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strawberrymochin · 5 months ago

Text

A Letter.....Long Lost!

kyojuro rengoku x fem!reader

word count- 12.2k

synopsis- the discovery of an old letter from kyojuro rengoku's room shakes the world of tanjiro. he thought he fulfilled every wish of rengoku. however he missed one. tanjiro needs to deliver it to the one it was written for; but the letter has nothing written except a name 'y/n'. who is y/n and how will tanjiro find her?

genre/warnings- post war timeline/ mentions of death/ slice of life/ angst/ fluff/ lots of flashbacks/ kamaboko trio going on a quest to find reader/ emotionally unavailable parents/ just read it i swear it wont disappoint/ comfort/ scenes of rengoku and mitsuri training/ mentions of mugen train

a/n- i had this idea in my head and i literally wrote this in two days. Loosely based off a film I'm obsessed with...this is my first time writing a long fic. im hella nervous. it will have a sequel with a reincarnation au and smut. not fully proof read, ignore small errors.

Nezuko chimed in as urokodaki made his appearance. Soon more people will join in. Kanao and aoi are helping in the kitchen, making several dishes while inosuke is trying to get aoi give him some to taste.

Tanjiro and zenitsu are spreading out the mats for people to sit and get comfy.

“urokodaki sensei! Please come and join.” tanjiro said noticing his former teacher, carrying a huge basket wrapped in a cloth with water patterns similar to his haori. Nezuko trails behind him bringing another basket.

“i brought some mitarashi dango and some hanami-zake for everyone.” said urokodaki with a soft voice, that made nezuko wonder if he was smiling under his tengu mask.

It's been 2 years since the war ended. People lost their dear ones with a pain bearing smile. Some endured injuries that would sustain through out their life marking them as ‘crippled’; while some sacrificed themselves for the greater good.

Seasons changed since then.

So did several people.

People who turned their hearts into stone, heavy from guilt of their family dying; who suffered from the culpability of being protected…

“giyuu san’s here too, please sit inside with the others while we get the stuff ready.”

“yeah how's your sister? I brought her some new kimonos”

A mild smile forming on his lips.

Tanjiro’s eyes widened a bit. It's kinda still new to him seeing such a soft side of the guy who barely used to smile.

……have let their guard down, allowing themselves to move on, now that there's no more threat hanging in the air.

People who had been afflicted by the remorseful long sleepless nights of trauma; killing the one who once bore them in her womb; whose eyes had become dull and frantic, dying inside in agony…..

“oi tomioka! Move outta my way!” grumbled sanemi, throwing a box wrapped in a delicate green cloth in tanjiro's direction as he catches it with difficulty. Having a hand crippled like an old man is sure a poor thing, not that tanjiro minds that.

“ahh the scary guy's here again! Don't touch the box tanjiro. It must've been poisoned!!!” shouted zenitsu, panicking around, hiding himself behind tanjiro.

“What did you just say?” Sanemi’s eyes narrowed at zenitsu, veins becoming more prominent, ready to throw a first at the blonde head's face.

“Goddamn shinazugawa! Don't scare the kid…” said giyu, grabbing his wrist and pulling him inside. “Wh-you’re such a creep tomioka!”

“Kk.”

“Stop giving me that kanroji face!” sanemi said as shivers ran down his spine. Somehow a smiling tomioka was scarier than muzan to him.

…have let go of their distraught, accepting the dreams which they wanted for their loved ones. Fulfilling it in their place.

“Both of them are creeps!” Zenitsu said digging his nails into tanjiro's skin as he spit curses on them. “Zenitsu they are gone now, can you please give this box to kanao san, it smells of fresh ohagi.”

“I'm telling you…it's fuckin poisoned”

“It's not, zenitsu…don't be like that” tanjiro pushed him away with the box. He then took up a broom and started sweeping any other leaves that fell down from the trees.

Pink flowers blossomed everywhere, now that another peaceful season had arrived.

Kanao had suggested nezuko and aoi that they should spend time together this hanami festival. Nezuko and aoi agreed to that instantly. Thus this is how they ended up inviting everyone at tanjiro's, whose house was surrounded by a lots of cherry blossoms.

Kiyo chan naho chan and sumi chan were playing with tengen’s baby as Suma kept pestering urokodaki san for loosening his face mask (I can't blame my lil curious mommy). Makio was sure annoyed at her behavior while hinatsuru just chuckled. Murata sat stiff in the presence of four former hashiras.

Almost all of them had arrived. Except the rengokus.

Aoi brought them some appetizers, as they kept on chatting. After decorating the food all of them would join outside admiring the moment of bliss.

“Senjuro Kun and shinjuro san ain't here yet right?” Asked tengen.

“They haven't made their arrival yet” announced aoi, “however tanjiro san is waiting outside for them, the food is almost done, we can start after they get here”

“HAHAHAHA…. RUSHING IN LIKE A BOAR!!!” inosuke dashed in with a sakura onigiri in his mouth, from the kitchen. “WAhahhh scar guy!! Fight me!” As expected from inosuke, nothing could ever stop him. At first he was a bit spooked seeing a lot of people at once and sticked to aoi till his normal composure returned.

“Still that dumb boar head! Will he ever get mature?” Sanemi grumbled lazily. “I agree” said giyu, smiling at sanemi, which almost made his stomach churn. Tengen bursted out in laughter, “I see you are still in spirit huh? Quite flamboyant of you.”

“YEAH THE GOD OF MOUNTAINS INOSUKE SAMA IS ALWAY—” Aoi smacked him on his head and dragged him away while muttering some apologies to the hashiras.

“He's still much of energy…and his voice has become much hoarse ain't it? I still remember taking those kids on that mission. And this kid in particular was such a ruckus.” Said tengen, stretching his arms.

“Isn't it good to see all of us after so long without having to fear losing someone?” Said hinatsuru, makio and Suma smiled at each other.

“But we had already lost many people.” Sanemi sighed. He wished he could apologize to genya. If life ever gives him another chance he would like to be a little less aggressive.

“If you keep sulking like that, your brother will definitely curse you from heaven.” giyu took a gulp of the matcha tea, sanemi sent at tanjiro's a month ago.

“Now that there are no demons, you two get along with each other quite well don't you think so?” Tengen threw the snarky question at them.

“what the—”

“I wish rengoku could have seen you guys like this…remember the one time himejima san told us that oyakata sama wanted to see giyu smile….”

“See me smile?”

“Yeah, what a waste of time i swear.”

“Rengoku disappeared for a while to buy glasses in order to make giyu smile.” laughed tengen.

“It didn't work though and then kochou emotionally blackmail me to make him laugh.”

“Oh so this is why you wanted to have sake daikon with me?” Giyu smiled again at sanemi.

“I swear if you make that kanroji face again at me, I will kick you on your balls.”

“Everyone food’s ready, let's go and sit outside!!” Said nezuko halting the heated nostalgic conversation of the two.

Murata finally lets himself relax a bit as the hashiras start moving out. Urokodaki slammed a hand at his back, as he felt his stiff posture return. “Don't be so stiff we aren't gonna ask you to duel.” murata’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment as urokodaki laughed off at the kid's nervousness.

These days are indeed peaceful.

Senjuro made his appearance a bit late. He apologized for his fathers absence, blaming on his health. It's not been that best for a few days.

“Oh goodness, is he really going to be fine, we can go run a check up on him you know?” Kanao offered an idea, worried about the shinjuro’s health.

“Thanks a lot. Actually there's something that has been troubling us for a while.”

“Is everything okay?” Tanjiro's asked with concern lacing his eyes. Sanemi noticed, he had always been kind. He was kind to his brother. During hashira training when tanjiro stepped over the line, it actually made sanemi kinda happy and relaxed. Atleast genya had someone in life he could rely on.

Shinjuro's put down his bowl and chopstick on the mats as he brought his hand to his knees.

“There's something we found a month ago….while cleaning aniki’s room.”

Not only tanjiro but tengen, giyu, sanemi, zenitsu and inosuke froze for a second. The untimely death of the young guy was such a sad event that has ached their hearts for a long time.

Tanjiro could smell senjuro’s emotions and it was odd. It wasn't sadness, or guilt, or anger. It was pity. And somehow it stinged tanjiro, the same way it did years ago.

Senjuro took out some bunch of old papers from the sleeves of his yukata.

Tanjiro's throat felt dry and uneasy. It were a bunch of letters.

All of them looked like they were forgotten for months. The letter envelopes had stained yellow and some even have their edges teared off. But it sure emitted a strong smell. The smell of kyojuro rengoku. Tanjiro's still remembers the distinct hints of his aura. And it somehow still lingered around these letters. Especially the one which was sealed.

“What is it?” asked aoi, finally breaking the deafening silence. A strong gust of wind blew the pink petals along with the letters from senjuro's hand. It's scattered around the mats as all of them tried to collect them.

“Y….y/n?” read nezuko aloud. She hold the sealed letter in her hand as tanjiro extended his palm to grab it. It had tear stains. One side of it had brush marks written ‘to y/n’. The ink has now blurred a bit. But it was still readable.

“What's the meaning of all this?” Tengen asked, grabbing one of the opened letters in his hand. Giyu had hold of one reading in pure shock, while sanemi pondered from the side. Eyes as shocked as giyu’s.

“What happened tengen-sama?” asked makio, seeing all of their disturbed expressions. Zenitsu tried to snatch away the papers from inosuke who was trying to eat it.

“We found these letters from aniki’s room. A lady named y/n had sent those letters to him. An—?”

“And that lady was his lover?” asked giyu.

“What nonsense!”

“He never mentioned any of that to me.” frowned tengen.

“Nor did aniki said anything about it at home. At that time our father didn't pay us any attention. He was drowned totally in despair from the death of our mother. Seeing us only infuriated his anger and sorrow. Aniki would train or be at missions and he was rarely at home. He never told me anything about that….”

‘A letter?’ thought tanjiro. He started sweating all of a sudden. He thought he fulfilled all his wishes but—

“Rengoku san! Please think about yourself, can you stop the bleeding with your breathing technique?” Tanjiro has muttered those words back then, panickingly, devastatingly.

He wanted rengoku to say yes. He wanted him to live beside him, fight beside him, eat beside him. But he didn't get that as an answer.

“No, very soon i'll be dead. Before that happens, i need you to hear me out. I have a younger brother named senjuro. Please tell him to follow his heart. And walk down the path he feels is right.” Rengoku’s face had the same content smile, which warmed their hearts up. He continued, “And tell my father to look after himself…and lastly…”

Rengoku went on and expressed his views on nezuko. It felt like a warm hug. Someone has accepted nezuko. Not because they pitied her but since they saw her true potential and that she was no harm to humans. And now when he remembers it clearly, there was something rengoku whispered before his heart stopped pumping.

It was a faint whisper. So subtle that tanjiro thought it was his ears ringing. But now that he recalls, after he said he trusted them as a slayers, he whispered a few words

“and the lette—”

Rengoku stopped mid sentence as tanjiro kept weeping. He wasn't looking at tanjiro but something behind him. It made him smile as he took his last breath.

“Oni-chan? What happened? Are you okay?” Nezuko pulled tanjiro out of his daze. Everyone was looking at him worriedly. Even sanemi was worried.

“I've not fulfilled rengoku san’s last wishes. I- i haven't. I haven't delivered…how can I be so dumb!!”

“What? Tanjiro san! Calm down! You told us everything aniki wanted to say to us.” Senjuro tried to comfort tanjiro.

“No…before dying he whispered something. I thought my ears were ringing but he did whispered something. It was about a letter.” tanjiro kept on babbling as everyone felt dead silent even senjuro couldn't move his hands.

The sealed letter stayed in tanjiro's hands.

Something that belonged to the girl named y/n.

Something probably dear to kyojuro rengoku.

Some words which were waiting since 3 years.

But…..who is y/n?

The rest of hanami festival gathering went by silent. Senjuro entrusted the letter to tanjiro as per as his request before leaving early since he need to be home before sunset to check upon his father. Murata and urokodaki san accompanied him on the way.

“That's completely ridiculous. None of us have any idea who the fuck this y/n is? how are the fuck are you even planning to find her?” Sanemi spit out bitter words at tanjiro, sitting on the porch, watching the sun slowly turn a deep shade of orange. It reminded him of rengoku’s odd hair colour. It's funny how not only he, but his tsugoku also had weird hair colour— a colour which was dear to Iguro obanai.

Tanjiro lowered his head, smiling a bit. Sanemi changed a lot, even if he speaks harshly, he can only smell pure concern. “But I can't start a new life without paying my debts. Rengoku san saved my life. Whoever lady y/n is….I need to deliver this letter to her.”

“I get what you're saying…but there's no address in any part of the letter. Moreover you are being hesitant on opening it. How do you think you will find her then?” Tengen spoke from the back, alerting the former wind hashira and tanjiro. Both wondered how long he's been eavesdropping them. They expect nothing less. He was a hashira and before that he was a ninja. Even after losing one arm and one eye, he still holds the same power.

“Honestly, I've no idea. But I just can't sit and let it slide.” said tanjiro.

“you’re getting married to kanao next year. Better focus on that. Don't get into useless troubles hanging her off.” sanemi said lazily, yawning and getting up to his feet, stretching a bit. “I will be leaving then. Take care.” Tanjiro didn't reply to him.

Tengen shared a look with sanemi. His eyes shooting a mischievous look filled with pride. Tengen has been in a mission with tanjiro and he knows how stubborn he can be. He knows how pure of a heart he had. And how he even had empathy for demons. He knows sanemi have to surrender infront of him.

Annoyed, sanemi rolled his eyes, “if you're that insistent on finding the girl, then why not refer to kasugai crows. Rengoku's crow might know something about the girl.” He suggested as tengen was in literal awe. He never thought sanemi could ever think logically with his brain. Tanjiro’s head perked up in joy at his idea. Now he finally has a path to look up. Sanemi felt awkward and took his leave, avoiding to look in their eyes.

“Ah! Shinazugawa san! Thanks for the idea!!”

“That brat finally seems to work a bit humane ain't he ?!” A deep laugh bubbled up tengen’s throat.

“I’m happy that he has softened a little now that demons have perished. However, about rengoku san’s kasugai crow, do you know where do I get in contact with it?”

“About that, i would recommend writting letter to kiriya sama. I'm sure he would know.” Tengen patted his head with a reassuring smile.

Soon he took his leave with his wives and giyu, since they were going to an onsen. Basically makio Suma and hinatsuru dragged him along forcefully. Giyu looked a bit tired but he was happy.

Things changed and improved rapidly in a short time. Zenitsu and nezuko got married last year. Murata also got engaged. Tanjiro couldn't help but wonder if the lady named y/n had moved on or not? Will rengoku san be happy if she found someone else? Will he be sad? He looked at nezuko smiling at zenitsu as he played with kiyo, naho and sumi. He looked at inosuke giving his shiniest acorns to aoi. He looked at kanao, smiling delicately, just like shinobu did.

He was happy.

But was the lady named y/n happy in her life?

Kanao looked at him and smiled. She came near him and took his wrinkled hand in hers. “Tanjiro san, you know I would really like you to deliver this letter to y/n san before we start a new life.”

“Even if it takes time?”

“Even if it does. I will wait for you for an eternity.” Tanjiro chuckled as red tints his cheeks. How pure kanao’s heart is? How did he get so lucky to have her in his life? God knows.

“Then I will write a letter to kiriya.”

After a few days, a letter arrived from ubuyashiki's. Along with that two kasugai crows were found circling over the house. Among them one belonged to tanjiro, when he was a demon slayer— tennoji.

The other was the one who accompanied rengoku till his last breath. Kiriya felt sad for rengoku and wrote his kind regards to tanjiro sending the crow to him. His name was kaname.

The crow looked pretty much normal and wasn't as hot -tempered as tennoji.

This was the first time tanjiro had seen him. “Hello, kaname san. Sorry for summoning you all of a sudden. But I wanted to ask you something…” the crow didn't reply, but tilted his head at tanjiro.

“I-ahh- do you know anything about a lady named y/n?”

The crow remained quite for a while, as if reminiscing the days which followed great sorrow. “Master's…y/n sama…master's lover…letters…”

His words were what tanjiro was expecting. Tanjiro finally saw a path clear.

“Can you tell me where she lives?” Asked tanjiro hopefully.

The crow shaked his head,“i don't know.”

Slightly disappointed, tanjiro started asking how she looked. The crow wasn't exactly able to describe her. Accepting his defeat, he asked the crow where he saw her for the first time. Maybe if he goes there, he will be able to find her.

“tokyo…capital…mission..”

the crow wasn't that helpful, they only got to know two things.

First- whoever this y/n is, she was rengoku's lover.

Second- rengoku's crow saw her in tokyo, the capital.

This indicates maybe rengoku and the people who went to the mission in tokyo as said by the crow, if alive, they might know something about it. Tanjiro wrote updates to the others.

A few days later, giyu’s letter came along with some sweets. In that he wrote that rengoku went to tokyo for a battle with lower moon 2 back then. Oyakata sama had assigned him to that mission, before he was a hashira. There were a bunch of people accompanying him, one of them being kanroji mitsuri.

Oh! Mitsuri kanroji was his tsugoku, tanjiro almost forgot about that, he got excited to ask her when reality struck him down. She died after the war. Even if she knew y/n tanjiro couldn't ask her.

He continued reading the letter from giyu as the path which formed in his mind started getting blurry.

Upon hearing from tanjiro, kanao dropped by at the kamado’s. She said she might have one way to get to know about y/n. Tanjiro's eyes perked up at kanao’s remark, which almost made kanao’s heart jolt since he was so cute.

Kanao explained, when shinobu was alive, she had once told her that mitsuri was close to a kakushi couple. She further said that mitsuri used to write letters to them about her missions on a regular basis. Those two even came to congratulate her when she was promoted to hashira. She said it was nice to see that a girl around her age so lively.

Tanjiro wrote a letter to kiriya again. And next week when tanjiro went out with inosuke to sell some charcoal in the city, a couple came to visit them.

Nezuko welcomed them, while zenitsu narrowed his eyes on them, especially upon the male.

When tanjiro returned home he was delighted to find the kakushi couple still waiting for him. They didn't hide their faces anymore. Dressed normally as regular citizens. Honestly they were pretty young, and tanjiro admired how they served the corps group keeping them intact.

“I'm so glad you both came.” Tanjiro bowed infront of them in gratitude.

“Oh no, that's completely fine. We are happy to be of any help. Oyakata sama said you wanted to know about mitsuri.” said the woman.

“Ahh not exactly about her, but for instance, do you have any idea if she ever mentioned a name called ‘y/n’?” tanjiro said pulling inosuke back beside him as he kept munching on the snacks for the guests. The guy gave him a creeped stare as he focused back on tanjiro's words.

“y/n? No I don't think so….she ever mentioned that name. Did she tanaka san?” The woman said.

Tanjiro felt anxious as the guy named tanaka tilted his head to think a bit.

“Nope I don't think she did.”, he clarified.

“Oh….” Tanjiro's voice was barely a whisper, that even inosuke sat straight checking if he's alright.

“Is there something else we can do, tanjiro kun? You look upset.”

“No no…it's fine. I was just trying to deliver a letter to rengoku san's love—”

“Rengoku san? Kanroji san’s master ain't it?” Tanaka spoke before tanjiro could finish his sentence.

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god? The one whom rengoku san loves was y/n?”

“You guys know her?” Hope shined bright in tanjiro's eyes. So did a fervent fear. Fear of disappointment. Fear of not being able to pay his debts. Fear of not fulfilling rengoku san's last wish.

“We didn't know about her name but kanroji san used to tell us about her…isn't it shimi san?” The guy turned to his wife with a fuzzy smile on his face.

“Yeah, she seemed so happy, wanting to have a love like them.” Said the wife.

And for the first time till now tanjiro wasn't let down. “Really? Did she lived in tokyo? Rengoku san's crow said he saw her for the first time during a mission.”

“A mission? No.” The wife let out a chuckle, “it started way before that. Kanroji san said….. ”

“Ahh! Master! Can we please have a break! I'm tired from hitting the sword, my limbs are sore.” Mitsuri cried barely holding another strike from her master.

“Haha you got tired this fast, we haven't even started.” the blazing hair resembling fire, moved swiftly as the guy attempted another strike on mitsuri, but thanks to a call outside, he stopped midway.

“Wait a bit, I will be back in a while.” Said kyojuro rengoku, her master. ‘i will be happy if you don't come back for a while.’ she thought as she collapsed on her knees, to exhausted to move.

“Ahh senjuro kun! Bring me some snacks please!!!” She shouted hoping for the little kid to hear.

A bit later, rengoku comes back. Senjuro looked at his elder brother, frowning while holding a letter. Mitsuri sat beside senjuro, who brought her some onigiris.

“What's that master?” She asked, stuffing another onigiri in her mouth.

“Even I'm confused. It's a letter but it wasn't delivered by a kasugai crow but by a postman.”

“Huh? Maybe it's from some neighbour wanting to lower your voice while eating.” Senjuro said shrugged off his shoulders as mitsuri suppress her laugh bubbling on her throat, almost choking on rice. It wasn't an irregular thing that neighbors anonymously complained about kyojuro shouting ‘umai’ every time he ate.

“Open it.” Said senjuro, curious what type of sarcastic words they might have chosen now.

Kyojuro did as his little brother requested. However kyojuro didn't reacted after reading the letter.

“Today's practice is over. You can relax.” He, then ordered senjuro to boil him some bathwater, shooing him away.

Senjuro obeyed his brother, while mitsuri felt kinda odd, yet she was happy to have a day off.

As soon as both of them left the backyard, rengoku blushed like crazy. The letter was still in his hand as he tried to digest the words.

“A love lett—” a big palm shut mitsuri’s mouth, preventing her from shouting. Yet she was squealing. “I thought you left! You've gotten quite quick in sly footing didn't ya? I'm impressed.” He finally removed his hand from mitsuri's mouth.

“Ofcourse you made me practice for 23 hours without sleep. Anyways, what's written in that?”

“Do you want me to make you practice for 2 days straight?”

“Naah I'm fine! But master, I'm happy.”

“Okay.”

“And curious too. Please let me read it.”

“No!”

After shooing mitsuri out of the backyard he tucked the letter in his sleeves. This letter was sure weird.

“Rengoku san thought that she didn't read the letter, but she had a strong memory and could remember each word after seeing it once. She was so excited telling us about that.” said the wife, looking outside the window at the moon.

The flame of the lantern flickered a bit. “So that might mean that the letter should be among those papers…”

“Woah zenitsu! I thought you were asleep?!”

“How am I supposed to sleep if you're talking that loudly idiot!”

Yeah the paper. There were a lot of papers. Some were smudged and unreadable, so they didn't read all of them. Tanjiro went over their cupboard and brought the bunch of papers.

“Can you identify the letter among them?” He asked the guy to inspect. The couple looked at each other. “Maybe we can try but the writings aren't clear.”

“Please if you can. I need to deliver that letter.” tanjiro bowed his head down begging to the couple.

“You're a nice kid, Tanjiro kun. We will surely help you.”

It's been more than twenty minutes since they are reading each and every paper. Inosuke got bored and slept on the tatami mats. Nezuko was already asleep so they didn't wanted to bother her.

“Yeah maybe this one. From what Kanroji san had explained, this seems to be the one.” The guy tanaka handed the delicate piece of paper to tanjiro.

“However, in each of these letters, she referred herself as his wife…I didn't know he was married…?”

“Huh?” Tanjiro frowned upon the man's words. ‘what?’ he checked the letters again. And the guy was right, y/n did refer herself as his wife. They didn't read the papers as carefully since they were long, they just assumed she was his lover. But rengoku san wasn't the one to hide such crucial information.

Tanjiro was confused, they were so focused on finding the address of y/n that they ignored reading the letters, which could provide information about her.

Tanjiro spent the entire night reading each word carefully. Fingers running across elegant handwriting and smudged ink. As he kept reading those with a pain in his heart. There were in total 7 of those letters, which were written to rengoku. And the one which tanjiro kept seemingly in care— the sealed one; one which has a strong smell of rengoku’s aura; one with tear stains.

The couple spent the night in their house and left the next morning after breakfast.

This helped but not that much. However the path had become clearer.

He knew that the girl was from a nice family who had hands in education from the curves in each characters of her words.

Second, she had mentioned that he had saved her and her friends from a fire, in yokaichi.

“I'm leaving for yokaichi.” Said tanjiro during breakfast.

“Eh? Oni- chan?”

“Don't worry nezuko, oni-chan will be back soon.”

“I will also go!” Said inosuke, “inosuke-sama will protect kamaboko gonpachiro, his minon from any harm.”

Tanjiro chuckled at how inosuke shows his care for him, “fine then.”

“Zenitsu san you also go with them…”

“Ehh, but nezuko chan won't you be lonely without me? I know you will be lonely without m—”

“I won't. You guys will be back soon. Till then I will be at butterfly mansion.”

“B-but nezuko channn!!!!” Inosuke dragged him away as nezuko watched the poor soul. She felt bad but she wanted him to be with her brother. She just felt that the three of them should go together.

The three of them finally reached yokaichi town. It was small but quite dense in population. Tanjiro felt that this was an advantage for them since they stories and folks might spread fast in a vast social surroundings.

“Inosuke, zenitsu let's ask the older citizens first, since they might be living here for a while, they must have known about any fire incidents.”

“I was about to say the same thing as you.” Snorted the board masked guy rushing off in the east direction. Zenitsu simply nodded and went in the opposite direction, sulking. He has been giving tanjiro silent treatment since he had to leave nezuko alone.

Tanjiro sighed as he started finding old citizens nearby asking about a fire incident.

After asking a few of them, he sighed, it didn't really do any help, since many weren't able to hear and some weren't able to remember. When he asked the youngsters, they ran away seeing his old crippled hand.

Tanjiro, let down, returned to the spot where they had started searching. Inosuke was already there tapping his feet as he was waiting for the others.

“Did you find anything?” Asked tanjiro.

“Nahh! They were mere cowards. Running way from me. Though I liked it! Everyone should fear the great inosuke sama.” As expected from inosuke, zenitsu was yet to return. Both of them decided to wait till he comes back.

After a while, zenitsu came back. His sulking still hasn't tailed off. “Ahh zenitsu! Did you find anything? You took so long!!”

Zenitsu didn't reply.

He stared at him with dead eyes.

Oh god! Zenitsu’s moody phases are the worst, especially if it's an urgent task. The whining and sulking from a few years ago flashed in front of tanjiro’s eyes.

“You turned mute or what?” said inosuke, already having enough of zenitsu’s tantrums.

But the only reply that came from the blonde was an eye roll. Inosuke got pissed, ready to throw hands at him if not stopped by tanjiro.

“Zenitsu, I will get nezuko chan make sweet washagis for you when we get back home.”

“Really!! You better do that. I can't even explain how much I've missed my dear wife nezuko chan. She must be so lonely without me.” Babbled zenitsu, finally speaking for the first time till they left home.

“She won't.”

“Stop making snarky comments you stupid boar head. What do you even know about pure love between me and nezuko chan?!!!”

“Ahh zenitsu! Did you get to know anything?”

Zenitsu considered tanjiro a while, before giving in, “At the very west of this town, there's an inn. People said it almost burned down about four years ago…I looked for its owner but they said he will be back late.”

Tanjiro let out a breath. If that's the case, then the owner might remember the incident clearly. If only he could provide any useful information.

“Btw do you really believe whoever this y/n is…she's still alive?” Zenitsu scratched the back of his neck, shooing away the mosquitos ready to feed upon his blood. It's been long three of them are waiting in front of the inn for its owner to arrive.

“Let's just not lose hope.” The inn did looked like it suffered severe consequences from whatever happened 4 years ago. Most of it has been repaired but the aura and the smell can still be recognised. There are still some wooden planks with burn marks which are yet to be repaired.

“May I ask who you three are?”

A chilly voice turned their attention. There stood a thin, frail boy, barely an adult. His eyes were small with hair falling down on his brows. He speculated about them with a suspicious look in his eyes(especially on the boat masked guy). Was he the owner? He looked too young for that.

“Ahh good evening! I'm tan—”

“If you're wanting to stay the night, go somewhere else, I'm not opening the inn today.” He replied coldly before tanjiro could even introduce himself.

“Ahh no, you're misunderstanding…. actually we are here to ask you something about the incident four years ago…”

The look on the boy’s face changed from suspicion to disgust.

“Well…I don't wanna talk about it. You guys can leave.”

“No please, at least hear our questions. It's really important.”

“As if I care.”

“Hey fucker! If you don't answer I'll break each and every bone in your body.”

“Stop it inosuke!” This isn't going any better. It's almost night, they also need to find a place to stay.

“tanjiro can you move aside a bit” said zenitsu, without waiting for his reply, he went to the kid. Apparently he whispered something in his ears which seemed to have creeped the guy out.

Tanjiro gulped. He must be desperate to go home and see nezuko. Sometimes he forgets that their coward friend can be hell scary when it comes to nezuko.

“Okay. He's ready to spill anything he knows.” The look on the kids face made it clear he didn't wanted to recall anything about that incident. However tanjiro had no choice but to push him off the edge.

“Hey I'm sorry if we're causing you any trouble, but you know we really need to know anything you know about a girl named y/n.”

“Y/n?”

“Yeah. Heard it before?”

“No. There were none with this name.”

“Eh? Can you try to recall. There must be someone. A girl who was saved by rengoku san. A guy whose hair was similar to fire.”

“Kyojuro rengoku you mean? He pretty much saved everyone. The inn you see here, is small. Before the incident also it was small and not that popular. Only a few people stayed here occasionally. So I can be sure there was no one named y/n.”

An ‘oh’ is just what tanjiro could manage. The boy got inside the house behind the inn. The night fell and they were still in the same position as before.

Inosuke was throwing tantrums in hunger, so they decided to go to an udon shop nearby. Perhaps they should not lose hope. Thinking empty stomach is not always the best option. This they were sitting in the shop waiting for their order to come.

“But she did mention in those letters that she was saved by him. How come the owner doesn't know anything about that?”

“I already told you we should have broken his bones, monjiro.”

“I think it's useless, let's just go back home to my nezuko chan.”

“Zenitsu! What if you were in place of rengoku san? Would you be happy if your last words don't reach nezuko?” zenitsu went silent at that.

They stayed silent till three bowls of hot udon were placed infront of them. Tanjiro and zenitsu thanked the server for the food whereas inosuke just shoved his head into the hot udon bowl. “You guys seem a bit tense, is everything okay? Asked the old man, the owner of the udon restaurant.

“Yeah we're just a bit disappointed.” Said tanjiro. “Haha and why so? Got rejected by a girl? Can't blame her, it's your hand.” The old man pointed at tanjiro's crippled hand. “What happened that's it's such in a bad condition?”

“Oh! It's…from…from a fight.” Tanjiro smiled, it's hard to offend him anyway,“ i already have a fiance and we are getting married soon.”

“Oh my god! Please forgive my mean words then. I wish you both happiness.”

“Thank you.”

“Then why pull a sad face. My udon tastes the best when you eat it with a good mood, ya know?!”

“Haha, I'm sure it will still taste good. Actually we were here wanting to acquire some information about the fire incident 4 years ago.”

“Oh that was such a bad one. If there wasn't that guy everyone would have lost their life…”

“Rengoku san? You mean?” Tanjiro's eyes perked up. “I see, you know kyojuro. Yeah, that boy was a regular in my shop. Although it's been more than three years since he last visited, i wonder how he's doing? Tell him to visit once, the old man misses him.” the man bursted in laughter while the three of them couldn't even managed to smile even once.

How are they even supposed to tell him, tell him that, “rengoku san died three years ago while saving us from…” zenitsu's voice trailed down into nothingness. So did the old man's. They didn't knew if he's aware about demons so they didn't exaggerated it anymore.

No one spoke for a while.

“I see. What did you guys want to know then? I'm sure you were close to him if he gave up on his life for you all…”

“do you know anyone named y/n? I need to deliver this letter to her.” tanjiro took out the yellow stained letter and handed it to the old man, who squinted his eyes on the writings, drawing a wrinkled finger tracing it's shapes.

“Y…y/n…..yeah she asked me to send some letters to his residence. The kid was young and beautiful.” he returned the letter back to tanjiro.

“She did?!”

“Yeah…that kid almost begged me to not tell kyojuro anything about that.”

The three of them looked at each other. “Can you tell us more about her?” “Do you know where she lives?” “Can I get a refill?” The three of them threw questions at the old man's face, whose lips creaked a bit. “Hmm, I don't know where she lives but I can tell you about her.” He said taking inosuke’s bowl to the counter for another refill.

The restaurant was almost empty so they went and sat on the round seats opposite of the counter.

“It was about four years ago when she appeared in my shop after kyojuro left….”

“umm excuse me…” you said

“Yeah young lady, what would you prefer?” asked the owner pointing at the chart hung on the wall which displayed all the items on the menu.

“I will take a hot tempura udon please.” said the girl beside you.

“And you miss?” The owner directed the question towards you. “Umm I will take anything you prefer.” “Ehh is that so? Fine, I'll make you the tastiest bowl of my special udon.”

“Just tell already…!” The girl beside you whispered into your ear, which was audible to the owner, he chuckled a bit. “Can you shut up….!!”

“I will if you say it…!”

“Okay fine!”

“Umm…if you don't mind, is there any way you can ask the address of the man who just left a while ago?” you asked hesitantly, fiddling with your fingers.

“Kyojuro you mean? I already know his residence, he made me deliver udon to his place before.” the owner said trying to keep his composure, young kids are just so bold nowadays.

“Is that so?” your eyes shined dreamily.

“Why harbored a crush on the man you saw a few mins ago? Hahaha!!” you felt blood rush to your cheeks as you couldn't find words to answer his question.

“She wants to thank him for saving her.” said the girl beside you. “Atsuko!” Atsuko just gave a smirk, ignoring how she threw you in such humiliation.

“Ah…if you don't mind then can you please deliver this letter to him anonymously. Don't tell him I asked you to send it. Please…I can pay you for that..”

“I don't need any payment. I will do that. You can just come and enjoy my special udon sometimes.” the owner accepted the letter from your hands, tucking it in his sleeves. “And maybe watch that man you talked about…he comes here around weekends.” The man hinted you the place which kyojuro normal has his lunch. And if you weren't blushing any harder, you felt your entire face burn with embarrassment. But you want to do it anyway.

Atsuko giggled beside you excited to see what happens next.

“So you delivered the letters in her stead?” asked zenitsu.

“Yeah…she kept coming back with letters for a good six months, if i remember correctly. Maybe kyojuro replied to them…”

It fell silent for a while. The only sound echoing was of inosuke slurping on the noodles.

“So, while you delivered letters rengoku san didn't knew her?” The guy with red eyes pointed the question at the owner.

“No i don't think so, she never came when he used to visit, that is, the weekends.”

“Can you tell us what was the name of her friend again?”

“Atsuko…if I remember correctly..”

“Can you describe how she looked?”

“Ehh? I can't really remember people's faces clearly, but she was very beautiful, big eyes with a nice soft skin. Her hair was long and dark. She had a soft voice. She looked like she belonged from a privileged family. So did her friend.”

“Oh is there anything specific you remember about her?”

“Hmm…let me think…if I'm not wrong rengoku once mentioned her name to a boy who tagged along with him. If you go to him i believe he could provide you some answers.”

“Really? Who was he?”

“His name was….daisuke I guess. He used to wear a similar black sort of uniform like kyojuro.”

After finishing their meal, tanjiro payed for everyone and thanked the old man for all that information. They went to a nearby inn and spent the night.

Tanjiro wrote some letters updating each one of their current status. And he sent a crow to kiriya requesting him to take a look if there's any former slayer named Daisuke and used to frequent his missions with rengoku.

The next day around afternoon, tennoji returned from ubuyashiki's. He said there was indeed a slayer named Daisuke. He had suffered severe injuries from the war and now lives in his village.

As directed by tennoji, tanjiro's crow, they went to the south east from their current position. After two days and one night of sleeping in the jungle without the fear of demons, a village appeared. It wasn't that populated. After asking a few kids, they showed the path which led to Daisuke’s hut.

“Umm excuse me? Daisuke san?”

“Yes, wh— ta…tanjiro….aren't you tanjiro?” the guy said, he was blind from one eye similar to tanjiro, with a missing arm and a limp leg. Tanjiro felt sorry for him.

“Yes, they are inosuke and zenitsu. Sorry for being a bother….”

“Oh no please come inside. I will get tea for you…” he said excited.

“Oh, you don't have to. It's fine. Actually we wanted to ask something….”

“Yeah? Please come in. I will surely help you as much as possible.”

They entered the hut and sat on the tatami mats. Even after pleading not to bring any snacks, Daisuke brought some rice crackers for them.

“Please have them.”

“You didn't have to.”

“Oh it's nothing. Now what did you wanted to ask about?”

“It's about y/n.” Tanjiro said as the rest simply focused on rice crackers. A hint of familiarity glistened in Daisuke's eyes. “Y/n? You mean the one rengoku san was madly in love with?”

Madly in love with? Tanjiro felt a pinch in his heart. Rengoku san must have adored you. The sealed letter had tear stains. Did rengoku cried while writing that?

“Ah…yeah…I need to deliver this letter to y/n but I don't know where she lives. Did rengoku san ever mentioned where she lived?”

“A letter? Why sent a letter when he was so adamant about that?”

“Adamant?”

“Yeah…he said that the pages limited his words to her. He was so desperate wanting to see her that he spent like 2 weeks searching for her without taking rest after his missions.”

“Seriously? So how are you supposed to recover from those injuries?” Daisuke said to his senior with an exasperated expression.

“It will heal when I get to see her face.” Said rengoku, bandaging the cut from a demon's blood arts whom he just killed.

“You're gonna exhaust yourself from build up fatigue.” The sun rays kissed the soil painted in crimson from the shedded blood.

“I will be fine. You go and take rest.”

“I can't believe you're going to find the creepy girl sending you creepy letters claiming herself as your wife.” Daisuke let you a sigh at rengoku's stubborness.

“In that case I gotta meet my wife.” Rengoku's laughter echoed among the vast field.

It still echoed in Daisuke's memories.

“So rengoku wasn't married…?”

“Naah. Honestly I think, after rengoku san’s mother died, he had faced severe neglect from his father. He was the oldest son of the family, so he had to be strong for his sibling. But sometimes we forget, even the strong needs someone to back for them. Even they need some kind words to let go all their tiredness and have a tight sleep. Even they need someone who assured them that they have a bright future…”

That's right. Tanjiro had seen how shinjuro, rengoku san's father, disrespected his sacrifice. He was so lost and depressed in his wife's loss that he forgot about the ones who need the most care— his kids.

Daisuke continued, “when the letter came from y/n, rengoku san must have read comforting words for the first time since that. He used to reread those letters a thousand times when he was free. Sometimes I wondered if he ever got bored doing that…but I knew he didn't. A starved man will eat anything. And I knew he was emotionally starving.”

Zenitsu and inosuke stopped eating rice crackers. Rengoku's death solely hurted them as much as it did to tanjiro, but they never thought it was that deep. That it was something beyond his life as a demon slayer.

Zenitsu could relate. After all he was an orphan. And rengoku was too, being in a situation similar to him, where his only parent was emotionally unavailable for him. He felt sorry for him.

No one dared to say anything. The silence was piercing their hearts like splinters of iron.

“Fun fact was that he did find her,” Daisuke chorted a bit before continuing, “and he literally begged her to marry him…”

Rengoku searched from cabin to cabin in the steam train. In the last letter you mentioned you were going to aomori to visit your relatives by train.

After a bit of negotiation he learned that there was only one train which was going to stop at aomori. This is how he ended up buying tickets at the last moment getting in the train, to find you.

He hasn't seen you before. He wondered how you would look. Even more beautiful and kind than your letters. Even more beautiful than the slight hooks of the curved kanjis you had written his name. Even more beautiful than the blazing sun.

He had checked almost the entire train. The content smile on his face has now thinned into pursed lips. He was nervous. What if he fails to find you? What if he never gets to find you? What if he never gets to see your face?

What if he didn't recognise you?

He flashed all the passengers in his head before lowering his head. None of them carried the same demeanor your letters did. He couldn't imagine any one of them being you.

He entered the last cabin. It was empty. However this cabin seemed a bit different. It had a narrow passage on the right with doors while the opposite side had small rooms. It seemed private. One previously booked by someone.

Rengoku turned back to return to his cabin when the door beside him shot open.

Inside was a girl, who seemed to have frozen for a while.

“Y/n?”

The girl’s eyes widened at the name which left rengoku's lips. She shut the door close, but it didn't closed, something was blocking it. The girl looked down, realizing rengoku had slipped his feet in to prevent her from doing that.

He barged the door open. “Y/n right?”

The girl remained silent for some time.

“I apologize to you with all my might rengoku san. Please forgive my intrusiveness.” you said, lowering your head, nervous at the sudden appearance of him.

“God you're even more beautiful than I thought…” you shoot your head up only to see him looking with such dreamy eyes at you as if you're the only thing he's ever wanted to look at. And it made your stomach churn. Guilt rushed in each of your veins.

“Rengoku san, i shouldn't have wrote those letters to you.” You say. Your friend had warned you before. You didn't listen.

“Why?” He took a step closer.

You gulped before answering,“i wrote nonsense, pretending to be your wife I'm very sorry yo—”

“Then don't pretend anymore.”

“Huh?”

“Be my wife.” Rengoku suggested. His face now inches away from yours.

“And then she ran away?” Said daisuke, barely containing his laugh.

“Yeah…did I do something wrong?” Rengoku said with visible confusion plastered on his face. It was rare to see any expression other than his smiling face.

“Of course she would run away.”

“and why so?”

“Rengoku san, a girl thinks about her future first after marriage. She knows nothing about you.”

“But she wrote me lett—”

“Which you didn't answered….since you thought you couldn't fit your words in papers.” Rengoku couldn't say anything in his defense. It was true rengoku never replied to any of your letters. When he received the first one he thought someone was pranking him. But then the letters came continuously, one each month. He slowly fell in love with those. He fell in love with your letters. And somehow, he fell in love with you.

“Then what do I do?”

“Be honest, tell her about your salary and your job, tel her you can take care of her needs.”

“Yeah? Kk I'm going then…”

Rengoku stood at the aomori station waiting for you to get on the train for your return. Upon spotting you, he called out for you. The train had a delay and he had a good 1 hour to make things clear.

“Eh? R-rengoku san!”

“I work in demon slayer corps. And currently I'm in the highest rank which is kinoe. I get a decent salary of 42,500 yen. I live with my younger brother and father. My mother died a few years ago from illness. I spend my day training, slaying demons and rereading your letters,” guilt rushed through your veins again. “I promise, I will fulfill all your needs and treat you like my queen.”

“rengoku san...”

“sorry i didn't replied to any of those, I just couldn't express myself much in writing. If possible I would like to crawl into a hole. However you don't need to worry. I will make sure that I keep you happy.”

You frowned at his words, unable to explain him. How could you do that to him?

“Y/n san, let's make the words on the letters true. Let's be husband and wife. I know that I work in an organization that isn't approved by governm—”

“Rengoku san, shall we walk while talking? We are blocking the road.” you change the topic, not wanting to talk about it.

“Sure.”

Rengoku continued telling you everything…everything about him. From his childhood till his mother's death. From his father's neglect, to his way up to kinoe, from his sword to the number of demons he slayed. You didn't believe in demons before, but now that rengoku tells you about this, demon folks is something you want to believe. You wanted to believe in everything he said. Even if he's telling the dumbest thing, far from reality, you wanted to believe it.

“Y/n san! Look here!” You turn back to rengoku.

Click.

“And did she said yes?”

“Maybe. He didn't mention her answer. He was so happy that finally he met her.”

“You must have seen her then…can you tell us how she looked?”

“I think I might have a photo of her. Rengoku san, asked to recieve a photo delivery, since he had a mission from the previous oyakata sama.” Daisuke got up limping to the one of the backrooms of his hut. He returned a few minutes later, handling a black and white photo to tanjiro.

Inosuke and zenitsu peeped from the sides to take a look at the long awaited moment, when they finally get to see y/n.

The photo was black and white, but tanjiro felt it was still colorful to rengoku san. In the photo there was a girl, young, with long beautiful hair, in a loose braid. She wore a flower hair ornament, which must have shone in gold back then. She was just how the udon owner described her, big doe eyes, pretty mouth, she looked educated. She was dressed in a floral patterned kimono. Zenitsu wondered what sort of colour the kimono would have been. He wondered if he could get a similar one for nezuko as a souvenir.

The girl was beautiful. Inosuke thought, she had similar smile to shinobu, he wondered if his mom’s smile was like that.

The girl's reflection reflected in several mirrors behind her, and one of the mirror had caught the reflection of the one clicking the photo— kyojuro rengoku.

“The last I heard from rengoku san, he said she wanted to meet him before taking the mugen train mission. He seemed happy, maybe she agreed eventually to marry him….if only he didn't…” Daisuke didn't finished the sentence, considering his surroundings.

They sit in deafening silence for a bit.

A bit later tanjiro thanked Daisuke for the rice crackers and his help. He asked if it were okay to take the photo with him. Daisuke had no problem with that. After bidding farewell they continued their journey, unsure what to do next.

After two days of staying at an inn, cluelessly with no idea how to find y/n, inosuke suggests to go to the station from where they got on mugen train.

“If we go to that lord's land and ask the people over there and show this painting of this long haired girl, then some might recognize her.” He had said.

“First of all that's a train station, second it's a photo. How can you still be the same stupid even after 3 years?” zenitsu cringed hard.

“wha—”

“Inosuke’s right zenitsu, we should go there and ask the people over there.” tanjiro said halting the cat and mouse fight which was about to start between the two.

Daisuke had said rengoku was about to meet her before the mission, which means before getting on the mugen train. Even if it is difficult, some locals must have seen even one glance of her.

The next morning, as per inosuke's idea, three of them left for the station.

“Umm excuse me…” said tanjiro, forwarding the photo in front of the local he stopped on his way, “can you tell me if you've seen this girl?”

The man gave a disgusted look at tanjiro. “no I haven't.”

“Ehh? Are you sure you haven—”

“I don't have time for bullshit.” He went off ignoring tanjiro. Strange. People here are less friendly, some even get irritated if stopped on their way.

It's almost lunch time, zenitsu and inosuke had tried to stop the locals as tanjiro asked them about you. It was clear that this ain't ending soon. Especially when they've got nothing good in hand.

“Let's go buy something to eat.”

“YEAH! I'M HECK HUNGRY!!”

“I saw a kid wearing glasses, selling bentos…let's buy some then…she went in that direction.”

Upon seeing the kid, tanjiro asked her to give them three boxes of bentos. It seemed similar to the ones they had three years ago. The girl was about to leave after receiving her payment, but tanjiro's instinct told him to stop her.

“Wait!” The girl turned back to him as zenitsu and inosuke watched him, confused. Tanjiro put his hand inside the sleeves of yukata, taking out the only photo they had of you.

“Have you ever seen this girl around here?”

The girl squinted her eyes behind the round glass frames,“y/n san! Isn't she y/n san…”

Zenitsu’s eyes popped out, he wondered if tanjiro's a mind reader or something, how can he be so quick?

“Yes! You know her? Can you tell us where she lives?” Tanjiro asked desperately.

“She never mentioned that to us…” the girl said frowning her eyebrows.

“Oh…how did you know her then?”

“Well, a demon slayer who saved us three years ago, requested…”

You waited for kyojuro to come. The sun shone brightly above you. The empty roadway started getting crowdy. You've had enough.

“Y/n san. You wanted to see me?” kyojuro had become a hashira now, and amongst his tight schedule he barely had time for you. It's not like you were disappointed, but still…you and kyojuro often talked through phone booths, after you've suggested that casually one day while strolling with him. Last week when he called you, after what felt like years, you said you wanted to meet him soon. ‘fine meet me at the near hinakawa station, I will be waiting.’ he'd said.

Though it was you, waiting for him to come. You've felt distant from him. And you didn't like it.

“I ran away.” You announced looking in his honey drizzled eyes. Though you aren't sure if it were your overthinking but those eyes seemed a bit dull today.

Kyojuro didn't say anything, maybe confused how to interpret your words.

“my family's against us. And I'm against them. I left the old relations to form a new one. With whom I love. Let's get married.” You said taking his hand in yours.

Kyojuro said nothing but wrapped you in his arms. You hugged him tighter, never wanting to let go. “I'm not alone anymore.” He said before nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck.

Yes. You've always wanted to hear these words from his lips. You've wanted to let him know that he's not alone even when he thinks he is. You wanted him to know that there's someone who will always support him even if he's father thinks he has no talent. This was the reason you wrote him letters in first place. This was the reason you let yourself get tangled in a world far different from yours— in the world of kyojuro rengoku.

He left soon saying he will be back after completing a mission. He said he will send someone to you and asked you to wait for him till then. And you agreed gladly. About half an hour later a girl wearing round steel rimmed glasses along with her grandmother appeared.

“Y/n?” You nodded your head at them. “Rengoku sama asked us to keep you safe till he gets back. If you don't mind then you can come home with us.”

You got to know from the grandmother, how the rengokus had saved their lives two times. You've never seen kyojuro fight, but you knew he was hella strong. Still your heart sinks into your stomach whenever he mentions a mission. You've never encountered demons, once you didn't even believed in them, and now here you are nodding at each of those demon tales of the grandmother.

It didn't mattered anyway as long as he comes back safe. You have to wait for a while for him to comeback….after all you weren't done….you still had an important thing to say.

“Then?”

“Then days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, the slayer never made its return. She left eventually, thanking us. We told her to wait for a while more…but she was too stubborn.” said the girl, fixing her specks again.

Tanjiro couldn't believe what he heard. Rengoku had so many things going on in his life. He had more priorities than him and his friends. Someone who was more important. Someone who left her entire family for him.

Yet.

And yet.

He chose to save them sacrificing himself.

He wondered if the you hate him now.

Zenitsu and inosuke were too stunned to speak. All of them were on the verge of crying. To think…that he couldn't return because of them. To think that they played a role in ruining you happiness. That he died saving them.

“She said she was going to asakusa at her friend’s house, named atsuko.”

Tanjiro bowed at the girl, he couldn't manage thanking her, since he knew if he draws one more breath trying to talk, he would break down right there.

The three of them took a train to asakusa after eating those bentos. They looked similar because rengoku had bought the same boxes from that bento girl 3 years ago.

Inosuke was oddly quiet inside the train. The other two also barely chatted before reaching their destination.

Tanjiro had visited asakusa before and he didn't liked that experience very much. Especially the narrow lanes. This time the city looked more developed than before. And it was more crowdy too. They made their way as the girl has previously informed, that atsuko works as a teacher in a big school for aristocrats.

Coincidentally, tanjiro found the same vendor from his last visit. Back then nezuko wasn't able to savor his ramens since she was a demon. He wished he brought her along. They ordered a steaming bowl of ramen, as the vendor was delighted seeing tanjiro again.

“Where that bamboo girl you carried along with you?”

“She's at home right now.”

“Don't give my wife stupid Nicknames.” ,shouted the blonde at the vendor. Tanjiro apologized in his stead as he kept fuming. “So why are you three here all of a sudden? It's been long ain't it?”

“Yeah we're looking for a girl named y/n. She has a friend who teaches in a big school named atsuko.”

“Y/n never heard that sort of peculiar name…”

“are there any big schools in this area, where aristocrats study?”

“Umm…there are a lot of big schools, you could go and ask at the library. There's only one library here and all the school students or teachers borrow books from there. They must know something about that.”

“Oh really! Thankyou very much.”

Without any further do, the three of them went to the public library after eating.

“Woah this is so big.” Tanjiro said.

“It has so many books shall I borrow some for nezuko chan” zenitsu got lost in his dream world. Inosuke was quite whenever he gets in a new environment with a lots of people, so tanjiro didn't bother checking at him.

However, inosuke tugged on tanjiro's yukata pointing at something with his boar mask tugged on his head. Tanjiro could see his eyes popping out.

“What happened tanji—” zenitsu choked on his spit. Tanjiro’s jaw dropped, his mouth open wide. Inosuke was pointing at a picture hung on the wall. Tanjiro took out the photo hurriedly from his sleeves.

There's no mistake. This was indeed the same girl. Underneath the painting was written ‘princess akiko’ in bold letters carved carefully on metal.

“But isn't her name y/n?” Said zenitsu. What's going on? Before tanjiro could say anything, a woman in her twenties bumped into them while rushing.

The photo slipped out from tanjiro’s fingers.

“I'm so sorr—” the women's words halted as she looked at the photo lying on the ground in front of her. She picked it up before tanjiro could.

“Where did you get this picture from?” She asked as if it were a taboo to have this.

“Ahh you know y/n?”

“Y/n?”

“She looks similar to the girl in that painting” the boy with the boar mask declared.

“For the hundredth time inosuke it's a photo.” said zenitsu.

“She doesn't looks like her. She is her. She is princess akiko. The youngest daughter of the imperial family.”

What?

Three of them couldn't believe their ears. “But her name is y/n…” whispered tanjiro in a low voice.

“Just who are you?” She looked at the picture carefully, as if hiding it from the world, “isn't this rengoku?”

“You know rengoku san?”

“That's the man who saved us from a fire incident in an old town. And then became the main reason of the storms in akiko’s life.”

Tanjiro's eyes widened at the mention of the fire incident “Are you atsuko?”

The women nodded, surprised they know her name. Tanjiro, then explained the whole matter.

“I see.”

“This isn't right akiko…you shouldn't have continued writing letters to him in first place.” Atsuko said trying to persuade her not to run away.

“I can't. I can't live here. They will never accept him. And I can't live without him.”

“Akiko, try to understand…rengoku loves y/n.”

“And i am y/n!” The sound of the rain pouring down increased.

“You are princess akiko. Y/n is just a fake name, you created to hide your real identity when decided to write him letters. I supported you then since i thought it was a one time thing.” Atsuko shook the girl's shoulders trying to bring her to the path she considered right.

“But I don't wanna be akiko. I wanna be y/n…y/n rengoku.” Tears fell from the eyes in front of her as sobs escaped her lips.

“You're playing with rengoku’s feelings. Even if you run away, how do you intend to tell him the truth? You can't pretend to be y/n your entire life akiko.”

The girl didn't answered atsuko. That day slowly came to an end along with the rain. And Akiko did run away to rengoku, away from her pointless life, being a puppet in her family's hands.

“She returned a month after she ran away. When I asked him about rengoku she said nothing. Soon her brother came and took her away.” Whispered atsuko in a voice so doleful, that it was clear, it hurted.

“Did rengoku san knew she was a princess?” Zenitsu asked.

“He probably didn't. Akiko's family arranged several politicians later to set her up but she caused such a ruckus that her family gave up at last.”

“Do you know where she is now…i need to deliver this letter to her.” Each word tasted like bile to him. He couldn't even imagine how miserable it had been. You literally rejected a crystal palace only to live a normal life with him. Which didn't even come true. How feverishly would it have hurt? How apathetic fate was…

“She lives in osaka, running an orphanage. You would find her there. Shall I get someone two drive you three over there?”

“That will be very thoughtful of you” said tanjiro.

Atsuko arranged a driver, who would drive them to the orphanage, they expect to find you in. The car ride was even more silent than the train one. Inosuke, even, didn't make any fuss seeing a car for the first time.

‘So this is where princess akiko lives.’ thought tanjiro. The building was similar to butterfly mansion, nothing that luxurious but quite spacious. The driver left soon after dropping them.

They crossed several corridors of children buzzing like bees. Laughter echoed among the hallways. How wonderful of a place for someone who lost their parents. Similar to them. They wondered if they would have grown up in this orphanage if they were born here.

Finally they reached to what seemed like an office. Similar to one shinobu used when researching herbs, the one which kanao uses now. They entered with a knock.

“Y/n san?”

Your head perked up at the name, which once your beloved used to refer. That beloved who never came.

Your heart ached a bit expecting kyojuro. A melancholic smile forms on your face seeing three kids infront of you. Of Course it wasn't him.

“yes?” you said gently, trying not to give in to your emotions.

But tanjiro could smell it. He smelled the intense grief bubbling within you. He could imagine how long you've bottled up your emotions.

Without saying much, he took the letter out of his sleeve placing it on your desk.

“It's been waiting for 3 years.”

“Huh?”

“Rengoku san wanted me to deliver this to you. Sorry this took so long.” your hands froze at his name. Your chest heaved without even you realizing as you grab the letter.

A single drop of tear fell on the spot which had been previously stained with tears. Tears of kyojuro rengoku.

Your fingers shaked tracing your name on the letter. The name which he used to call. Y/n not Akiko.

You teared the seal, taking out a paper. It was filled with words. Words, he never thought he could express on paper.

Dear y/n,

If you're reading this, then I'm sorry. I might have broken my promise of protecting you forever because by the time you read it— I will be dead.

Y/n i wanted to tell you, that I've loved you. I have loved you from the very beginning. Before even I saw you. You were the one who protected the flame in my heart. While others told me to set it ablaze, you made me learn how to keep the flame burning.

You were as beautiful to me as the rising sun. So bright, so clear. You were the epitome of my life. I wanted to live a peaceful life with you, in which my father let's go of his depression. In which your family accepts us. In which we don't have to hide from others. I wanted you to have my surname.

Your words were like the first rain of summer to me. You saved me from quenching my thirst by your words. I have been starved…. starved for so long that I forgot what being hungry for love feels like. Until you came into my life. you healed my heart, handled it as if it's porcelain.

I thought papers were something I would never choose to express myself with. But look at me now. Haha. I don't know why I'm writing it now, but I just feel like, the time’s soon going to be over. And I feel like I will be gone without seeing your face.

Please don't hate me for that.

If I get to spend my life with you I will probably burn this off, but if this letter somehow unfortunately finds you…I want you to know, I gave my best. I gave my very best to save the ones surrounding me. That I fullfilled my duty till the end. So don't feel sad.

I still can't believe you chose to love me. If possible I would like to meet you in another birth, in another universe without demons, where I will be yours, completely yours. You're the best thing that happened to me, y/n. You're just perfect.

But I must say….you’re dumb for choosing a man who bets his life for others, leaving the silver spoon you had in your mouth.

Sadly, our time was limited in this birth. Good bye princess akiko.

~ your kyojuro

The letter fell from your hands. Your lips quivering as you barely contained your tears, which stained the letter.

You just managed a smile at the kids who brought you this letter. He was no more. And you couldn't believe that. He knew you were Akiko not y/n. The truth you weren't able to tell him.

“I'm sorry for making this long. Rengoku san died saving us from a demon, 3 years ago” said tanjiro, tears staining his cheeks. So do the others, barely containing their emotions.

“oh! But i-im glad you all are safe. H-he fulfilled his duties right?”

“Does it hurts?” Tanjiro asked.

“A lot.” And if he wasn't seeing things, he saw rengoku for one second with a silly smile on his face, maybe wondering how to comfort you.

The second he blinked his eyes he was gone. What remained was his letter. Tanjiro handed the photo to you before leaving. He wondered if in another birth he gets to see the both of you reconcile.

He took a deep breath wanting to return to kanao. Maybe he would just ask her to marry him this year. He doesn't want to waste anymore time away from her.

“Where were you?” Asked zenitsu to inosuke, who went missing for a while. They are currently waiting for a train to go back home.

“To buy this.” Inosuke showed a butterfly hair pin decorated with blue crystals. It was beautiful.

“Woah. Who did you buy it for?”

“Aoi.” Tanjiro chuckled at his bluntness, while zenitsu smirked. It's funny how inosuke still gets both of their names incorrect but he never made a mistake in saying aoi’s name correctly. Who knows they might have two weddings…

Now that tanjiro had finally payed off the debt, he wished you happiness as he looked forward to a happier future. He will remember you, not as princess akiko, but as y/n.

“Let's go! I can't wait to see nezuko!!”

“Zenitsu watch out your way!!”

833 notes · View notes

pearlessance · 5 months ago

Text

Moral Modification

Summary: When you decide to pierce your nipples, Joel Miller breaks his moral code to lend a helping hand.

Pairing: JacksonEra!Joel Miller/reader

Warnings: Explicit sexual content MDNI, seduction, age gap(undefined), piercings and needles, nipple play, moral ambiguity, oral sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, size difference

NOTE: this one shot was written for my bff joelmillersgirlfriend and all of the bolded words are titles of her fics over on AO3!! if you haven't read any of her work i def recommend going over there to check it out she's incredible. we also have a 3-part co-write we did on AO3 called False Pretenses! thank you to everyone for reading, love u all <3

[cross posted on AO3]

[masterlist]

You find it on a scouting mission.

Maria had sent you and Joel out in search of books to fill the shelves of Jackson’s overused library. It was a leisurely mission, moving slowly from house to house, searching through broken shelves and dressers and nightstands.

The blistering summer heat has you feeling exhausted by midday, and so the sun hasn’t even set when you pick a still-standing apartment complex and settle in for the night.

You drop your pack and flop onto the moth-eaten couch while Joel triple-checks every exit and every entrance in the tiny apartment he’d picked on the very top floor. He’s going at it again, glancing out of the wide windows with his rifle in hand, when you say, “If there was a way in or out, I think you would’ve found it the third time.”

He doesn’t say anything. Not a man of many words, Joel Miller. But he was certainly fun to torture with lewd suggestions.

“It’s real hot today,” you say. And it’s the goddamn truth—your skin is warm and your shirt sticks to the small of your back, and even though you’re wearing jean shorts the fabric chafes at your thighs.

He does nothing but grunt in agreement as a reply. Few words.

Though you try, you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you tell him, “We’d be a lot cooler if we took off some of these clothes, you know.”

Joel Miller is a good man. A really good man. This is why he pretends you don’t get to him, why he pretends to shrug you off as just a naive little girl whenever you brazenly flirt with him.

But you see it.

The way his calloused hands tighten around his rifle, the flush that creeps up his neck, the way he turns his head just enough to keep that smirk from out of view. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. But he leaves his spot at the window and joins you on the couch instead.

You set your legs in his lap and when he rests his hand on your calf you half expect him to push you away. But he doesn’t—his fingers linger, pressing into the tender muscle. “How am I ridiculous? It’s only common sense, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes catch yours at the name. He’s never directly said it, but you have a hunch that it does something to him, speaking to him as an authority. A part of you wonders if he ever thinks of you in the way you think of him, wonders if his mind is often filled with sinful, raw images. “You know why.”

“No, I don’t.” You do. Of course, you do. But you’re out here all alone and he’s sitting beside you and you can feel the heat of his skin against yours and he’s so big and warm and masculine. You want him, need him in a way you’ll never even try to understand. “Explain it to me,” you urge.

Joel leans his rifle against the arm of the couch and reaches up to rub the tension from his jaw. He smiles, one of those all-knowing smiles that makes your heart flutter. It’s a secret sort of smile, meant for just you and him. “You got any idea how old I am, girl?”

You shrug and say, “It doesn’t matter.” Because it doesn’t. “I like that you’re older. Besides, I’m not talking about that.” You are. ��I’m talking about the weather. The heat. I’m going to take my shorts off.”

Slowly, carefully, you trail your fingertips over the curve of your chest, down the center of your abdomen. His eyes follow your every movement, pupils blown wide and jaw set firmly. His hand flexes around your calf, squeezing softly.

When you slip the edge of your pinky beneath the denim waistband his lips part. You trace the seam, from one hip to the other and back again, real slow. Joel watches you and you watch him, transfixed, thighs pressed together to abate the ache that forms between them.

For a moment, a single moment, you think you have him. You can see the temptation on his face, clear as day. You think you’ve finally cracked the eternal goodness and strength of one Joel Miller…but his hand covers yours the moment you reach for the silver button.

Embarrassment flushes your cheeks and you feel a little like you’ve been caught red handed.

His fingers squeeze yours, but his touch is so sudden and electrifying that the faintest whimper erupts from your chest. You want him to touch you with those hands, to touch you everywhere. You want him to take all that you offer and more.

But he’s just so good. “Stop,” he says, breathless.

The hesitance is palpable. The strain in his voice. You know he wants you, can see the growing erection pushing at the metallic zipper of his jeans from the other end of the couch. You know it’ll only take a little more convincing, a little more of the delicious chase…but you want the final decision to be his. You want him to need it, too.

So you relent.

You stand to your feet and move towards the staircase in the abandoned apartment. But when you step between his thighs, you linger. “Did you check for any books upstairs?”

He shakes his head. “No. Don’t think whoever lived here before were much the readin’ type.”

“Yeah, well…didn’t think you were much the reading type, either. But here you are.”

Joel shrugs. “Not much to do at the end of the world. Helps pass the time.”

You knock your knee against his playfully. “You even know how to read, old man?” He chuckles softly and it feels like a victory. “Never seen you in the library.”

He spreads his legs further to give you more room, settling into the couch with his head tilted back. You know he doesn’t mean to look that fucking good doing it, but he does. Taking up all that space, commanding without even trying. It makes your mouth water, makes your skin prickle in every spot he allows himself to look. And then he says lowly, “I’ve seen you.”

It gives you pause. Because if he’s seen you in the library back in Jackson but you haven’t seen him, it means he notices you. Even when you’re not out here alone, even when you’re not urging him to touch you, even when you’re not trying. A seductive smirk finds your lips. “You gotta crush on me or something, Mr. Miller?”

Joel scoffs and shakes his head, turning away from you to hide the redness on his face that has nothing to do with the heat.

You giggle softly and decide to grant him a little reprieve. “I’ll be back,” you say, escaping the growing tension and focusing instead on the task at hand. “If they don’t have books, maybe they have something else that could be useful. Clothes or shoes or batteries or something.”

It only takes a few minutes before you realize what he meant when he said the past inhabitants of the apartment don’t seem much like the reading type. There’s not a single bookshelf to be found. Nothing on the walls, nothing standing in the spare room. There are three computers, though. Not that they’re worth anything now.

Still, you try your damndest to find something. Anything. You rifle through drawers and find nothing but a cracked and weathered bible, of which you have a thousand and one copies in Jackson.

The closest thing you find to a real book is a stack of magazines in the cluttered bathroom. All are covered in a thick layer of dust and most have images of sports cars on the front, but they’re worth grabbing, anyway. You’re sure Tommy or Greg or someone wouldn’t mind skimming through them, so you grab the whole stack and return downstairs to Joel.

You’re halfway down the stairs when the magazine on the bottom of the stack tumbles from your hands. And it’s not a sports car on the front page.

Instead, it’s a woman all dressed up in leather. She wears platform boots that reach her knees, adorned with heavy silver buckles down the front. Even though you were born not long after the outbreak, you’re not oblivious. You know what pornography is, but you’ve never seen anything quite like this.

You pick it up and put it on the top of the pile.

When Joel sees the small stack in your hand he asks, “Anything good?”

“Mm. Not sure yet.” You set the pile onto the floor beside your pack, nestle back into your spot in the opposite corner of the couch, and flip open the magazine with the leather-clad woman on the front, reading the title aloud. “Have you ever heard of a porno mag named Dreadnought?”

“What are you—is that—?”

“I’m just curious, Mr. Miller. Relax.” You lift your feet and put them back in his lap and discover he is anything but relaxed. You can feel the stiffness in his thighs even through the thick soles of your high-top sneakers.

“No, what? No, you shouldn’t—you should…”

You ignore his stuttering, flipping quickly through the pages. Most of them are filled with erotic images of women dressed similarly to the one on the front page. They each have a man in a curious, submissive position. But none of this interests you, none of it even surprises you, in truth.

Near the end of the magazine is where you find exactly what you’re looking for. The woman on the front page is in different outfits, one in leather, another in red lace. But it’s the third page of her feature where she’s completely naked. Her breasts are full and sit too high on her chest to be real, but they’re beautiful. Not for any reason other than those pretty silver barbells that are pierced through her nipples.

You lean up, tucking your legs beneath yourself, and show Joel the image. “Was this common? You know, like…before?”

His face is red and you think maybe he’s forgotten how to speak. Because no words come out, he just sputters. “Is…what…which part—are you…I don’t—”

“I’ve never seen anyone with pierced nipples,” you interrupt. “That’s what I’m talking about. Was it common?”

He seems to find himself. “Uhm…no. Not really, I guess. Why do you ask?”

You shrug and find yourself leaning into his side, flipping to the next page. There’s another image of the woman, and though she’s back in that red lace again, you can see the piercings pushing against the thin fabric. “It’s pretty,” you say. “I like it. Do you think you could do something like that still?”

“Well, back then they had people who’d do that sorta thing professionally,” he says. “But as long as you’re careful, I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to.”

You let it go, and the two of you ration what food you have left, deciding to head back to the commune within the next day or two. You fall asleep leaning up against him, head resting on his shoulder. And you know Joel doesn’t rest much outside of Jackson’s walls, always too worried about being found or threatened in some way. But halfway through the night, you wake covered in a thin layer of sweat, scorched by the warmth of his head against your belly.

At some point in your sleep, you’d shifted, laying on the couch on your back, and Joel must have followed you. His arms are wrapped around your waist and his torso covers your legs, body heat warming you to uncomfortable temperatures.

But you don't dare move. Instead, you slide your fingers through the soft tendrils of his hair and scratch softly at his scalp, smiling in the dark as he moans in his sleep.

Your luck the following day is much better. You stumble upon an old strip mall, and inside there’s a small, indie bookstore. Joel picks through the science fiction section, stuffing his pack with everything he thinks might be interesting. He finds a few children’s books and pockets those, too, while you browse the romance section.

Half the books are crumbling dust in your hands and the others have so much water damage they’re hardly legible, but you pick up what you can. While you’re rifling through the horror books, stashing anything written by Stephen King or H.P. Lovecraft, Joel comes up behind you and says, “You really read that kinda thing?”

“What, scary stuff?”

He nods, takes the copy of Carrie from your hands, and flips it over. “Yeah. Ain’t we got enough horror out there already?”

You roll your eyes dramatically. “It’s not the same,” you explain. You flick the corner of the book in his hands and go back to browsing the shelves. “ This you can turn off,” you try to explain. “If you get too scared you can just close the book. Have you ever read anything scary before?”

Joel shakes his head. “Not really.”

“Try it one day,” you say. “The best time is in October, though. Under the sheets with a flashlight, scared out of your mind. It’s so good, Mr. Miller.”

His jaw feathers as if there’s something he wants to say. But the words never pass his lips. He simply slips the book into your pack and remains silent as he watches you.

It takes a while, but eventually, you’re satisfied with your haul. The day is still early, and so you say, “If we head back now we could save some time. Get home before dark tomorrow.”

To your surprise, he agrees with you. The extra weight of the books has you feeling sluggish an hour into your journey back home, but you persist. And even though it’s significantly less hot today than yesterday, at least once an hour Joel’s passing you his plastic bottle and urging you to drink water.

It’s a sweet gesture, in truth. Joel’s got this innate instinct to provide for others, you know. You’ve seen it a hundred times, the way he just silently takes care of the people he cares about. Ellie, Tommy, Maria, you. You’ve observed him for long enough to know that he’s a protector, a nurturer.

The only problem with Joel taking care of you is how much you like it. It makes you feel soft and gooey on the inside, producing sordid images in your brain of repaying the favor on your knees. You think about Joel’s big hands on you often—in your dreams, even.

But…today is different because you can feel the weight of the magazine at the bottom of your pack. You can’t shake the image of the woman on the cover and that metal through her breasts, can’t get over how elegant and edgy and bewitching she looked. You begin to wonder how it would feel to have Joel touch you if you had the same body modification—would his calloused hands feel more intense, sensations heightened with the sensitivity? Would he be gentle and slow-moving? How soft would his tongue feel against your skin over the adornment?

He seems to sense your distracted thoughts. “You okay? Seem quiet.”

“Fine,” you answer a little too quickly. “I’m just…just hot is all.”

Joel reaches behind him for his water bottle again but you shake your head.

“No, no. Not like…not like that.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat, and you can feel his eyes on the side of your face but you don’t have the energy to tease him about it. Not when you can’t stop thinking about his fucking hands. “Let's, uhm…let’s find someplace to rest for the night. Sun’s startin’ to set anyhow.”

“Yeah, that’ll be good.” As long as you stay six feet away from him. As long as you can keep your godforsaken hands to yourself. As long as he doesn’t look at you too long or ask too many questions or grunt an answer.

You find yourself praying, hoping to keep yourself from any further embarrassment, hoping to fight off that ache that seems to have made a home inside your belly. You cross your fingers at your sides and hope God’s got a private channel open for young girls with an insatiable desire for rugged, older men.

It feels like divine interference when you crest the hill of the street you're walking on to discover a run-down tattoo parlor. It still stands in perfect condition apart from the crumbling siding. Windows dirty but intact, door closed and stagnant.

A distraction will work.

And it looks sturdy enough to rest for the night. You know Joel will circle it a hundred times before he’s satisfied, but you think eventually he will be satisfied with it. “Didn’t people do piercings at tattoo shops, too?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, they did. At most of them, anyway.”

The thought seems to cross Joel’s mind the second you look at him. “Do you think I could…?”

“Maybe. Let’s see.”

You follow behind him as he approaches the building. He uses his knife to wedge the door open, and the two of you wait and listen for any approaching sound.

There’s nothing, though. Nothing but stale, empty air, and a whole lot of dust. You stick by his side for the first two rounds of inspection, as is your routine. But when he goes back in for a third, you decide to take a look around yourself.

In the front of the parlor, there’s a big, circular desk that sits atop the black and white tiles on the floor. The walls are painted maroon, and there’s a neon yellow leather couch near the door. You can only assume it’s where people would sit to wait, but the leather is smooth beneath your fingers even after all this time sitting unoccupied.

There are six smaller rooms behind the desk, each set up similarly with a blackout curtain and a medical-looking chair in the very center. In one of the rooms, there’s a binder flipped open, and as you begin to turn the pages you realize it’s an art portfolio.

For a moment, you wonder about the person who’d drawn all of these designs. How old were they when they drew them? Did they have tattoos themselves? Are they still alive, out there somewhere still creating art?

People in Jackson still get tattoos, you know. But not as often as you think it might have been before the outbreak. You trail your fingers lightly over the next page. It’s an image of a glass half-filled with amber liquid, some sloshing out of the side. Below it, the words Tennessee Whiskey are written in cursive.

“Should be good.” His voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin. When you turn to face him, Joel’s got his rifle slung over one shoulder and he’s leaning against the doorframe, curtain pushed to the side. “Help me barricade the door?”

The two of you spend the next ten minutes moving furniture around the parlor, setting it all in front of the entrance. It’ll be harder to leave in the morning, you know. But you know, too, that a barricade like this means that Joel’s feeling too exhausted to spend another night pacing and you’re happy to give him the assurance of safety he needs.

When you’re done, he spreads out on the leather couch and you put your pack beside his. “Joel?”

He turns just his head to look at you.

You sift through the books in your pack and reach towards the bottom, pulling out the magazine that’s plagued your every waking thought. “I’m going to pierce my nipples, I think.”

For several seconds, he doesn’t say a word in response. He just swallows hard and when his eyes leave yours, trailing down your neck, he squeezes them closed before they reach your chest. But you know, you know, even without any words, that he’s thinking about it. That he’s thinking about you, forgetting his morals for a single second.

It isn’t until you stand to your feet and start towards the closed-off rooms, magazine in hand, that he finally speaks up.

“Be careful,” he says. “I don’t want you hurt.”

You smirk at him over your shoulder. “Is that the Mr. Miller version of saying, I care about your tits?”

He snorts incredulously, but a chuckle follows shortly after, erasing all of your earlier embarrassment.

It doesn’t take you long to find the materials you need. In one of the cases you pry open with your knife, you choose two matching silver barbells with dainty, white diamonds on each end. You use a cloth to clean off a tall mirror in one of the rooms, and there’s a bottle of isopropyl alcohol that you use to disinfect both a steel surgical tray and your hands.

You discard your shirt and bra, laying them in the chair in the middle of the room, and flip the magazine open to further observe the woman in the image. Thankfully, you find a drawer full of individually packaged needles and take out several just in case.

Sterilizing your hands with the alcohol again, you align the jewelry over your nipple, inspecting the placement and maneuvering it until you’re satisfied. You rip open one of the packaged needles with your teeth and sterilize it too for good measure.

Carefully, you orient the needle just right, inhale until your lungs ache, and when you exhale—

“God fucking dammit!”

You can hear his footsteps before the sound of his rifle, and then comes his voice. “You alright? What happened?”

Your exhale is somehow shakier than your hands. “I’m okay, Joel,” you say quickly. You knew it was going to hurt, you’re literally piercing a needle through your flesh. But you didn’t expect it to be so excruciating. It stings even now with the needle pushed through, completely still.

He stands in the doorway, rifle lowered and pointed at the ground. Through the reflection of the mirror, you can see him glance around the room, looking at everything but you. “Are you sure? Maybe you shouldn’t. This could be dangerous, you can wait until we’re back home and—”

“And have someone else pierce my nipples? Yeah, Joel, I’m good on all that.” You pick the jewelry up, sterilize it again, and breathe slowly as you push it through. This part, while uncomfortable, is a world easier than the piercing itself.

You twist on the tiny diamond ball at the end of the barbell and admire your work. It’s perfectly straight, much to your surprise. And though it’s just a small change, it makes you feel as entrancing as the woman in the magazine.

There’s no blood, which you take as a good sign. And as the seconds tick by the pain subsides and is replaced with a dull throbbing instead. It hurts, but it’s bearable. The only problem is that as you try to line up the second needle, your hands tremble too much to keep it straight.

Even though you try to take deep breaths, try to shake the tremors from your hand, nothing works. And you can’t just have one, can’t just leave this task unfinished, and so you gather your courage and turn fully towards him. “Joel? I need your help.”

You’ve never seen him quite like this, you think. There’s no flush to his face, no chagrin or hesitance or resistance. All of his morality seems to be replaced with a dark desire, a need unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.

Immediately you know this is the Joel Miller he’s tried so hard to hide from you. Only glimpses of this terrifying man have slipped through the facade, each one smothered quickly by restraint.

Yet here he stands, hungry eyes swallowing you up, tracing the outline of the jewelry without remorse.

“I can’t…my hands are shaky. I need you to do the other one.”

His hands twitch at his sides. And even though you now know he longs to touch you just as much as you want to touch him, his words tell an entirely different story. “I shouldn’t,” he says. “It’s not…it’s not right. Shouldn’t even be seein’ you like this. Too…too young. Too sweet.”

The southern accent in his voice is thicker now than you’ve ever heard it. Deep and husky, sending shivers down your spine. “Please, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes snap up to meet yours. He pins you with that intense stare of his and you suddenly can’t move, can’t breathe. Flickering flames gather low in your belly.

“I promise I won’t try anything. I’ll just stand here. I just need you to…to push the needle through. That’s all.”

It takes him a second, but he nods. “Alright…alright. I, uhm…okay. Yeah.” He nears you slowly and you feel crowded. You can smell the salt and sweat of his skin, can feel that warmth even though he doesn’t yet touch you.

You pour the alcohol over his hands and hand him another packaged needle. “Here,” you say. “Just do it as straight as you can, and once the needle’s in I can do the rest.”

Joel peels apart the packaging and takes the needle between his fingers. He discards the plastic and you can hear each of his ragged breaths echo in your ears. Slowly, experimentally, he reaches out and presses his fingertips just below your ribcage and it makes you moan.

He pulls away immediately as if he’d been burned by your skin. “You said you wouldn’t—”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. Hold on.” You try again to catch your breath to no avail. “Let me close my eyes. I’m sorry.”

Joel nods, jaw feathering as he clenches his teeth. But you do as you say, closing your eyes and trying to convince yourself it’s not Joel touching you. It’s someone else. The same person who drew everything in that portfolio.

But when he does touch you again, his hands are warm and calloused and big and familiar. You know it’s Joel. Your Joel. The brooding man of few words. The too-good man who cares about you, who lets you sleep even though he never does, who gives you his water to guarantee you stay hydrated.

His hand moves upwards, palm pressed flat against your ribcage. It stops just below your breast as if he’s feeling the weight of it in his hand and you wonder if he can feel the hammering of your heart behind your sternum, too.

You don’t have time to think about it for long, though. Because his thumb slides across your nipple, hardening it into a peak, and all you can think about is the fact that he’s touching you. He’s touching you and you want more, want to feel him on every inch of your skin.

This time you’re able to hold back your moan, but only barely. It’s more like a whimper that gets caught in your throat instead. But he doesn’t pull away, and soon his other hand joins in. “Should I…uhm,” he clears his throat. “Should I count, or…?”

You shake your head. “No, no. Just…just do it. Please.” The words are desperate for a whole new reason. Your hands tremble even more at your sides.

The biting cold of the steel reaches you before you feel the pain. You try to breathe through it but the second one is somehow even worse and obscenities fall from your lips at the agony. It hurts so badly that you don’t even register as Joel slides the jewelry through and screws the diamond onto the barbell.

Ultimately, it’s his voice that cuts through the fog.

“Hey, hey. Shh. Hey, c’mon. Finished. Look at me, pretty girl. Open your eyes.” You do because that thick, southern drawl is more enticing than anything you’ve ever heard. You’d follow it anywhere, you think. Do anything it asks. “There you go. Atta girl.”

His words make your mouth water. You want to taste them. Joel’s hands are still on you, holding your hips, pressing into the exposed flesh. It’s all you can think about until he turns you away from him, forcing you to look into the mirror on the wall. “Oh my God.”

It surprises you a little just how much you love them. It makes you look powerful, like you are the one who belongs in a magazine.

“They’re perfect, Joel.”

“Did it hurt too bad?”

The question is so insane that it makes you laugh. “Are you kidding? It was awful. I don’t even know what to compare it to to try and explain it.”

He laughs too, a deep, throaty chuckle that brings a smile to your face. “Well, you have my sincere apologies, little lady.”

When you turn back to face him, you ask, “What do you think? Do they look good?”

You know you said you wouldn’t torture him, but the look on his face is so sweet that you can’t resist. “They’re real pretty,” he says. “They, uh…they suit you.”

“Think so?” You look up at him through your lashes, trying your damndest to look as desperate for him as you are. “Hurts a little,” you tell him, pressing your thumb gently over the center of your nipple, the one you’d pierced on your own. “Right here.”

He sees right through your false pretenses. You watch him swallow, watch his eyes darken. “Careful, little girl,” he warns, voice low and gravelly.

The name makes you squirm beneath his catastrophic gaze, thighs pressing together. He catches the movement—and you realize you want to be anything but careful with this terrifying, powerful man. Of course, you don’t heed his warning. “Might help if you kiss it better, you know.”

“S’that right?” You nod and a sinful smirk pulls at the corners of his full lips. He leans down and you can feel the scruff of his beard brushing the side of your face. Against your ear, he whispers, “You don’t know what you’re askin’ for, sweetheart.”

You know you shouldn’t. You know it, and yet you can’t fucking resist. You’ve never been able to resist him. “Then show me.”

And just like that, his resolve withers. The cord snaps and the good Joel you know vanishes into thin air, leaving nothing but this hungry, desperate man behind. He grabs your waist and hauls you up against him, legs wrapping around his hips on instinct.

Your chest presses against his but the pressure is bliss, fighting off both the ache in your breasts and the one between your legs. He swipes everything off the metal table in the corner. Alcohol and needles and portfolio all crashing to the floor.

Joel sets you atop it and his mouth hovers an inch above yours, breath fanning across your cheeks. “Last chance, little girl,” he says.

He’s giving you an out, you realize. One last opportunity to escape him. You lean up and press your lips tenderly to his instead.

It’s answer enough for him.

Joel’s mouth moves greedily against yours. One hand rests against the small of your back, pressing you against him, and the other holds the nape of your neck. His tongue slips into your mouth. He tastes like honey and whiskey and sunlight. You could drown in it, you think. But Joel doesn’t linger for long.

He trails open mouthed kisses down your neck, your chest—-and when he flicks his soft tongue across your nipple, your back arches and you forget how to breathe.

“Joel,” you say, voice needy and desperate. “Touch me. Please touch me.”

His hands flex against your skin, still holding himself back. You don't understand—can’t he feel how much you want it? Can’t he see it on your face, in your eyes? “I want to,” he admits.

You grind your hips against his and the sensation of the bulge in his jeans against your center has you shaking. “What’s stopping you?”

A self-deprecating laugh bubbles out of his throat. He presses his forehead against yours, kisses the tip of your nose gently. “You make me crazy, pretty girl.” His hand comes around your throat, cradling your face. With the rough pad of his thumb, he traces the outline of your lips and says, “You make me feel like I’m eighteen again.” His hand travels lower, down your neck, knuckles dragging between your breasts. “Like I’m some little boy who gets a hard-on over a bra strap.” Lower, down your belly, between your ribs. “Or these fuckin’ shorts, baby.”

Everything aches for him. Every cell in your body has been lit aflame beneath his touch, longing to feel his hands, his tongue, to feel all of him. “Joel,” you say. “Please.”

He kisses a trail that follows the path of his hand, but this time he stalls at your breasts. “Sound so fuckin’ pretty when you beg,” he mutters against your skin. And then he’s kissing and sucking and biting marks into the softness of your breast, leaving proof that he was here, evidence of his affection. “If I touch you, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“I want you to,” you say. “ I think about it all the time.” Your head falls back, hips rolling against his, seeking out any sort of friction you can find. “God—I dream about it. I want you inside me.”

His eyes darken as he looks up at you.

A man of few words. This time it’s him who reaches for the metallic button. He pops it open in one smooth movement, tongue lapping over the metal barbell through your nipple. You can feel each pass over the sensitive flesh down to your toes.

He wriggles his hand into your shorts, deft fingers finding your clit easily. You let out a lewd moan at the commanding way he just takes —as if he’s right where he’s always supposed to be. Right where you want him, right where you’ve needed him for all these years.

Joel kisses a path across your sternum, mouth giving the same tender care to the opposite breast. He slides his fingers through your wetness, gathering your slick and using it to circle your clit. “M’gonna take care of her, sweetheart,” he says. “Gonna make her feel real good, s’that alright with you?”

His words are filthy and obscene and you love it. You’re nodding quickly and saying, “Yes, Joel, yes.”

A cold shiver passes through you as he rises back to his full height, towering over you when he takes a step back. “Let’s get these off,” he says. Joel helps you shimmy both your shorts and your panties down your legs until you’re sitting there in front of him completely naked. He’s still completely dressed and it makes you feel small and minuscule beneath the weight of his predatory stare.

He places both hands on your thighs and pushes them apart, spreading you open. And then he drops to his knees and lazily strokes his fingers through your wet heat. You can feel the chill of his breath against your clit and your fingers find the outgrown tendrils of dark hair on instinct, trying to pull him closer, wiggling your hips to the very edge of the table.

“Needy girl, hm?” He laughs softly. It’s not malicious but rather adoring, and you wonder how it is that someone so strong and authoritative can make you feel powerful and cherished in the same breath. “S’okay. I’ve got ya.”

And then his tongue is on you and it feels like heaven. So much better than you’d ever imagined, ever dreamed. His scruff scratches at the inside of your thighs as he slides his tongue through your pussy. Joel groans against you like this is more for him, and the vibration of the sound pulls staccato moans from your mouth.

He slips two fingers into you easily, encountering no resistance. You’re too wet, too eager to have him inside you. You whimper his name as he sucks your clit into his mouth, hands pulling tight in his hair. It feels so good it’s almost too much—but he seems to know what you can take more than you do.

Joel looks up at you from between your thighs and you can see the palpable hunger on his face. You think maybe he’s wanted this for longer than you, maybe he’s somehow been even more starved for this than you once thought.

You can feel your orgasm creep down your spine, inferno building and building, settling low in your belly. You try to tell him, to warn him—but then he hooks his fingers inside of you, pressing against that sweet spot and—

“Oh, God—God, fuck—Joel, I—!”

“S’alright, baby, go’head. Cum for me, oh—yeah, that’s it. There you go, sweetheart.” His voice is so gentle, a stark contrast to the assertive way he moves his hands, pulling from you everything your body can give. The southern accent is thick as he talks you through it. “Feels so much better now, huh? Y’look so fuckin’ pretty like this, baby. So pretty when you’re all full’a me.”

Your thighs tremble even as you begin to come down, trying to catch your breath, holding onto his arms to ground yourself as he stands back to his feet, thick cords of muscle sturdy beneath your shaking hands. And he’s right—it does feel better now, but as he eases his fingers out of you and you watch him lick them clean, your pussy clenches at the sight. It’s better, it is… but when it comes to good and moral Joel Miller you are insatiable.

A deep, rumbling groan reverberates in his chest when you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him towards you. Your slick stains the bulge in his jeans, darkening the denim material. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, big hands running slowly up and down your smooth thighs. “Shouldn’t be doin’ this…shouldn’t be takin’ advantage of you. Such a little thing, don’t know what you want.”

The answer comes quickly. “You, Joel. I want you.”

You reach for his belt and he watches your nimble fingers undo it, pulling the leather through the metal fastening. He hisses when you reach into his jeans and pull him out.

He’s bigger than you thought, and wrapping your hand around him completely is a troubling task. You’re not sure he’ll even fit but it makes your mouth water, makes your swollen clit pulse with need. “Please.”

“I can’t, baby. Believe me, I want it, too, but I…you’re too good for me. Too—” He stops when you slide the head of his cock through your pussy, coating him in your slick. You watch the movement together and this time it’s Joel’s hands that shake. He curses under his breath, admiring the way he fits so perfectly.

“Just a little?” Your own voice is hardly recognizable in your own ears, needy and deprived. You slide his cock back up towards your clit and it catches at your entrance. You both gasp in tandem. You love Joel and all his goodness but right now you want the worst of him. You want all of him.

He nods and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Okay…okay,” he says to himself. “Just a little. You sure? You’re positive you want—?”

You line him up and shift your hips forward, words fading into nothingness. It’s just a little like you promised, but the stretch is so delicious you find yourself wanting more. More, always more—you think you could die without it.

Joel pushes in further, a little less than halfway, and then pulls out slowly. He groans and you feel like crying. His cock is covered in your wetness and when he pushes back in you think this just might be enough to make you cum a second time.

It’s filthy and obscene and you love it. You love him. He reaches down and circles your clit with his thumb, fucking you slowly, eyes locked on the place you’re joined. “You’re so big,” you whimper.

You can feel the tension in his shoulders and you do your damnedest to smooth it out with small, massaging motions. He touches you just right but you want it to feel good for him, too.

That heat of an orgasm begins to build again. A low, incessant thrum between your hips.

“I have to,” he mutters so softly you hardly hear him the first time. “I have to, baby. I’ve gotta feel you. I’ve gotta…” And then he eases his cock into you to the hilt without any warning, filling you so full it hurts. The invasion stings but your body adjusts quickly, making room for him in the same way your heart has. His head falls to the crook of your neck and you can feel him shudder as he breathes the word fuck into your skin.

“Oh my God—it’s too much, too much—!”

“You can take it, baby. C’mon, spread your legs wider. I know s’alot,” he praises, circling your clit a little faster now. Your slick drips down your thighs, into the dark hair between his hips. “You got it, sweetheart. See? There you go.”

He pulls out just to sink into you again. This time there’s less pain and more divinity and your nails dig into his shoulder through his flannel as you adjust to the size of him.

Joel uses his free hand to tilt your chin up, pressing his mouth to yours and kissing you deep. He sets an unrelenting pace, hips grinding against yours with each thrust. It’s so much and you’re so full of him in all the best ways. When you moan into his mouth you can feel his lips turn up at the corners, a predatory grin saved just for you.

The sounds are filthy and echo in the room, an obscene symphony of devotion. You’d let him do anything right now—anything.

He picks up the pace, hips snapping against yours. All you can think about is how right this feels, how you were made for him, how well he fits inside you.

A low grunt filters through his teeth and he says, “Fuck, baby. You look so pretty. How’s it feel? Tell me. Use your words.”

“S’good,” you whimper in response. Your brain is mush and your thighs become a vise around his waist, pulling him in impossibly deeper. “So good, Joel, don’t stop. Please don’t stop, I’m—I’m close.”

“Yeah? Gonna cum again already, hm?” He pushes his palm against your belly, thumb still gently stroking your clit. And the pressure of it feels so intense you let out a whine of bliss. “Yeah, you are,” he whispers. “Can feel her squeezin’ me. S’alright, baby. Wanna feel it.”

His words send you tumbling over the edge of bliss, and he fucks you through it. Stars blind your vision and your ears fill with static. But you can hear Joel though, can hear him and feel him deep inside you through it all.

“Ohh, that’s it. Good fuckin’ girl. Pretty little thing’s just fuckin’ dripping all over me, feels so good. You feel so good.”

Before you even realize what’s happening, his rhythm falters. You can feel his cock pulse inside of you as Joel falls off the precipice. His head rolls back and the muscles in his forearms flex around the prominent veins. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, and you know you’ll never see anything as beautiful as this big, powerful man weak for you.

He’s panting when he slowly pulls out of you with a hiss. Sweat dots his hairline and that flush on his neck certainly seems like it’s staying for a little while longer. He’s beautiful, you think. Crafted by the hands of God himself, made with imperfect grace.

When he looks up at you he smiles in the way he always does, like the two of you share a secret. And maybe now you do. A sinful, dirty secret that’s all yours. You laugh softly and he mirrors the sound, helping you back to your feet.

You hold his shoulders for balance as he helps you back into your shorts. And when he hands you your bra and t-shirt, you’re starkly reminded of the dull throb in your breasts and think better of it before putting them on. “I think they might be too tight. I’ll look around and see if I can…”

Before you finish the sentence, he’s unbuttoning his red flannel and tossing it to you. He wears a light brown tshirt underneath, the arms just a little too tight on his biceps. He looks so good that you want to take him between your legs again even with the sweet ache that lingers. “Here,” he says. “Take this.”

You do. He helps you with the buttons and it’s too big but gives your new body modifications room to breathe and heal. You ask him how it looks.

“Better on you,” is his short response.

When you begin to fall asleep on the yellow leather couch later that night, all wrapped up in his arms, Joel presses his lips to your forehead and says, “When we get home, I wanna read that book of yours. Carrie, was it?”

You shift at his side, turning your head up to look at him. “You’re not gonna wait till October, like I said?”

Joel shakes his head. “You got any idea how old I am, girl? I’ve got no time for waitin’ till October.” He’s quiet for several seconds. And then his voice is nothing but a whisper as he says, “No time waitin’ on this to be right in the eyes of others, either.”

And you can feel the heat behind his words, can almost hear the unspoken meaning. No time for waiting until you’re older, no time for waiting until the perfect moment. Your mouth pulls into a wide grin. “Are you asking to go steady with me, Mr. Miller?”

With a scoff, he runs his hand playfully down your face and shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he says.

When he kisses you, you make a promise against his lips. “I’m yours, Joel.”

He doesn’t say much in the way of a reply, your big man of few words. But he pulls you closer, holds you tighter.

It’s more than enough.

#joel miller #ao3 fanfic #pearlessance #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #ao3 writer #joel tlou #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #tlou #joel miller self insert #smut #fanfic #tlou fanfiction #fluff #jackson era joel

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jen-with-a-pen · 10 months ago

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𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗛𝗬, 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗦

summary: After what you assumed would be a successful mission, things veer off-course and you're stuck with Bucky Barnes in Istanbul with no way out until morning. The tension between you comes to head and nothing will be the same again.

parings: Protective!Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Sniper!Agent!Curvy!F!Reader

word count: 6.5K

warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, canon-level violence with just a bit more blood, guns, reader is a sniper/sharp-shooter, hate-making out, degradation, fighting, insults and cursing, teasing/banter, reader and bucky don't know how to talk about their feelings (or to eachother), spanking, doggy, angry-horny, rough-ish sex, pent up anger, pent up sexual tension, power dynamics, protective!Bucky, vague hinting to Bucky's PTSD, no use of y/n, reader is tagged as curvy and is described as such but body description is kept to a minimum

a/n: this work is for @targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge! My prompts were "enemies to lovers" and "Again! Please, again!" I am incredibly thankful to Suz for letting me participate. I haven't been able to participate in a challenge since forever ago 😅 ALSO! This is my first time writing enemies to lovers, as well as curvy!reader! even though i'm curvy myself, i hope i did okay ♥ This work is not beta-read. all mistakes are my own. If any mistake is glaringly obvious, please feel free to message me and let me know! p.s. I listened to a lot of PVRIS + Nothing But Thieves writing this, can ya tell? p.p.s. the amount of willpower and struggle with my muse it took to finish this is... a lot. i think she scratched my cornea at some point.

If I’ve missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @unearthlydust | dividers by @cafekitsune | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist title from: You Know Me Too Well by Nothing But Thieves Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚

Bucky Barnes has always hated you, and you have always hated Bucky Barnes. At least since you first met, that is.

Being the newest recruit– and only sharp-shooter– to grace the S.H.I.E.L.D. Direct Action Team’s roster since signing on the Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes, the hostility was almost immediate from the second you walked in your first day.

You couldn’t help cringing– which would be quickly followed by raging annoyance and a slight migraine– without remembering your first time training with Bucky. He made it crystal clear he didn’t trust your previous experience or trainers, let alone your sniper training. Within the first week he ground your spirit into dust with his leather combat boots, quashing any attempts to defend yourself. And it’s not like you weren’t familiar with his history, either; he’d broken every single last sharp-shooter that came to the team before you, a hardass ex-assassin with an introverted mean streak who happened one of the top snipers in the United States Army during World War II. Old dogs certainly can learn new tricks, though, and it was extremely apparent when it came to Bucky Barnes.

When you finally had enough midway through the third week, you snapped at him after he corrected you for the umpteenth time on your foot positioning, pointedly informing him you weren’t built like you could take on a goddamned semi-truck with one hand.

Once you finished, he silently handed you a pistol and challenged you to a shoot off. One-handed. You considered it a tie. Tony considered the training range off-limits until he got government permission via S.H.I.E.L.D. to replace every single shooting target and torso dummy in the compound– including the extras.

After that, the two of you weren’t allowed in the gym, on the same mode of transportation, in the infirmary, or the training range without someone else to supervise with a tranquilizer gun at the ready and within arm’s reach of said supervisor. More often than not, though, the ‘someone else’ was either Steve or Natasha– depending who won the coin toss before training that day– and the tranquilizer gun wasn’t really more of a tranquilizer gun than it was a slight sedative to calm each of you down enough for either Steve, or Nat, to drag you out without kicking and screaming at each other. Granted, it only happened one time– a workout competition-turned-sparring match that lasted the better part of four hours– but everyone else agreed to keep it around. Just in case.

You learned, however, exactly how much ketamine it took to down a raging super soldier with a vibranium arm. You couldn’t help but make horse whinnies under your breath every time you passed Bucky in the compound for at least a week.

With a year of domestic missions underneath your belt, S.H.I.E.L.D. constituted you ready to travel with the DA Team on international missions and operations. You were elated, excited to prove your worth and wit to everyone; especially Bucky, because maybe then he’d be at least keen enough to start showing you a drop of respect.

Then there was the fallout of when you both learned you’d be sent on the next mission. Together. Albeit with Natasha and Clint– but together.

Fury said he didn’t have a choice. Tony claimed it was out of his hands. Natasha, while protecting a cowering Steve from the flames and daggers shooting out of yours and Bucky’s glares, flat out told you, “either you both learn to work together, or neither of you are working DA missions again,” adding, with gritted teeth and a pinched bridge, “The whole team thinks you’re a fucking pair of walking time bombs. I don’t wanna use the damn ketamine gun again.”

The next thing you knew, you were on a plane to Turkey with your rifle, wits, and the waiting promise of separate hotel rooms upon arrival.

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

A reddened sun dipped over the Istanbul skyline, swathing the city in shadows. Dusk was imminent as you ascended the rusted fire escape and stepped onto the roof of the abandoned building; the dilapidated outside was perfect enough to designate it as the main stake out location. You sighed in awe at the view, catching the remnants of the sunset while pausing for a brief break before switching into ‘work mode.’

“Stop fuckin’ around, get into position,” Bucky said through your ear piece. Shit. You forgot he could see your video feed via the harness crossing over your chest and the cameras Natasha set up on the roof and the building next door.

“Sorry, Sarge, thought I’d enjoy the view before I dome some fuckin’ war criminal from a thousand yards away,” you huffed. The line went silent, save from what sounded like very faint cursing amidst the static. You rolled your eyes, swinging the gun bag off your back, unpacking and assembling and loading, preparing for working on yet another thrilling Saturday night.

You silently prayed the hotel had a decent bar with decent hours.

Dropping into a prone position, you were thankful for the custom-fit tac suit that hugged your body as your hips and thighs scraped against debris littering the roof as you positioned the scope of your rifle, placing your hand delicately on the trigger.

“In position,” you muttered, adjusting into a more comfortable, ready-to-bail position in case things went south. When you shot prone, it felt as if the mission at hand weighed just a bit heavier than others. More unbearable. The tactical suit and additional weapons attached to your aching body rivaled that of cinder blocks chained to your legs, weighing you down to the ocean floor in an attempted drowning while you tried to stay above water.

It's never gotten easier, but it's never been harder.

The past two days had been filled with inconsistent sleep, hiding out, and keeping watch, all while under the watchful eye of Bucky. Bucky, who was watching you from inside the stakeout building, who threw a super soldier temper tantrum about having to figure out the ‘nonsensical logistics’ of how to stream a fucking live video feed, who barely bothered to say a word to you while meeting Natasha at the location that morning– aside from graciously allowing you to borrow his weapons cleaning kit.

“You didn’t bring your own?” He cocked a judgmental brow at you, looking you up and down like a creature that crawled out of the Black Lagoon. Steely sea-blue eyes met yours, sharp and bright. Challenging. The collar of your tactical suit had instantly tightened.

“Figured we both use the same stuff, might as well bring the one to save space,” you shrugged, cocking a hip.

Bucky’s eyes flitted to your pronounced curve before you straightened, swallowing.

“Fine. Go nuts,” he sighed reluctantly, gesturing for you to sit in the guarded seat across from him. You sensed his piercing gaze follow you, feeling the same heat creep up your neck and cheeks just like all the other times he watched you. You chocked it up to an intimidation tactic, because it sure as hell worked.

You shook Bucky out of your brain. You needed to stay focused.

“Copy. Target is en route to position, t-minus two minutes. Make it clean and make it quick.” Natasha's voice was cool, calming you and the usual racing thoughts in your head during these types of missions. You preferred her over anyone else to be your spotter since your first time out in the field, but this time she was assigned to be the plant, luring the target away from the rather innocent party-goers so they wouldn’t be splattered with brain matter and skull fragments courtesy of you.

Though, you had to admit, in the right scenarios, that was one of the more satisfying things that came with being a sniper.

“Don’t fuckin’ rush it,” Bucky chimed in.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. “Copy, Nat, just keep dangling the carrot.”

“You know I’ll do more than that. Out.” You could hear her wink.

Two minutes might not seem like much, but missions like these can make it feel like a lifetime. Part of you hoped Bucky watched every second. The other half hoped you could smack the doubtful smirk off his stubble-ridden face– the same exact one he had whenever he watched you train. It was like he wanted you to fail. Like he was expecting it, anticipating it.

You pinched your wrist. Now was not the fucking time.

You brought the scope closer to your face, targeting the window Natasha would be bringing the target in front of. The crosshairs helped even out the scene while you lined up the shot right between the bedroom’s curtains. You readied yourself, focusing on breathing and controlling the rise and fall of your chest, steadying your bottom half. You blinked, then, and through the sights you spotted the golden shimmer of Natasha’s dress reflecting off the room’s low lighting. Finger on the trigger, delicately squeezing as the target’s head entered into the crosshairs, stepping unknowingly into the middle of your aim, mere seconds left to live, left until he rots in his deserved place in hell.

Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Pull.

The target dropped in mere milliseconds as the shot reverberated throughout your body, the sound thankfully muffled by your ear pieces and the silencer. The recoil of the rifle dug into your shoulder, fighting against the rest of your body anchored by stiffened muscles. You exhaled, shaky, still, pushing the scope from your face and resting your head on the cool metal of the stock, allowing it to sear into your burning forehead.

“Confirmed kill. Target down. Meet you back at the hotel, over,” Natasha’s breathless voice crackled into your ear.

“Copy. On my way down. Bucky do you–”

White hot pain suddenly seared through the back of your skull, slamming you face-first into your rifle. You clutched the back of your head, whipping around to be greeted by the dark void of a gun barrel. You froze, blood draining from your face, stomach free-falling as your gaze traveled up to meet crazed eyes and a twisted face. The man– your assaulter– was clad in black with hints of a tattoo running up his neck like blackened veins. No doubt the symbols hidden under his collar belonged to the syndicate run by his boss. The boss you just killed.

He snarled, yellowed teeth glistening in a maniacal grin. “You’re going to pay for that, little bitch,” he spat and nodded to your rifle as he shoved the barrel in your face. The metal practically branded you like marking a cattle for slaughter.

“Try me, prick,” you gritted through ringing pain and a locked jaw, snarling at the man as you rose, slowly, the barrel unmoving as the gun followed your position.

His grin widened. He began pushing you backwards towards the edge of the roof. Quickly, you kicked your foot out, catching his ankle and grabbing his wrist, pointing the gun at the darkened sky as you clawed at his fingers to release it from his grasp. A deafening shot rang out as you wrestled, sending an elbow straight into your jaw that shoved you away. He aimed for you again as you pulled a knife from your waistband, hurling it at any limb you could hit. It nailed him in his thigh, deep enough you knew it hit bone. He dropped the pistol in favor of his leg, allowing you enough of a break to kick the gun off the roof, sliding it off the opposite edge and down the fire escape.

You stood. You noticed the flicker, the fire, in the man’s eyes as it raged, burning brighter than the streetlights below. He yelled as he lunged, knocking you down again. Hard. Lungs deflated, pain seared through your spine, leaving you sputtering and gasping, grasping desperately for anything: his arms, his legs, your knife, your knife in his leg. Your head spun from the impact, rage and bile boiling in your stomach as arms and legs kicked and thrashed. The man grabbed you by your hair as if to scalp you, limping his way to the edge of the roof, dragging you along inch by inch. You deadened, going limp, hoping to make it that much harder for him to drag you with a knife in his fucking femur. Your stomach dropped as the wind picked up and the distance from the fire escape grew farther away. You knew what was in store: a five-story drop onto the hard street below.

With impressive strength for a man who was actively bleeding out– and bleeding all over you– he swung you around by the fistful of hair in his hands, dangling your bottom half off the edge of the roof. You fought the panic beginning to set in, thrashing your feet around in an attempt to find some sort of foothold as your hands scrambled to grip the ledge. To add insult to injury, he slammed your head down, skull and jaw dropping with a dizzying thump. A gruff laugh erupted from his chest, and he spat at you. You glanced hesitantly over your shoulder. The world stretched and morphed the longer you looked; your eyes saw a fifty-foot drop while your brain saw a thousand foot death sentence. You willed your sore neck to turn back to the man, only to fight the scream that bubbled up your throat at the sight of a miniature pistol pointed execution-style at you. You ceased any movement, eyes widening, grip tightening on the inch-thick ledge of the roof that held you from becoming a human pancake.

“Looks like you’ll pay after all, bitch!” He grinned, cocking the pistol and preparing to fire. As he squeezed the trigger, as you squeezed your eyes shut, there’s a muffled shot, and then a warm, oozing feeling running down your face and neck. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, greeted by the sight of the man’s jaw slackened as his eyes began to roll back in his skull. A singular bullet wound centered on his forehead leaked brain and blood and bits of bone. He’s shoved over, body falling like a rag doll and spilling onto the roof. He’s quickly replaced by a seething, panting Bucky with a pistol pointed where your would-be-killer stood. Your eyes widened as your chest constricted, fingertips grinding against the edge as your arms burned and begged to be pulled to solid ground. He lowers the gun, lips parted, eyes boring into your soul like he’s seen a ghost.

“Sar–Bucky, I’m fuckin’ slipping here!” you yelled as your left hand began to give way to gravity. The entirely reasonable request seemed to piss him off even more as he cursed, dropping his gun and grabbing harshly onto your arms, yanking you back up. He dropped you onto the roof in a heap. While your muscles screamed and you hacked up your lungs trying to regain normal oxygen levels, the annoyance you harbored for Bucky returned just as quickly as the gratefulness you had for his rescue faded once he turned his back on you, heading to the fire escape.

“Thanks, Bucky, but Jesus fucking–”

He whipped around, blue eyes flashing crimson– a warning sign to choose your next words extremely carefully.

“Clean up n’ get the fuck down. I’m leaving with or without you in ten fucking minutes,” he seethed, fists clenching onto the fire escape bars. You winced at the groaning sound the metal emitted as he bent it out of place, imprinting his palm prints into the bars.

“Bucky, I– What do–” you stuttered. Thoughts were racing as you looked between him and your would-be murderer decaying in his own drying blood a few feet away. You looked back at him. His eyes, swimming with something unrecognizable, mixed with fear and anger plaguing his features– like he remembered something so vivid, so real, that he was reliving it again.

“Just,” he turns his back to you, voice shaking, “get down here.”

He disappeared, leaving you to clean up the mess.

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

The back alleyway was lit with a single, softly glowing flood light that led out to the busy streets. Bucky, who was already waiting for you with a furiously tapping foot, surveilled you with a stuck-snarling lip as you jumped down from the fire escape. The gilded plates in his hand leading up under his sleeve glinted with the violet-tinted vibranium.

There's a moment, a beat, shared between you as you stood to look at him. You stared at one another, gazes unwavering and refusing to break, to blink. The shadows surrounding you began to move as if they were dancing on Bucky's face, sharpening his jaw, his features. He stayed on you, eyes flitting ever-so-slightly over your form.

Your face burned.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Take a fuckin’ picture why don’t ya?”

You rolled your eyes. “Could say th’same for you.”

He grumbled something– probably cursing you– under his breath. As he opened his mouth to hurl an insult your way, both your phones pinged.

♦ Natasha: Taking last flight out of IST. Jet coming early AM. Lay low. Don’t kill each other. Please. Talk soon.

You swallowed a groan.

“Fuckin’ great,” Bucky muttered, loud enough for you to hear.

“Uh, okay. Fuck you, too, then,” you shot at him defensively. Knee-jerk reaction. Pinching the bridge of your nose and kicking yourself, you dropped the subject. Not the fight you wanted to pick at that moment. “Let’s– let's just call a cab and get to the hotel.”

“No. I have a bike. And we’re going to a safehouse.”

“Bucky, it's dark enough, my bag is–”

Suddenly, he was much closer than a mere second before, backing you up against the wall of the stakeout building. He beat you in height by a decent amount, but him towering over you really put it in perspective. His broad shoulders heaved, vibranium arm whirring in overdrive as he jabbed a plated finger at you, his face inches from yours.

“I. Don't. Fucking. Care,” he stabbed each word into your sternum. “Bike’s down at the other end of the block. We're taking it, or you can fuckin’ walk. Doesn't matter to me.”

You wanted to take his finger and break it.

You glared, focus shifting between his startlingly bright blue eyes and the strange closeness of his face to yours. It was like you were seeing him– like, actually seeing him– for the first time in high definition. All of his details– the small scars by his hairline, the slight crookedness of his nose, crow’s feet and worry lines beginning to etch themselves into his skin, the indent between his brows– overwhelmed you as your eyes darted all over his face. You snapped back to his glare and were suddenly very conscious of your own facial expression that failed to rival his. You set your jaw and furrowed your brow.

You doubted it was convincing.

“Fine.”

He stepped back and started striding down the alleyway with you at his heels. Your grip on the straps of the gun bag burned your palms as you tried to keep up with Bucky’s annoyingly long strides. At the intersection between the main street and two shops sat a garage; it appeared closed for the night, but was still open to Bucky, apparently, who pulled a key out from under an unsuspecting plant. He unlocked the large metal door, lifting it to reveal a tiny space that was barely big enough to house the large motorcycle and a workbench scattered with parts and tools. He strolled in like he owned the place and grabbed one of the helmets hanging off the motorcycle’s handles, handing it to you with an outstretched arm as he saddled himself onto the bike. You looked from him to the helmet, mouth agape and brow arched in confusion.

When you didn’t take it, he rolled his eyes and shook it at you.

“C’mon, we don’t have all night.”

“When the hell did you–”

“I’ve got my ways. Now c’mon, put the damn helmet on,” he huffed, leaning back on the seat. His thick thighs clenched and straddled the gunmetal-body of the motorcycle. You held back the shiver that ran up your back as you crossed your arms, hip cocking out in defiance. In the briefest of pauses, Bucky stilled, and you swore you caught his eyes scanning down your body, your curves and full figure, before snapping back up to meet yours. He scoffed, smirking to himself and shaking his head.

“The fuck are you laughin’ at?” Your face turned hot, prompting your arms to hug tighter over your chest. You felt off balance.

He said nothing and tossed the helmet to you. Your arms uncrossed and reacted much faster than your brain did as you barely caught it, slipping it on. Pointedly sighing, you relented and climbed onto the bike as Bucky put his own helmet on, sliding the visor down. In the shortly-live silence, your breathing echoed his, the air weighing heavy with anticipation. You were suddenly hyper-aware of every single little touch, every tiny movement made, every breath taken– like a bucket of ice water getting splashed on you, you were present for what felt like the first time that night.

The bike roared to life and Bucky leaned forward to fit his body closer to the handles.

“Might wanna hang on,” he yelled over the noise. You hesitated, probably for a second too long for Bucky’s liking as he looked behind you and rolled his eyes (you knew he did, even behind the stupid visor.) He reached behind his back and grabbed your wrist, pulling you against him and wrapping your arm around his waist. Your free arm followed suit, tightly embracing him, heart pounding in your chest at the sudden act. You lurched forward as he rode out of the garage and began down the street; the location was a mystery to you, other than you knew it was one of the regular S.H.I.E.L.D. approved safehouses in Istanbul.

Weaving through the other bikes and cars, you couldn’t help but lean closer into Bucky, watching the lights and sights pass by in a blur. Fingers fanned over his abdomen as you held on, feeling the firm leather tac jacket against your skin– which became firmer upon pressing into him and feeling like you were palming a brick wall. Knees fit together at the sides of the bike, shifting ever-so-slightly whenever he braked or shifted. Worst of all, as you hugged your chest into his back, you had a front-row seat in viewing the way his broad shoulders twisted with laser-like precision as he drove.

It took every ounce of energy not to let go and fall off the bike.

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

The four-flight trudge up to the safehouse– more like safeapartment, actually– was a miserable one, especially with twenty pounds worth of gear on your back and a highly impatient super soldier on your ass telling you to “hurry the fuck up.”

“Again: ‘m not built like a fuckin’ freight train, here, Bucky,” you panted as your legs struggled in rounding the fourth and final landing. He didn’t bother to wait for you, instead turning wordlessly off the landing, heading down the hallway to the door with the keys jingling against his vibranium hand. You caught up to him, standing awkwardly off to the side as he fumbled with the sticky lock, and you couldn’t help but watch the way his hands moved. The way the vibranium prosthetic moved as fluidly as his flesh and bone, the way the plates glinted in the dimly lit hallway, the way his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own.

Bucky swung the door open, pulling you out of your trance. He flicked on a light switch to reveal a small apartment complete with a cramped living room, couch, small T.V., and an open kitchen in the back. A hallway diverted off to the left, presumably to the bathroom and–

“It’s a one bedroom,” Bucky muttered, stepping into the apartment. You looked at him incredulously.

“You– you’re kidding, right?” you asked, closing the door behind you and dropping your bag off to the side.

“No. Why would I?” Bucky turned to you, cocking a brow with hands set on his hips, revealing his undone tac jacket and the tightest fucking dry-fit shirt underneath. It was practically a second skin, hugging against his abs you felt earlier. You stared slack-jawed at him like he didn’t just hear himself speak.

“Because there’s only one fucking bed?”

“Yeah. And I’m taking it. You get couch duty,” he stated matter-of-factly. His crooked smirk prodded at your nerves.

You scoffed and mirrored his stance. “What? No! I did the work today, you sat around and just… watched.”

His face hardened. “I sat and just… watched?” he repeated, tone challenging you as he took a step forward.

You swallowed. “You heard me.”

One second, you were ready to hurl another choice word at Bucky. The next, you were slammed against the back of the door. Hard.

Bucky had rushed you, grabbing your arms with bruising force and forcing them up, pinning your wrists on either side of your head. You yelled in protest, failing to squirm out of the cage that was his body.

“Look at me right fuckin’ now,” he demanded, lips curling into a snarl and bared teeth. His voice turned, a complete 180. Dominating, commanding, enraging. When you didn’t obey instantly, he slammed your wrists against the door again.

“Look at me!”

“No! Fuck– Get off me!”

With your feet still free, you started kicking him, eliciting what sounded like a growl that rumbled from deep within his chest. Bucky passed your wrist in his metal hand off to his flesh one, pinning both hands above your head while shoving a thick thigh between both of yours– right against your core. An uncontrollable yelp escaped from you as he pushed. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, and it took every bit of control to stop yourself from clenching your thighs together automatically. The fire Bucky ignited only grew, imaginary flames roaring in your stomach and racing up your limbs. His prosthetic hand snaked up your neck and squeezed your chin, squishing your cheeks and lips, forcing your eyes to him.

You felt lightheaded. Bucky– fuck, nobody– ever grabbed you like that; like you belonged to them. To him.

“You’re gonna listen to me, and listen good,” he shook your face, “I saved your fuckin’ life tonight, ‘member? When you were defenseless and as good as fuckin’ dead on that roof? You made me shoot that piece of shit point blank. You made me almost shoot you.”

His voice shook and he looked away, biting his lip then coming back to you. “I fuckin’ saved your life when you should’ve saved your own. If it’d been any later– if I’d been a second later–” He steadied a breath, shaking his head and scoffing a laugh. He focused back on you with wildly electric blues. “I saved your life. Therefore, I get the goddamned bed tonight. Got it?”

You stared at him for a second longer before nodding gently. The energy building between you was enough to burn the entire building down if someone lit a cigarette. A smirk slowly bloomed across your lips. He released your chin, hand sinking down to rest against your collarbone.

“Is that all, Sergeant?”

His Adam's apple bobbed.

“What did you just call me?” he whispered, sliding a vibranium palm around the column of your neck, plated fingers resting on your pulse point. He twitched. Inches.

“You heard me.”

The air, thick in the apartment, felt charged.

“Needja t’say it again. Can’t hear too well,” he slurred, licking his lips. Eyelids fluttering, hands squeezing. Centimeters.

“Whatever you say,” you lilted. Millimeters. “Sergeant.”

Lightning struck. Everything ignited, setting fire to both of you as Bucky’s lips seared into yours. Hard, sloppy, desperate as tongue and teeth swapped secrets like old friends. He was unexplored territory, yet he felt so familiar. His prosthetic slowly relented the grip on your wrists, dropping to your shoulder, sliding down your chest where he greedily groped and slid over every last peak and dip of your body: tits screaming for release from your suit; hips jerking in short bursts at his every movement. He grabbed your ass and pulled you closer, forcing your thick thighs to spread wider as his own pushed further against your arousal.

“Been–” Bucky smacked your lips, kissing hungrily across your cheek and biting down your neck, “Shit– Been wanting this so– long, fuck–” He pressed into you, his cock harder a gun in his waistband. You couldn’t hold onto the intensely lust-filled moan that spilled from your throat much longer. Bucky grinned against your neck, lapping and sucking and marking your skin like he owned you. Like he could do whatever he wanted to you.

And you let him.

“Gotta get this shit off you,” Bucky mumbled into your neck as he shed his own jacket, face not leaving your skin. Rough hands grabbed onto you and ripped away the buckles and buttons of the jacket that kept your body from him. A deep groan rumbled inside his chest as he threw the top half of your suit to the side, drinking in the beautiful sight of your body, hugged in all the right places by the cami that was riding up your stomach while your tits gasped for air, spilling out, fighting against your sports bra.

“Holy–fuck, holy shit.”

Bucky Barnes was speechless. And you were the reason why.

He stopped as your wrists came down from above your head and fell down your frame.

“God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your heart stopped.

“You’re telling me.”

Another charge surged and you threw yourself at Bucky, sending both of you stumbling through the living room. Hands grasped and groped. Fingers busied themselves with removing clothing, undoing pants to throw one way and stripping shirts to toss another. You were magnetized to him, carding through his cropped chocolate hair, hooking your arms behind his neck– which was still bare and practically begging you to mark it in every way you knew. Stumbling over an end table, knocking into the wall that led down the hallway, dragging one another to the bedroom only to pause when you whined at Bucky to shut the door.

Both of you were near-naked, relishing in each other’s skin by the time you made it to the bed, falling on it with him on top of you in a heap. Bucky hiked you further up the bed, dropping you onto the several pillows that made it feel like Cloud 9. You looked up at him straddling your hips with legs that seemed to spread wider the further down he sat. Eyelids fluttered while your pupils adjusted to the dark bedroom. What lay before was a scene out of your wildest fantasy.

Bucky sat back on his hips, hair spiking out in wild tufts, cock aching to break free from the confines of his briefs as he stared back at you hungrily. His tongue jutted out to wet his lips, dragging the bottom half back into his teeth while his lust-blown pupils trained directly on you. You truly hadn’t registered the god-like, sculpturesque muscles leading down his chest and over his rippling abs that finished in a very defined ‘V’ below the waistband of his briefs. The veins bulging in his arm and hand were enough to send you spiraling. Everything before you left you speechless. Wanting. Needing.

Bucky slid painstakingly slow hands over your hips, up your waist, your ribs, slipping curious fingers underneath the hem of your sports bra. He didn’t rip it off like you expected, however.

He looked at you. Really looked at you. “You–” his Adam’s apple bobbed, “y’know this’ll change everything. Right?”

You nodded, eager, confident. “Yeah. I– I know.”

“You wanna do this?” He tugged harder.

“Yes.” Another tug. Your tits begged for release.

“And you… got protection, er–” he hesitated, cocking a brow.

“Pill. I–I’m on the pill,” you breathlessly assured him. You added with a shrug, “I assume you didn’t bring any…”

He scoffed a laugh. “You weren’t exactly on my list of things t’do.”

“Well I hope I’m a top priority, now.”

“Number fuckin’ one.”

The elastic tore as he ripped the fabric, finally releasing your breasts from their constraint. Bucky discarded your ruined bra and turned back to you. His hands gravitated automatically to your chest, kneading, squeezing; thumbs and index fingers on both sides felt around for your nipples and pinched the sensitive buds, eliciting a squeal from you and another rush of arousal flooded your core.

Bucky hummed while locking his lips onto a pointed peak, mouthing and nipping and sucking. You mewled, running a hand up the back of his head and through his messy hair. His vibranium hand started downwards, sending your senses into overdrive as metal fingers teased the hem of your hipsters that met the crease in your thigh. He released your swollen nipple with a pop.

“Fuck you’re soaked, baby,” he moaned. Tugging your hipsters down your legs, he returned to leaning back on his hips. You’re breathless, panting, melting before him as he palms his thick erection. The girthy, leaking head poked over the waistband, aching to finally meet you. To feel you.

He stripped his briefs off, springing his cock free. You couldn’t tell if the uncontrollable moan that escaped from your lips was because of how mouth-watering he was or the thrilling worry that flooded your mind at the thought (and soon-to-be very real act) of fitting him– all of him– inside you. You glanced at him, catching the way his eyes darkened into something sinister, something hungry and uncontrollable. His jaw hardened as he pumped himself, leaking precum droplets onto your thighs.

“Get on your fuckin’ stomach,” he commanded. You obeyed, willing to do anything in your power to quell the iron-hot ache that made your pussy throb with want. The second your palms hit the mattress he grabbed you, hands bruising your love handles and ass as he yanked you back to him, shoving your face down into the pillows. With your cheek pressing into the mattress, face squishing into your elbow, all of the oxygen was pulled from your lungs. A beat of silence filled the void between you before a loud SMACK followed by a stinging pain radiating from your ass.

SMACK. “That was for the back talk.”

SMACK. “That was for scarin’ me t’night.”

SMACK. “And that was for makin’ me have to wait this long to fuck your stubborn ass.”

Drool dripped from the corner of your mouth and onto the sheets as you chewed your lip, trying (and failing) to dull the harsh, hot pain. Hands gripping your hips, bruising and rough, he yanked you back to meet his front. His cock jammed in between your cheeks as he grinded on you, kneading your ass to mold around him.

“You’re gonna take me,” he rasped, low and throaty. “All of me.”

You felt him line himself up with your entrance, his girthy head poking and prodding at your entrance. A beat. Hesitation from both of you before he finally snapped forward, plunging into you, filling you, stretching you wider than you could’ve imagined. Once inside, he paused, shifting inside you, cursing breathlessly at the perfect fit. You groaned and desperately shifted your hips in silent hope that Bucky would fucking move. The stretching, the fullness, everything gnawed at your insides that were begging for release. For pleasure.

“F-fuck Bucky, please–!” He slowly, painfully, rolled his hips in small, dragged-out thrusts before pulling out of you with the most self-control you’d ever see from him and jamming right back into you.

“Fuck! Again! Please, again!”

He obeyed you; his hips gradually began to pick up speed, thrusting erratically into you.

“Gimme your arm,” he gritted between hissed curses. Your brain was on a three-second delay between hearing him and when you started to twist; too slow for Bucky’s liking, he growled, bending– and, in turn, stuffing himself until his base scraped your ass– to grab your arm, pinning against your back with a stern hold. The pain, the pleasure, the all-of-it fanned the flames inside you, growing hotter and hotter and threatening to implode.

“‘M so close, baby, so–” he gasped, “Fuck, where do I–?”

“Back,” you answered, muffled against the sheets. “My back, I– ah!” You clenched around him, locking him in place as the implosion erupted within you. White-hot flashes of intense pleasure shot through your veins like a lethal shock. You screamed. You trembled. You felt the most all-consuming release rock you to your core, all while Bucky drilled into you harder, faster, his own coil on the brink of snapping. His hips began to stutter into you while you rode your high, mewling when it was time to pull from you in a hurry, his fist furiously pumping the last few seconds. A pleasured cry came from his body as hot ropes shot onto you, painting your skin in warm bursts, cum pooling where your spine arced. He groaned. Fist slowing in pumps, he fell onto the covers next to you in a heap as you cautiously lowered your back.

For a minute it was just your labored breathing echoing one another. The smell of sex lingered in the air, the distant sounds of the streets below and within the quiet building were muffled by the walls of the bedroom. It felt like forever before the bed shifted. Bucky stood, fumbling around on the ground for his discarded briefs. Kneeling back onto the bed, you flinched at the suddenly soft touch of fabric as he cleaned you up, wiping your skin until satisfied. He tossed the boxers back onto the ground somewhere unseen, rolling over back to his place next to you. You couldn’t help the smile on your lips, biting it back as you flipped over to look at Bucky, who was already staring at you with a soft smile.

“Thanks.”

He shrugged in response. “Looks like we both needed it.”

You nodded. “Does this mean ’m still sleeping on the fuckin’ couch?”

“Hm. No, I’ll let you off the hook,” he said, grabbing the covers and pulling them over you both.

“I think I like being off the hook better than being on it.”

“Mhmm, sure,” he hummed. The covers shrouded you as he placed a metal hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb in soft circles as he pulled you in for another electrifying kiss.

1K notes · View notes

desertfangs · 18 days ago

Text

Is it possible you never knew? [AO3]

Armand/Daniel (with Marius/Daniel and some minor Armand/Marius) - Mature - 5,181 words

As Daniel starts to recover from his madness, Armand pays a visit to the little house in Norway where Marius and Daniel are living, and Daniel worries about what his maker will make of him now.

This is a fic I've been writing on and off in my head since I wrote Into the Midst of Madness but I was never sure if I thought Armand had actually seen him at all during this time. Of course, a lot has changed in my opinion since I wrote that fic and I would probably change a lot of things about it now. After rereading Blood and Gold, TVA, and some of Anne's notes, I decided that yeah, I actually do think they had some contact before PL. Still undecided on how much or how frequent, but it now feels more likely to me that visits such as these occurred.

Anyhow, I digress. I could talk about this stuff and the wonky timeline of it all for hours. (Please hit me up if you ever want to discuss this stuff, it's wild.)

The title comes from a line in the Devil's Minion chapter that felt exceptionally relevant here.

Short Excerpt:

Daniel’s mind is clear. He’s not entirely used to the feeling, but he likes not being mired in a mental fog all the time or singularly obsessive over one thing.

He’s been feeling better for weeks. He’s still building his models most nights, but he’s paying more attention to the radio Marius that left in his work room, actually listening to some of the programs. Occasionally he comes out and sits on the sofa with Marius and they watch an episode of some old sitcom.

And now, finally, after over a month of Daniel feeling more present and comfortable in his own mind, where he can focus on things besides the models in front of him and the need for blood, he dares to hope he might be improving.

Marius says as much, speaking the thought into existence as he ruffles Daniel’s short blond hair one night. Neither of them will say that he’s recovered, but they can both agree he’s further along in the process.

Armand takes the news by deciding to visit.

Daniel isn’t sure how he feels about it at first. He longs to see him, of course, but he’s anxious about being seen. The Mad Fledgling, the one who giggled his way through his immortal rebirth and lost his goddamn mind. The only one Armand ever turned and Daniel can’t help but wonder if he regrets it.

He fears he regrets it.

He fears it every time they have a stilted phone conversation, every time Armand hurries off the line, every time he thinks of their last fight, or how Armand tried to end it all.

He tries hard not to think of these things, but sometimes the thoughts are inescapable and all-consuming.

And now with him coming here, there’s nowhere to hide. Daniel is what he is. Almost two decades in the blood and already a mess.

“Not a mess,” Marius assures him, a gentle kiss to his temple as he dresses Daniel in his finest pair of jeans and a brand new polo shirt. He stands behind Daniel in the mirror. Daniel stares at his reflection: a pale young man in his early thirties whose violet eyes shine with preternatural light, whose long fingers tap nervously against the dark denim on his thigh. His short hair falls neatly into place.

Immortal, forever.

Or as long as he can stand it, anyhow.

“Don’t be morose,” Marius chastises, answering his thoughts out loud. Getting Daniel to speak out loud, to vocalize his thoughts, is part of his recovery.

“I’m not,” Daniel mutters.

He has no desire to end things. He’s finally coming out of a very long, dark tunnel and seeing the light again. It’s a new lease on forever.

But there’s that nagging fear that he won’t measure up in Armand’s estimation. That his heart will be weighed and found lacking.

“You’re perfect.” Marius claps him on the shoulders.

Daniel snorts, laughing slightly as he pulls away.

The doorbell rings.

He’s early.

Read the Rest on AO3

#daniel molloy #armand #armand/daniel #marius de romanus #marius/daniel #devil's minion #the devil's minion #vc fanfic #vc fic #daniel's madness #pre-prince lestat era #vc #vampire chronicles #the vampire chronicles #tvc #tvc fanfic #my fic #devils minion

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vampiretendencies · 2 years ago

Note

for my mental wellbeing PLS PLS PLS PLS write dad to be jj again

i beg of you. i was literally in a depressive episode and reading ur last jj fic was such a pick-me up. (ps ty for that 😭)

i LOVE u & i hope ur okay love

pairing; dadtobe!jj x pregnant!fem!reader

warnings; fluff, mentions of pregnancy, throwing up, talk of feet if thats a trigger for some, suggestive

authors note; came up with this earlier. hope this helps you, even if it's a little bit.

Hell has frozen over and JJ Maybank is folding laundry.

Really, he's only doing it so he can see the small animal patterned baby socks and the wholesome footy onsies. You'd washed them in preparation, as the nursery is adorned with all things baby, and your due date is to come any day now. Creeping it's way in, however pregnancy has been somewhat of a breeze with JJ at your beck and call.

Even if you are blowing chunks in the morning, he's breaking his rest in bare skin to hold your hair and press kisses to your spine.

"S'okay baby, still so pretty.” Is something along the lines of what he typically says, unbothered by the miraculous bile that ejects from your insides— using the nearest towel to clean you up earnestly and eagerly, he couldn’t fathom his baby appearing so helpless. Carrying your limp body back to bed, in his broad, bulky arms, insisting that you rest and not move a muscle.

He is so overly passionate when it comes to soon to be family.

He’s adapting to being a father, but he’s still the same old JJ.

“Do you think babies know they’re babies?”

You sat beside him on the fluffed out couch, nose crinkled in a manner of ‘what the hell are you talking about now’. JJ awaits your answer, absentmindedly folding a small pair of new born pants. The clothes basket is about half way full now and it’s taken him an hour to simply get that done, admiring the baby clothes and dreaming of when he gets to swallow the child whole with his enamoured ways.

“What, JJ?” You sighed exasperatedly, his antics peeling beneath your skin as he’s been doing this the lot of the time being seated here. Though he’s folding laundry his finger tips still find their way to your inner thigh, squeezing at the flesh with ease. Unable to go through extended periods of time without the proximity of your fiery being.

Always touching, explains the reasoning behind you being pregnant.

“Like what if our baby thinks-“

“JJ …” he knows he’s irked those pregnant hormones a bit too far from the rolling of your eyes and the way you keep saying JJ in protest for him to ‘stop talking about something so overly stupid’. Usually there’s so much patience in your voice when a ‘J’ rolls off your tongue calling his name. “I don’t know what you’re talking about … my fuckin’ feet hurt, my head is pounding, and I feel like a Goddamn whale.”

JJ eyes bulge, gesturing his hands in a surrendering way for he knows that any little thing that agitates you in the slightest will send you over the edge— breaking closer and closer to being dilated and in a hospital room. But, he never holds it against you, acknowledging that you mean no harm, merely in aching pain every growing hour.

Kind of like a shut up while you’re ahead sort of thing.

“Sexiest Goddamn whale I've ever seen," he tries to compliment, throwing a onesie to the side, the darting of your eyes makes the mischievous smirk on his face grow all the more wider.

There's always an urge of neediness behind every smirk.

His index finger traces your cheek bone to gain your full attention rather then the slim phone in your hands, a pout is beginning to form and it's making JJ's heart burst.

"M'not in the mood J, my belly's just gonna' get in the way."

"Never, your belly would make it even better ... but that's not the route I was taking baby, let me show you, yeah?"

And you nod willingly letting him take the pain away. JJ's dropping to his knees, keeping your complaint in mind that your 'fuckin' feet hurt.' Though your eyebrows furrow, you decided not to question, wishfully hoping for his contact despite it.

Pushing the throw blanket that was in your lap to the side, he puckers his lips around your knee. Practically worshipping the legs in front of him. Peering up at you with sensuous eyes, short-lived as he molds his mouth with the skin of your calves, granting each and every inch of skin with solicitous osculating kisses. Delicate with the way his large hands hold them upright to meet his mouth. Suctioning and delving all he could possibly reach.

"Thank you for carrying our sweet baby."

His voice sent goosebumps, vibrations of his heavy voice elevating to the point of you not being unable to muster a 'you're welcome' or 'of course'. Instead, your head falls back to collide with the couch cushion, eyes closing. Relishing in every empyrean like movement your lover ignited; heaven bled through every sullen kiss.

It came to a halt and know he's kneading your feet, oh so soft, lathered thick of a vanilla musked lotion. From the big toe to the heel his knuckles massage the foot, almost melting the swelling away like clockwork.

"Feel better, baby?"

"Feels so much better, J."

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bree-cheesy · 2 years ago

Text

Forbidden Pleasure

Joseph Quinn x fem!reader

A/N: So here I am with another fic after like almost a month. Sorry y'all. I get excited to write for like a week then don't want to for a month. Hope I make up for my absence. And I hope you guys like the fic. Took me a lot of effort to make honestly.

SIDE NOTE: Messed something up so I had to delete and repost! Sorry!!

Credit to @nowadayz for the gif

Warnings: SMUT 18+!!! Minors just go away. (dirty talk, mutual pining, intense kissing, slight sub and dom themes but only if you squint, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, cockwarming mentions, finger sucking.) Some fluff, co-star friends to lovers, not very plot heavy, reader and Joseph practice kissing for a scene. No use of Y/N. Think that's it. It's not proof read either.

Word Count: 2093

______________________________________________________________

Joseph was your costar. You both were starring in a romance movie about two ex lovers. They were separated when they went to college and recently ran into each other when your character got a new job in the character’s old town. It was pretty cliche, but it was your first film you were starring in so you were excited. Joseph played the love interest. It was your first film where you had to act out a sex scene. You were so unprepared. It’s not like you’ve never been with someone intimately, but acting a sex scene was so much different then actually having sex.

Joseph was nothing, but kind to you about the whole thing. He knew you were nervous about it and was super supportive. He was nervous himself because he was too afraid to admit he was attracted to you. He was head over heels for you almost. He wanted to make the whole scene perfect for you because he had a small amount of hope something would happen between you both. He would have to wait to say anything until filming was ended because you both could be kicked from the movie. He didn’t want that for you.

You were in your trailer, preparing for the scene. It was only you and Joseph and the filming crew on set that day, but you were still nervous. What if you were bad at it? What if you forgot to brush your teeth beforehand? Thoughts were zooming through your head so bad that you almost missed the knock on your trailer door. You got up and opened the door. Joseph was standing there.

“Oh, hey Joe.” You let him in and shut the door behind him. Your palms felt sweaty around him. He was hard to be around. It was almost intimidating.

“Hey, just thought I’d check on you before the scene. See how you’re feeling.” Joseph ran his hand through his hair and gave you a weak smile. Even if the smile was fake, it was still beautiful. God, that smile. It was something you saw in your mind at almost every waking moment. Completely tormenting you all day every day. Everything about it was perfect. Not to mention his eyes. Goddamn he was just a beautiful man. “Hey, you there?”

You shook out of your thoughts and looked up at him, gulping nervously. “Yeah, yeah. I’m nervous honestly.” You walked back to the desk you were at and sat down. “Scared I’ll do bad. Haven’t really had very many praises on my kissing skill in my life.” Joseph looked at you confused. You shook your head. “It’s not important. Don’t worry about it.”

Joseph sat down on your couch in the corner, sitting back and manspreading in a way that made chills go down your spine. You usually hated when men did that. Why is it so attractive when he does it? “I understand. I haven’t necessarily had complaints about my skills, but it’s different in front of a camera. Always a little nerve wracking.” He smiled at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Especially when the girl you’re kissing is pretty.”

You blushed and rolled your eyes, peeking at the time on your phone. “It’s no secret that people don’t want me to do this movie. There have been complaints since before we started filming. One little mess up and I’m fucked, Joe.” You groaned and held your head in your hands. Joseph rolled his eyes.

“Don’t even worry about that. You’re gonna do fine.” Joseph looked at you, an idea suddenly crossing his mind. It was a stretch so he was scared to even ask the question, but you looked desperate. “Uhm, we could practice.” You looked up at him confused. Practice? Practice what? Fake sex?

“Practice?” You asked, still terribly confused.

“Yeah, like practice kissing or something. Like, if you’re so worried you’ll mess it up, we can practice to see how we work together.” He shrugged and sat forward a little. “In my opinion, it’s worth a shot.”

You bit your lip nervously, your cheeks heating up. Kissing Joe out of character? What was he thinking? This is dangerous. Who knows what would happen between you two? The attraction between you two was undeniable. The kiss could spark something dangerous. Something forbidden. “A-Are you sure?” Your voice was meek and shaky.

He nodded and stood up. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to. Not gonna force you to do it.” He held his hand out and you took it, standing up in front of him. “Look, you set the pace. If that means I don’t touch you, or if there's no tongue, I don’t care. All up to you. I want you to be comfortable.” He looked so kind and gentle. You are lost now. Unable to let the chance of feeling his lips not in front of a camera pass up. It was a need. Not a want. A need. A need clawing at your insides that was getting almost too much to handle.

“U-Uhm, okay.” you gulped nervously and he smiled.

“Okay, what’s the rules then, m’lady.” He held his hands out like one of those wooden dummies you’d draw. “Guide my hands wherever.” You pouted a little and gently took his hands, putting them on your waist. Seemed like a secure spot. He’d have a grip on you in case the kissing was just too much and you passed out.

His hands flexed against your waist, aching to slide under your t-shirt so he could feel your skin. He needed more, but he was going to stay true to his word. The pace of this was up to you. He looked down at you with such patience that it almost made you melt into a puddle at his feet. You usually were not the kind to want to bend at every command a man gave, but for him, you’d do almost anything. His head went down a little, just to get closer so it wasn’t awkward trying to start the kiss. His breath gently fanned against your lips. It smelled minty with a slight hint of cigarettes. It was sinful.

Gently, you pressed your lips to his. His hands tightened ever so slightly on your waist and you stepped closer. Mentally cursing at yourself for kissing like a scared teenager, you deepened it ever so slightly. Both your eyes fluttered shut, noses bumping a little. He couldn’t stop himself. Your lips were just too soft. He needed more. He pressed his lips harder against yours and you let out a soft whimper, pressing more against him. He wouldn’t go too far. Not unless you did. He felt your tongue gently swipe his bottom lip and he opened on a sigh, hugging his arms around your waist.

Reaching up and wrapping your arms around his neck, the kiss turned sloppy. Hot and wet. Teeth clashing. It was primal. A need deep down in the both of coming out after one simple kiss. You moaned into his mouth when he pressed you up against the wall, slotting his mouth hard over yours. You were so fucked. So absolutely mega fucked. He tasted like pure sin. Better than anything you could’ve imagined.

His hands went down to your ass and squeezed softly, groaning and slotting his thigh between your legs, making your knees buckle and fall into him. His hands went down your belly and roughly unbuttoned your jeans. You wiggled your hips slightly as he stuck his hand inside, welcoming the gesture with open arms. His fingers slid to your aching pussy which was now completely soaked. It always was when you thought about him.

“Fuck… so wet…” Joseph groaned into your mouth and moved down to kiss your neck. His fingers found your clit in record time and you moaned a little louder than intended. Just as he was about to go further, your phone rang. He gasped and pulled away. You scrambled to grab the phone and looked at the contact. It was the producer. He was calling you to get ready for the scene. Joseph fixed his clothes and you hastily buttoned your pants back up. No words were spoken between you two and you both awkwardly walked to hair and makeup.

--2 hours later--

The tension was sizzling between you two after the scene. Everyone could tell, but no one was going to say anything. As you got back to your apartment that night, your phone buzzed. It was a text from Joe. You bit your lip nervously and looked at it.

Joey: You better open your front door.

Confused, you opened it and were met with Joseph standing there, out of breath and holding onto the doorframe. Before you could get a word in, he rushed at you, kissing you with such urgency you'd 've been convinced the world was ending. You weren’t going to stop it, though. His hands ripped your shirt and pants off before picking you up and carrying you to the couch. Your ass landed in his lap facing away from him. You took a deep and much needed breath. You hadn’t really gotten one since he tackled you.

He kissed your neck while you shimmed your panties down your legs. His hand went between your thigh and he groaned into your ear. “God, the most perfect pussy…” His middle and ring finger slipped through your soaking folds making you whine and squirm in his lap. He lightly slapped your thigh. “Be a good girl and hold still.”

You nodded and whimpered softly, lolling your head back against his shoulder. He gently rubbed your clit, whispering dirty nothings in your ear, slowly making you come undone. You felt his hard on growing under your ass, making it so hard to not wiggle against it. His fingers were so gentle and talented. Your body quivered against his chest, breath coming out in hard pants. “Joseph… I need.. please!” You whimpered, feeling yourself getting close.

“Cum for me, baby… I want to see it.” he slipped his middle finger inside your pussy, his thumb working against your clit in time with his finger’s thrusts. You felt yourself squeeze around his fingers, Joseph whispering encouragements into your ear. Finally, you cried out and came hard around his finger. He pulled his finger out and pressed it against your lips. You sucked on it obediently, wanting to please him. He reached down between you two and unbuttoned his jeans, pulling his aching cock out.

“Joseph… please….” You whined, wiggling against his cock. You just wanted him inside you. He wouldn’t even have to move, just put it inside you and let you warm his cock. Anything for him. He gently lowered you onto his cock, stretching you out so good. It was a little painful, but it felt so good at the same time. It was a forbidden feeling running through your whole body. Without even thinking, you started bouncing on his cock. It wasn’t even something you knew you were doing.

He grabbed your hips and helped you up and down his cock, grunting and groaning. Your moans echoed through your apartment, a beautiful song only you two would be able to make. You pressed your palms on his knees and rode him harder, whining and moaning, your eyes shutting at his tip pressed against the spot inside you that made you weak.

“That’s it, baby. Use my cock… Use it, baby…” Joseph slapped your ass, making you yelp and go faster, chasing the release you so desperately needed. Joseph moved his hips up against yours, meeting your thrusts and driving you wild. He felt your pussy walls clench around his cock and gritted his teeth. “S-So tight…” Joseph stuttered out.

“I-I’m gonna cum, Joe-” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before cumming hard for the second time. Joseph groaned and felt his release snap, filling you up. You fell back against his chest, your breath coming out shaky and hard. Your eyes shut and your hand went back to behind his head, snaking your fingers through his curls. He breathed heavily and gently lifted you off his cock, setting you back down on his lap, too tired to get up. Turning his arms, you snuggled into his chest and fell asleep. He just hugged you close and shut his eyes.

It was a forbidden thing for the two of you. No one would know until they had to. Forbidden, but so amazing. Forbidden pleasure.

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x fem!reader smut #joseph quinn x fem!reader #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn fluff #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #friends to lovers #smut #my work

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sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 11 months ago

Text

You're killin' me!

Quick summary: Phantom and Maverick have had their fair share of head-butting – competition, ego and feelings don't mix well, apparently. Finally, however, they seem to reach a peace after a day on the beach.

Word count: 3K (getting into writing these shorter fits woo!)

Warnings: Kind of angsty but also you make out so like is it really that bad; allusions to smut; lots of swear words; yeah, not much for this, it's pretty PG.

A/N: YAYYY, I'm back, sort of but also not really but also ENJOY THIS FIC. Yes, technically it is an extract from an unfinished chapter of the mav x reader Wattpad story I'm halfway through writing (yes, I have a wattpad, it's called nonoitsnina), and maybe (BIIIIG emphasis on MAYBE) I will do a second part where y'all actually fuck and stuff but for now just take this. If anyone's still slinking around the Top Gun stuff, that is. Also, Bee is your RIO here. Just to preface. And Phantom (YOUR CALL-SIGN) shortens to Tommy or Tom from time to time but like if you read the Wattpad book (YES I KNOW I SOUND LIKE A SCARY 14 YEAR OLD) it makes more sense. OKAY ENJOY COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED HAVE A LOVELY JUBBLY DAY

***

Stupid smiles plastered bright across their faces, Bee and Goose are already dashing down the road, speed-walking like a couple of suburban mothers, one swathed in a beach towel and picnic blanket, the other lopsided with a half-empty cooler grasped in one hand.

I watch them go, brow furrowed, over my shoulder, slightly disconcerted.

“I guess they—” Mav pauses, then huffs, equally as confused, “—really wanted those ice-creams.”

Sure. That’s why they keep glancing back at us and giggling like idiots: ice-creams.

Maverick and I are strolling along the boardwalk back home – despite washing my feet at the tap, there’s still sand between my toes that tickles my skin with every step, but I could care less. He’d asked if I wanted us to take the bus—but I’d said no. Call me a loon (Bee certainly would), but, even after a full day of work—or play—nothing beats sitting outside in the quiet. Except sleep, I guess. But, when I can keep my eyes open, looking out a good view—and, boy, is this watercolour sunset some view—is perfect. After growing up in a city full of dust and cracks, I’ve embraced it: I’m gonna be one of those old ladies in a rocking chair on her porch, day and night, night and day.

Having just finished my own crêpe, I eat Maverick’s. When I ask him if he’s bothered by it, he tells me he’d bought them both for me in the first place.

Sweet. Y’know, I really thought I was a good judge of character. I had to be, to be fair, growing up, pursuing this career – you must always assume the worst until proven otherwise. That’s the safe way, and it’s served me well. Until it had me screaming and yelling at everyone. That’s not—right. It makes me absolutely nauseous.

So, all of these estimated traits, good and bad, have either been tossed or been filtered out.

It boils down to Maverick and his easy grin. He walks along the edge of the sidewalk, just looking at me with that goddamn easy grin. I’ve half a mind to slap him, just to give me a break from his attention. It makes me horribly self-conscious, forces a little thrill on me, like when you’re at the apex of a rollercoaster, just about to tip over. It feels like that, but it also feels like light streaming through a half-blinded window, so the warmth just collects there on the sill so that, when you touch it, you wish you could roll under it like a blanket. Of course, that warmth accumulates. I’m sweating. Like—a—pig.

Jesus, I want to scream into my hands with how good he looks. His dark hair is still slightly damp with seawater, stiff in some places and criminally soft in others. Every now and then, he’ll pull at the white button-up that sticks just a little to his chest, to the contours of his stomach, and fan the skin there. Jesus Christ. My hands are basically twitching to touch him there, to feel the heat of him beneath my palm, solid and beating gently with his heartbeat. I clasp my fingers very tightly around my fork, my crêpe slip, concentrating it all into one point.

I can’t tell if feeling like this is the best or the worst. Jesus, imagine if the other guys knew. They’d never shut up about it. Christ, they’d never take me seriously again. I don’t want to be the “girlfriend” – I want to be a formidable pilot. So many people just don’t think those two things can ever coexist.

Not that I want to be a girlfriend. I couldn’t say that word out loud without feeling wrong. I’m a lot of things, but I don’t know if I could be that.

A bike passes with an urgent ring of its bell, and Maverick twists his body in towards mine, hand hovering over my back, to push me out of the way from it.

I go blank, scrambling to remember where we were in the conversation, mouth dry.

“So, you’re telling me,” I begin, grinning, “going into Return of the Jedi, you hoped that Luke and Leia would end up together?”

Mav sighs and rolls his eyes, tearing off a little of what remains of the crêpe. ‘Well, at the time, I didn’t know they we’re fuckin’ siblings—”

“Maverick, that is incest.”

“Come on!” he laughs, and it’s the best sound in the world. “Goose thought so, too! Luke’s the main guy, so, like, it’s not not logical to think he’d get the main girl, right—?”

“But it’s Han Solo!” I exclaim, throwing my head back with a snort. He smiles down at me, eyes warm, in a way that I’m probably misinterpreting and will replay over and over in my head when I’m trying to sleep in bed tonight. “I thought you’d be a Han Solo kind of guy.”

“What, I remind you of him?” He tosses his head back and smoulders. I fake a gag.

“Well, he’s just—he’s just—” I trail off into laughter. “He’s really—I can’t explain it! If you ask any girl, she’ll know what I mean. Han Solo is so—” I giggle again, remembering how stunned and attracted to him I was when I first watched A New Hope in the theatre. “He’s just a lot of things.”

“Oh, yeah?—like what?”

Gosh, I can feel myself burning up – does he have to lower his voice like that? Does he have to try and catch my eye? God, it’s almost easier to hate him, to be honest – at least then I wouldn’t be acting like such a puddle.

“Like, charming and daring and, um—and clever, and—I don’t know. It’s just the way he speaks or something.”

He hums, hands in his pockets, his dad’s jacket draped over his forearm – I don’t think I’ve seen him go anywhere without that leather jacket. “And you like those things?” he pushes.

I bark out a laugh. “C’mon, Maverick, everyone like those things.” True enough – I could be blind and still fall in love with Han Solo and his smooth-talking. “And why Luke? Even if they weren’t siblings, why him? He had zero chemistry with—”

“Because he’s the chosen one!”

“—yeah, well, he—”

“He’s cool! Luke is objectively cool. He’s a pilot, he’s a Jedi, he’s a leader, he’s—”

“What-ever!” I exclaim, scrunching up my nose at him, and we giggle into quiet. “I’m not saying I didn’t like him as a character – I think he’s an amazing character. I just wouldn’t fuck ‘im.” I cackle at the absurdity of it all.

We continue walking.

Maybe all of this will fade in a couple hours. Maybe it’s the magic of Top Gun, this beach, this dusk that settles in fast around us, the lights that illuminate the darkening boardwalk. It’ll all be over in a couple more weeks, anyway. Bee ‘n’ I’ll go back to the carrier and be on with things, and Maverick will do whatever it is that he does. I know Goose says we should make plans to meet after school’s out, but who really has the time to spare? So, thank God Mav didn’t ride in on his motorcycle, ‘cause, if he’d insisted I hop on and wrap my arms around him and rest my head on his shoulder and la-la-la, I’d be in great danger of sleeping with him.

“D’you wanna head straight back?”

I look up at him. “Hmm?”

Jesus, he needs to tone down his looks or something – it’s disarming, a hazard, really. Those green eyes are givin’ me some mean butterflies, alright. Nowadays, I’ll see him fresh out of the sky, hair spiky and dishevelled with sweat – he doesn’t wear helmet hair as well as others, that’s for certain – and I’ll have to bury my face in my locker. I’ll see him absentmindedly chewing on his dog-tags, and it’ll have me air-headed for the rest of a lecture. I can’t classify it as a distraction, but it’s—certainly not intended. My head isn’t screwed on so tight, and I can’t keep tipping up in the cockpit – I know my ambition to win and these thoughts about Maverick have no correlation, but, good God, maybe if I could just focus more in classes—

“There’s—” he starts, then swallows. “We could go to the pier. Not really a view anymore, but we could see some lights. Boats, maybe.”

“Yeah,” I reply, excitement jolting through my body.

“Yeah?” I nod. He smiles. “Okay.”

When he asks me if I’m cold, he readjusts his jacket on his arm, like he’s already made his mind up to lend it to me. Of course, I shake my head – I’d probably end up stinking up the damn thing with how much I seem to be sweatin’.

We take our time to the end of the pier. When we reach the railing, we step up onto the bar and lean out to look down at the softly lapping water.

“You—erm—”

I turn to look at him, and the stutter of his words stops abruptly, his eyes wide. He looks at me dumbly, like I’m one of the seven fuckin’ wonders. Now, I’ve seen Maverick drunk, stupid, and downright embarrassing himself—just think of the time she lost that fuckin’ lovin’ feeling—but, even when he doesn’t know something, he always keeps face. He always has something to say. Now?—now, here, he looks hopeless.

“You—”

“I what, Mitchell?” I grin, shoving my hair behind my ear in light of the strong breeze that suddenly billows in from across the sea. “Watching the ships, right?” There they are: little dots on the horizon.

He flushes, snapping his attention away. “Right.”

I know what’s coming – I pick up on all of it: the fidgeting of his hands, the downcast dart of his eyes, the way he bites down on the inside of his cheek. Though it kinda perks me up to begin with, I just end up wilting again at the reminder of a certain instructor who I am evidently not.

Still, it’s nice to hear him say: “It’s just—” I tilt my head towards him, “—I think you’ve got great eyes. Great everything really. I dunno. I think—you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

I snort. “That 4% really got to you, hey, Mav?”

He doesn’t laugh, just pauses, takes a second to think about what he’s going to say. “I—don’t know—how to say it.”

My heart drops—in the bad way. “What?"

“That I think about you—a lot.”

Oh, Christ. I let out a deep sigh, and, immediately, his face drops like a stone. “Oh, don’t do that, Maverick.”

“Do what?” he protests through a weak smile.

I recoil just a little bit: he’s a flirt, yes, but I didn’t take him for a dirtbag. “Do what?” my ass. He knows what. Blonde-hair-and-bright-eyes, who’s what. Think of how smart she is, how accomplished she is, how beautiful she is, how level and respected she is – all of these things and a man can still write Charlie of as not that big a deal? That’s fuckin’ low.

“You’re being mean,” I tell him firmly, trying to force down the disgust that pushes under my tongue and the embarrassment that burns over my cheeks.

Maybe Carole and Goose really weren’t exaggerating. Maybe he has got eight women all lined up for him, just waiting for him to call.

His hand makes to touch my shoulder but doesn’t end up making contact – it just hovers, unsure. Either way, I wasn’t going to let it happen. Either way, I find myself scurrying back, away.

Mav has the audacity to look confused. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to—”

“So, what?” I snap, hopping down from the railing and scowling unabashedly at him once more. “I’m one of those girls you string along?”

He laughs – only, it’s not cute anymore; it’s fucking annoying. “No—!”

The wind blows strongly, warm, still, but with the promise of a storm. I have to raise my voice in order to get myself across, I tell myself: “What?—you wanna challenge yourself, or something? Me and Charlie—?”

This?—this seems to piss him off. Mav’s expression crumples into indigence as he protests strongly again, “No—!"

“But—”

“Phantom,” he presses desperately, eyes pleading for me to listen – I’ve seen that expression on him before; every time I’ve ignored it, I’ve ended up regretting it, yelling myself silly over a misunderstanding. So, I pause. I listen. The urgent haze fades away within the span of three deep breaths.

“I wanted Charlie’s advice on how to speak to you. I was nervous—am nervous—and I don’t want to say the wrong thing. She’s very—to-the-point. And Goose and Bee fluff like their lives depend on it.”

Nice one. Nice going, Tommy: do what you do best and throw a fuckin’ rage, why don’t you?

“I thought you didn’t like me—” I say to him dumbly, “—after what I said to you.”

We don’t talk about that argument in the locker rom. We don’t talk about the one after volleyball either, or the one in the air. It’s no excuse – that Viper is breathing down my neck, that I know Skipper expects highly of me – to act like a dick to all the competitors that block my way to that damn trophy. I need to climb this hill.

And here Maverick is, thinking about me—a lot.

“Your opinion matters to me more than you’d think,” he admits with a snarky, little snort. “You’re—” he trails off; the gale dies down. “You’re just—I don’t know how to put it. I’m—not great at the serious-talking stuff.”

“Embarrassed?” I tease. God, I know I am.

He grins. “A little bit.”

We make our way back to the dorms, talking. He tells me he’s liked me ever since this one lecture at the beginning of Top Gun—after the induction, after the bar, after the first exercise—when he’d said something dumb in response to Charlie’s criticism. According to him: “You turned back and looked at me and—and you just smiled. God, I dunno – I just couldn’t look away from you. Even—even after you, y’know, y’turned back around, I—I was just staring at the back of your head, hoping you’d do it again. That you’d look at me again, smile at me again.”

I don’t even remember that day.

He walks me to the door of my dorm, where the windows are all dark and the blinds all flat shut.

No way to make it up to him. No time, either. Should’ve kissed him right then and there at the bar that first night when he came over to the jukebox. Bee saw it in my face – I know that now. I should’ve let him win that bet with himself.

I might be about to do him that favour now, I guess. All flushed, all pretty, all nervous—he gets nervous?—Maverick is so close to me that the heat of his body radiates onto mine, far too dangerous for my liking. This is not what I intended. This is so far off my plan of how this program was gonna go.

But his nose is brushing mine, and his hands are so warm and gentle as they press over my arms.

“Can—?”

I nod softly. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

The kiss, when it comes, is this soft, tentative sink into a brittle release. The gentle press of his nose into my warm cheek elicits a quiet sigh from the both of us – the break from silence must render me into this here embarrassing mess, melting like the ice-cream we shared earlier in the hot sun, because Mav gets that shit-eating grin on his face like he’s watching me lose to him at volleyball all over again. Whatever – he’s the one that probably had to take a cold shower over how I looked.

I cup my hand over the back of his neck, drawing him closer still to me.

Maverick kisses like he’s paying attention to every single detail of it – his eyes are slanted just slightly open, watching my face, and one of his hands rests kindly over my neck, his fingers pressing just a little into the pulse point which I’m sure is racing like a damn horse by now.

Of course, he’s beautiful at this. Just my fuckin’ luck. Technically, yes, it is prohibited to have sexual relations on work premises. Even a man and a woman behind a locked door is assumed to be inappropriate – I’ve heard that one too many a time by the air boss back on the carrier. I’m far from a goody-two-shoes, but rules are rules for a reason. So, of course, it’s just my luck that I meet an unfairly handsome pilot with pretty eyes and entirely too destabilising a kiss. He trails his nose down along my jaw before burying it there in my neck; I hold him tight to me, fingers curling around the thick muscle of his shoulders.

When we kiss again, it’s different: searing, crushing, slow, breathless. The chorus of crickets and cicadas and other night-things is drowned out by the roaring of blood in my ears and the soft noise that slips past Mav’s lips as he pauses for breath, to pant hotly over my cheek.

“You’re gonna have to help me out here, stud,” I mumble helplessly against him, to which he nods fiercely, reaching out blind for the door-knob and guiding me stumbling into my room.

Bee isn’t here – upon the side table, there’s a little, folded note that reads in chicken-scratch handwriting: Staying with Goose for the night. Have fun!

#pete mitchell x reader #pete maverick mitchell x reader #pete mitchell #top gun #top gun maverick #goose bradshaw #tom cruise x reader #im back on my bullshit #i feel the need for speed #i need him in me

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