll your hips minutely against him, presenting your similarly torn palm for his appraisal, no, no, my poor baby, he kisses the little hurt while the fat head swipes over your clit, pressing against your hole—a little gasp and you circle his wrist at your knee, anchoring yourself.

He frowns. “Last night when?”

“After you left me.” Pouting back.

Cooing once and low, “You shouldn’t go out alone at night, anything could happen,” pressing again at the mouth of your cunt. Fuck, now—

“Wasn’t alone—”

The head notches and stays, “Without me then— Deep breath now, baby.” He grunts on the first push inside, and your back arches tight as a bowstring, hand splaying wide at the center of his belly and his long fingers wrap around your breast tight, holding you in place, deep breath, he says again.

“Oh God. Oh God. Oh my God.”

He pitches his hips forward once, just a little, just a small shove, and you tense, sharp whine hiccuping through you. “Oh, it’s too big,” pressing harder at his belly as he edges deeper again, an inch and then another, literally splitting your cunt open for himself, thumb swiping slow and gentle over your clit, forcing little shudders of pleasure out of you amidst the pain.

“See, told ya.” It’s slow, slow until he makes it fit, watching himself sink inside of you the entire time, until you’re rooted on his cock, breath coming is quick, sucking pants, puffs out through your nose, body flushing hot and then even hotter. He folds over you, groaning loud and long, deep grinds and small shoves, and then it’s so much, too much until there’s no room left inside of you at all, that dull ache pain of his tip pressing against your cervix.

You’re going to be so sore tomorrow, it hurts, it hurts, but he plays with that place anyways, covering you with his body to press his face against your breasts, mouthing wet and hot at your nipples, biting hard to distract you from the pain inside. Your fingers twist in his hair, hot and damp at the roots, sweaty musk smell of a hard day's work, masculine, making you wetter for him. “It’s alright… it’s alright. You can take it. You’re such a good girl.” And then a fuck, and he’s mumbling your name, how good you are again, how well you’re taking your fucking.

“This what you wanted, right? To get caught on my cock?” The palm cupping your ass tips you up and forwards, forcing him inside just that little bit more. Your knees are at your shoulders, folded entirely under him, and the tip of his cock is still there where it hurts the most while he pants and sweats on top of you. A cramp of heat moves like lightning down your back and something goes loose in your cunt, your womb contracting once, accepting its fate as you start to come around him, milking him deep inside of you. You start to cry for real now too, fingernails dragging against his naked back looking for blood—sobbing, actually, not just crying.

He bites your breast hard, grinds further not letting the orgasm stop, “God—I’m so fuckin’ deep. No one’s ever been this deep, right? Tell me, baby,” he begs, sitting back and dragging you boneless, still coming, into his lap, little girl splayed wide over his knees on the floor. You sink further down onto his cock, and he kisses your hot cheeks, letting your cunt drip down him. His belt digs bruisingly into the back of your thighs and it all hurts—he really is so deep now, head tucked firmly at your cervix, and he feels like he’s getting thicker, harder, like he just needs to be sunk deep like this, as deep as he can get so that all your cunt needs to do is work him until it milks the come right out of him.

Your head lolls back on your neck, supported at the edge of the sofa. “No more—” You don’t know if you mean it, but it is just on the verge of too much now. You’re so sensitive.

“Yes more.” He starts to lift his hips again, pulling back and shoving, not a lot, but enough that it’s like a little punch inside of you each time. “As much as I say.”

Whining, “No—I can’t.” You roll your hips against him though, the both of you moving, straining against each other, his wide hands around your waist shifting you up and down like a doll on his cock. Your eyes finally open again, and the sunlight spears in through the windows in buttery blinding shafts, sparkling dust motes dancing above as he fucks you. The sound is all so wet, everything from his lower belly to the open front of his jeans is soaked. “I don’t like it anymore,” you lie.

“I don’t care,” and he gives you the first really rough thrust, not a pounding but with enough strength behind it that you get that heat cramp again, feel like you’re going to wet yourself again, there’s so much pressure in your belly.

You’re going to come again. You are coming again. It feels like you should say thank you.

He laughs, little cock sleeve, and you can’t understand how it’s so intense when the fucking is so slow—so good anyways—who cares about anything. His name slips through your lips without them moving, and he’s laughing again, a little mean and you tell him so, but still tender, still endeared by you.

You push his face away weakly, a mumbled, “Nasty old man.”

Nuh uh, he hums, taking both of your wrists in his grip and pressing them back to the leather edge on either side of your head, forcing you into an arch so that he can latch his teeth at your throat and suck. The rolling of his hips pick up speed, just that little bit, the heat coming off him boiling up to steaming and his sweat drips onto your skin and disappears inside of you—everywhere you’ve got him inside of you.

“Birth control?” All broken up with pants and your jugular between his teeth.

Flexing fingers, hands going away to numbness, he’s got you held so tightly, not being so careful of his strength anymore, his cock drags and it’s so wet and sensitive and swollen inside of you, it feels like he barely fits even more than it did before, like there’s definitely no more space inside of you for him at all.. “Yeah—ye—ah, ahh,” can’t get your voice to come out right with your clit grinding against his pelvic bone like that. “Implant right here.” You turn your face towards your left arm, tipping your nose the hidden little bump right beneath your skin. He clicks his tongue, kissing it softly.

“Poor baby. That’s good. That’s real good, baby. Just be good and lemme come in you now. It’s okay.” He spreads his thighs wider, pushing up with his knees into you now. Oh fuck— “But you gotta give me one more. I want it—it’s mine.” And the way he’s got you arched, the spot he hits inside is more intense than the others. He grunts rougher now, biting your throat so hard you’ll be left bruised all over and on the inside too. One palm lets go of your wrist to grip your bottom, long fingers slotting on either side of his impaling cock, pulling you to him so tightly the orgasm is squeezed out of you forcibly and hurts all the worse for it. You’re limp and boneless now, and he starts to pump his come into you in thick spurts, belly all suffused with heat and your name a groan in his throat.

His fingers, parted around his splitting cock rub at the slippery skin of your labia, back and forth to your asshole, holding and cupping the place he’s claimed, and he comes so long, hunched over and rutting into you, filling and filling until the wet squelch is even louder and you can feel the thick come being forced out of your stuffed full cunt.

You want to say his name, trying to move your lips, but your tongue rolls uselessly inside your mouth, all you are is a shivering cunt, a muscle spasming and spasming around him. He nuzzles at your throat, finally unlatching his teeth, licking away the hurt, pressing a soft kiss to the sore spot. You can feel him playing in the leaking wet now, fingering at your puffy cunt, well fucked and filled.

You want to tell him you didn’t think that the bikini was going to make this happen, pull this out of him.

At least not like this. You don’t think you could’ve ever imagined it’d be like this.

His mouth, hot on your jaw once more before he finally picks up his head to look at you, and his eyes make you want to cry, all that manic heat is gone now, replaced by some softly smoldering ember. You don’t think anyone in all the world has eyes the color of hazel he’s got. Something that should belong to some fiercely guarded precious stone, they glow, amber opal like, burnished in the setting sun’s golden glow.

“You okay?” His voice is very soft, and only for you.

You nod, chin tipping to your sternum, face flushed with so much unbearably pleased heat you’re unable to find your own.

Tilting his head to get at your mouth, he kisses you long and soft and open mouthed, licking your tongue, tasting you completely. And when he pulls back he has that same look you feel on your own face—that same unbearable pleasure. Shocked wonder sprinkled into it.

Look at what we’ve done and together and how good it is—

A smile and then a laugh from both of you, giggling like school children into each other’s mouths, and you’ve always thought he has some strange effect of appearing all man one second and then smiling and boyish for the flash of a single moment the next. And you don’t think you understand how someone who’s been through so much can still laugh the way he does. You smooth your finger over the arch of his eyebrow, thumbing at the smile lines at the corners of his eyes. Gorgeously strong man, and you suppose, looking at the wider picture, his life here, Ellie and the boys and a whole full life, you understand it, just a little bit—all the ranch’d given him. He has so much here—centered by the land as its heart.

You’ve always wanted to be just like him anyway, and finally, voice found—the feel of his heartbeat inside of you—it’s like finding a dream, “I’m okay,” you tell him.

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