#i heard a thud...as though it had landed on the floor instead
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i REALLY need to wear my glasses because i may or may not have just flicked one of the pieds onto the floor of my room never to be seen again 💀
#mine#uhm#so like#context:#there were apparently MORE pieds still hiding in that dreaded fucking log#i saw at least two in my powder enclosure#caught one and brought it home#caught the other and#as i shook it off the leaf i had it on#so it would land in its enclosure#i heard a thud...as though it had landed on the floor instead#but i couldn't fucking SEE#soooooooo#it may have scurried off in seconds to hide and i'll never fucking see it again#if i'm LUCKY it just landed on the wood inside its home and hid immediately before i could confirm#...worse is that i think i saw another one still in the powder enclosure#but again...no glasses. it may have been a crumble?#OH MY GOD WHO LET ME HAVE RESPONSIBILITY OVER CREATURES#THIS IS ACTUALLY SO BAD
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THE GREAT WAR
PART I ♤ SECRET PREGNANCY AU
A/N: After seven months, it's finally here. Part I of Giyuu's Bundle of Joy. This fic involved a ton of research and tears. I hope you all enjoy. Special shout-out to @squishybabei @kentohours @homo-homini-lupus-est-1701 @ghost-1-y and @xxsabitoxx for letting me bombard your DMs with endless snippets from this fic for feedback. Note that this is a multi-part fic, and it will be a non-linear story.
CW: explicit sexual content ☼ MDNI ☼ loss of virginity ☼ unprotected sex ☼ protective/possessive Giyuu ☼ canon-typical violence
LISTEN TO THE PLAYLIST HERE
January, 1915
The moon’s rays filtered through the sparse canopy of the trees from above, bathing that small portion of the forest in its silvery glow. There, about twenty paces ahead, Giyuu locked eyes on his target.
A demon; one he’d been pursuing through the dense forest separating his Manor from the base of a great mountain for the last several miles
The demon had yet to notice him, for it was focused entirely on its own prey — a human woman, who was frantically zigzagging as she ran in a desperate effort to evade its clutches.
She was succeeding rather well in her endeavor, managing to dart out of the beast’s reach right as it snapped its sharp, deadly claws at her back. But the girl then miscalculated her movements and stumbled over something — whether it was a tree root or her own feet, he could not say — and she went airborne. For one, sickening moment, Giyuu feared he would not be fast enough to save her from falling victim to the demon he was readying to kill.
The girl squealed as she fell, just narrowly managing to avoid the swipe of the beast’s claws as they cut uselessly at the air where her back had been only seconds before. Something long and wooden flew from her hand as she sprawled across the forest floor – a broom.
Odd.
Steps quick and even, Giyuu’s thumb flicked his sword free from its scabbard. Within seconds of him drawing his weapon, the Slayer’s blade sliced seamlessly through the demon’s neck, its head thudding pathetically to the forest floor before the beast could comprehend the threat.
He landed swiftly on the balls of his feet, the Water Pillar quickly shaking his blade free of the demon’s blackened, rotted blood before sheathing it at his hip. A quick job – that was how he liked it; free of fuss.
Behind him, he heard the leaves coating the frozen ground of the forest shift and crack as the human girl he’d rescued rose to her feet. He grimaced; while helping rid the world of the blight inflicted upon it by demons was his life’s sole and true purpose, and one he fulfilled without hesitation, he was little more than a fish out of water when it came to talking to those he helped.
The girl had yet to flee; Giyuu suspected she might be in shock, if not a bit simple, and he sought to prod her along. After all, the sooner she left the forest, the less likely she’d end up a demon’s meal and waste his efforts in preserving her life.
“You should be fine now. Please return to your ho-,” The dark-haired Slayer’s words were cut off with a sputter as the head of the woman’s broom whacked him sharply up the side of his skull.
Giyuu stood there for a moment, dazed and slightly confused as he turned towards the woman whose life he’d just preserved.
The Water Pillar had not paid her much mind upon discovering her seconds away from becoming the slain horned demon’s newest meal, his attention having been entirely focused on eliminating his target. But now, without the distracting threat of a man-eating beast, he could see she was clad in the traditional attire worn by Shinto priestesses, though she looked far too young to have achieved such a status. Instead, she appeared to be much closer to himself in age. The front of her red hakama pants were streaked in mud and dirt from her fall, and several strands of hair had fallen loose from where they’d been gathered in a ribbon just below her shoulders.
And she was glaring at him.
“What are you?” She demanded, and the Water Pillar noted the faint tremor in her voice that she worked to conceal behind her defensive stance, her broom braced in front of her like a blade.
A slow blink. “I am Tomioka.”
It baffled him that he let his name slide so freely when he’d never been one particularly keen on sharing it. Yet, he’d thought that perhaps the exchange of names would get the wild woman before him to calm, and perhaps lower the sweeping tool —-
“What the hell is a Tomioka?”
Giyuu wondered whether the — Miko, that was what young priestesses in training were called — had hit her head in the fall. “My name.”
A faint dusting of red spread across the Miko’s cheeks as she realized the absurdity of her mistake, though she still did not lower her weapon. Rather, she jutted it towards him in what Giyuu thought may have been an attempt to be threatening.
“And what was that thing just now, Tomioka? And what are you?” Quickly, her eyes swept behind him, scanning. “Are there more?”
Idly, Giyuu wondered why he was bothering to indulge in such a silly conversation to begin with, chalking it up to the mere fact that they were still in a dark forest, with dawn still several hours away.
The foolish girl would end up a snack for another demon if she did not turn around and go home.
“It was a demon. I’d been tracking it for several miles when it stumbled across you. You can count yourself lucky — do not hit me again.” He cut off with a warning, eyes narrowing as the Miko drew the broom back up over her head.
There was a tense moment as the two regarded one another, Giyuu’s eyes locked on the Miko’s trembling arm as she stared distrustfully back at him.
The girl’s hands twitched as the broom cleaved through the air once more, but Giyuu knocked it easily away, sending the cleaning tool flying uselessly to the side where it rolled under a bush.
“Are you finished?” Giyuu asked, irritation creeping into his tone as he stared coolly at the flustered Miko.
“You’ve stripped me of my only weapon, so I suppose I have no choice,” the young woman sniffed, her tone as frosty as his glare.
Giyuu grimaced. “You would not have lost the privilege had you simply done as I asked.”
The Miko folded her arms stubbornly across her chest and glowered at him. “You would truly leave a woman defenseless in the woods? With nothing to protect herself?”
Giyuu scoffed. “You are not a woman; you are a menace.”
The young woman’s mouth opened and closed several times as her face flushed several shades deeper. “Y-you!”
A crack! somewhere in the woods made the sputtering Miko fall silent with a small squeak, and Giyuu was bemused to find that the woman’s hands shot to him for safety, when only moments before she’d tried to clobber him away from her.
“You said that…that thing earlier was a demon, yes?” She whispered and Giyuu nodded, tense as his eyes swept through the shadowy line of the trees, searching.
“Do you think there are more?”
“So long as we continue sitting here like a pair of lame ducks, more are bound to come sniffing.” The wary Pillar replied. “Which is why I suggest you return home — without bludgeoning me further.”
The young Priestess continued to cling to his arm, her eyes wide and anxious. Giyuu cleared this throat, and when the woman’s attention snapped back to him, he pointedly glanced down at her white-knuckled grip on the sleeve of his haori.
“Apologies,” the Miko blushed, and her hands quickly relinquished their hold on his sleeve. She wrung her hands nervously before her. “Might you escort me back to my Shrine? It’s not far from here – less than two kilometers.”
Still within his territory — albeit at the opposite end of the forest where is own Manor stood. He grimaced, but nodded stiffly. His efforts to save the woman’s life would be in vain if she walked away from him and straight into the waiting, eager claws of another beast that lurked in the shadows.
The Miko smiled brightly at him and offered her name. Giyuu elected not to reply, and the girl settled into step at his side, a small frown pulling at her lips.
“I’m sorry for earlier — for hitting you with my broom.” The girl — Y/N — said a short while later, the faintest trace of shyness in her tone.
Giyuu did not think the apology warranted a response, and so he gave none, but the chatty little devil prodded him once more.
“Did I injure you?” She gestured to the side of his head where her broom had caught him.
Giyuu snorted, raising an eyebrow at her. “The day I am hurt by a mere broom is the day I retire from the Demon Slayer Corps.”
Y/N hummed in contemplation. “And what exactly is the great and mysterious Demon Slayer Corps?”
The Water Pillar’s eyes remained forward. “I should think the name is self-explanatory. There are demons who eat humans. We slay them.”
Inwardly, Giyuu cringed at the harshness of his words. It did not happen often, but there were times when he wished he was better with them, when he wished he did not come off quite as aloof and callous —
“You do not know how to talk to people very well, do you Tomioka-sama?” Y/N’s tone was not judgmental; it rather had a mild curiosity to it, as though she were merely commenting on the weather or the quality of a cup of tea.
But the Water Pillar did not know how to answer her. Kocho once told him that others disliked him, but Giyuu wasn’t sure that was entirely true; after all, no one had ever said so much to his face.
Then again, if the young shrine maiden’s words were anything to go by, then perhaps the Insect Pillar’s scathing assessment hadn’t been too far off the mark.
“What even brought you into the forest so late at night?” Giyuu did not know why the question needled at him, but he found the pressing silence of the trees more disconcerting than the Miko’s voice, and so he was desperate for the distraction. “And why a broom?”
Y/N herself seemed surprised at his sudden interest. “Night-blooming herbs,” she said plainly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “They are critical for certain rites and medications. And I cannot collect them any other time. The broom was for protection, obviously.”
“I wasn’t aware shrines still performed rituals,” Giyuu pushed an errant tree branch out of their way, and ahead, faint lights began to swim into view. The Shrine. “Are you not a mere relic of a time long since-passed?”
“I’ll have you know that we still perform basic cleansing rites for those in the village,” Y/N bristled. “And we provide medical aid, since there is no hospital nearby.”
She shot him a cold look. “Modern medicine would not have developed but for ancient practices such as ours.”
Giyuu frowned. He hadn’t meant to insult the woman. “Be that as it may,” he said flatly. “Demons prowl at night. You wandering into the forest none the wiser is akin to you waltzing into their territory with a giant sign that says ‘Eat me.’”
Y/N grimaced. “Then what would you have me do? Neglect my duties?”
He could sympathize with that. “No, I’m not saying you should forsake your obligations,” he furrowed his eyebrows at the thought. “Perhaps it is simply a risk you must take. But you should at least be aware of your surroundings.”
Y/N looked upon him with a miserable expression. “You’re of little help, you know that?”
Giyuu only frowned, perplexed as to why she couldn’t understand the import of his words.
An awkward silence ensued, punctured only by the faint hoot of an owl. For that, the established swordsman was grateful; noise meant the absence of predators, which meant they were safe – for now.
“You mentioned tracking the demon earlier – how long had you been doing so?”
“A while.”
The girl was relentless. “And you just so happened to track it here? Where it was conveniently chasing me?”
“I patrol this region. Your rescue was nothing more than coincidence and luck on your part.”
“My gratitude is endless,” the shrine maiden said drily. “Forgive me for not falling to the ground in prostration.”
At that, Giyuu fell silent and refused to engage in any further conversation. The shrine maiden, for her part, seemed to take his cue that he had no interest in her or exchanging meaningless pleasantries, and so she too, went quiet.
The forest floor eventually began to slope gradually up, and before long, Giyuu found himself walking along a carved rock path that curved through the trees until it widened at a great set of stone stairs. At the very top of the steep incline, he could spot a great Torii gate.
Y/N turned to him with a beaming smile. “Allow me to introduce you to the Shrine." Tomioka opened his mouth to protest, but she quickly added, “You should at least know who it is you have dedicated your life to protecting.”
“I’d rather not.”
But she was already leading him up the stairs, his wrist pinched delicately between two of her fingers. Realistically, Giyuu knew it would take him no effort to shake the woman’s hold and disappear into the night. But to his own bemusement, he allowed her to tote him behind her as though he were little more than a useless pet.
The pair passed under the Torrii and into a sprawling courtyard. Though night sky was a deep, inky black, the perimeter of the courtyard was dotted with several stone lanterns -- toro -- each of which had been lit with a generous flame. Giyuu's quick perusal of the Shrine, however, was cut short as the Miko led him into the Shrine's main structure -- the honden -- and tugged him down a narrow hallway. Based on his rough appraisal of the building, Giyuu surmised she was taking him to the center of the honden, likely where the girl's master was.
His theory was proven correct when Y/N drew up to a great slat of shoji panneling. The Miko knocked softly on one of the wooden beams before she slid the door aside, revealing a great, open room that was littered with scrolls, half-dried pots of ink, and burned incense sticks. There, in the center of the room, knelt the head Priestess of the Shrine. She was an old, shriveled, wrinkled thing. The white hair that she’d gathered into a knot at her neck was as wispy as the thinnest clouds, and a quick glance over her hands revealed swollen joints covered by skin spotted with age.
But the Priestess did not appear to be a gentle elder by any means; her thin mouth was curled down into a sneer that was directed at the Miko at his side, and her eyes were hard and cold.
"Head Priestess," Y/N bowed to her elder. "This man is called Tomioka, and he helped save me tonight in the forest."
Giyuu resisted the urge to snort. Helped, indeed.
The old woman's eyes shone bright with an emotion he could not name as the Miko continued. "A creature attacked me as I was returning home. Tomioka says he is a swordsman whose occupation --"
“I know what he is, girl,” the Priestess snapped at her student before she turned those beady eyes to him. “A member of the Demon Slayer Corps will always be welcome at this Shrine – particularly one as esteemed as yourself.”
The Water Pillar straightened at the old woman’s casual mention of the Corps. “I was not aware that of any Shrines so affiliated with the Corps.”
“There was a time when the Demon Slayer Corps would partner with shrines such as this to carry out its mission,” the Priestess replied evenly. From his periphery, Giyuu spotted Y/N’s head snap toward her mentor, her jaw slack. “Once, priestesses were akin to shamans who offered a variety of rituals for cleansing and protection. You slayers relied on our connection with our communities to operate more effectively, and we in turn, counted on your protection to fight what we could not.”
Despite the distinct scent of sake that clung to the elderly shrine keeper like a cloud, her eyes remained sharp and fixed upon him, and her wrinkled mouth pulled into a rueful smile. “Now, it seems, our wise and benevolent government has forced us both to retreat to the shadows to operate in secret.”
She bowed her head. “You have nothing but my respect, Lord Hashira. You are always welcome here.”
Giyuu did not respond, but he inclined his head toward the Priestess in polite acknowledgement.
Y/N gaped at her Master. "Lord --?"
The old woman poured another generous serving of sake and brought the choko to her lips. “Though we are honored by your visit, young Lord, I’m afraid your presence is nothing more than a calculated effort by this one,” she nodded pointedly at the young shrine maiden at his side, whose cheeks pinkened. “To keep herself out of trouble. My apprentice was not permitted to leave the grounds, you see.”
“Oh hush you old drunk,” Giyuu’s eyes snapped to the irate Miko in surprise. “I told you earlier I was going to the village market –”
“Telling me while I am in the middle of lessons with the younger girls and sprinting off before I can respond is hardly me giving you permission,” the Priestess’s mouth curled into a sneer. “You’ve defied me for the last time, girl.”
The old Priestess turned away from her apprentice, dismissive. “You will take the rice bundles and hang them in the drying shed – every last one, for the next three days.”
“You hag!” Y/N fumed, her face pinched in outrage. “I was on rice duty all last week without an ounce of assistance –”
“And you apparently have yet to learn your lesson,” the old woman retorted bitterly, shooting the seething Shrine Maiden a withering glare. “Considering you still think it seemly to mouth off at any and every opportunity –”
The Miko spat a curse at the elder Priestess so filthy and colorful that even Giyuu could not mask his surprise, raising his eyebrow. But if Y/N’s outburst shocked the Shrine’s head, the old woman gave no sign. Instead, she only glowered at the young woman as the latter turned and shoved the shoji door harshly to the side. Giyuu, ever the unwilling observer, was left to be pulled by his wrist back into the hall behind the young Miko before she whipped around to face her senior once more.
Giyuu had thought himself stunned by the crassness of the Shrine Miaden’s language before, but nothing prepared him for the sight of the obscene gesture she made at the old woman before she slammed the door firmly shut.
A telling crash on the other side of the wall signaled the Elder Priestess had hurled her empty sake dish at the door with all her might. “And work on your aim!” Y/N snapped before turning sharply on her heel to stomp out of the honden, tugging the Water Pillar helplessly behind her.
“She seems unstable.” said Giyuu once they were a safe distance away from the main Honden.
Y/N brushed aside his concern with a flippant waive of her hand. “Granny is harmless. As her charge, I suppose I instigate her nearly as much as she torments me.”
Granny. It made sense, then, the curious affection the girl held for the rancorous head Priestess, even if he could not bring himself to fully understand it.
“You are more than welcome to stay the night,” the Miko’s mood lightened considerably the more she put distance between herself and the drunken head Priestess. “We serve breakfast at sunrise, but of course, you’re not obligated to attend.”
The ravenette’s mouth quirked down in a faint grimace, the only sign of his discomfort. “I should return to my own home.”
“It’s quite late,” Y/N glanced up at the night sky, now awash with stars that surrounded the fat, glowing moon like thousands of glittering jewels. She turned back to him with a radiant grin. “At least allow me to show you around.”
—
If anyone had asked him, Giyuu Tomioka would not have been able to explain the series of events that had led him here.
He distinctly remembered telling the vexatious young Shrine Maiden no, that he could not stay the night, yet somehow he’d found himself in the Shrine’s old, musty guest house, already prepared for his stay, a lantern flickering merrily in the corner.
He glanced warily at the fresh sleeping kimono folded beside his futon. The possibility of him actually sleeping in such an unfamiliar place was nil and while the Water Pillar certainly had no issue in appearing impolite to others, he thought that perhaps the Shrine was affiliated with the connection of Wisteria Houses dotted throughout the land, and he didn’t want to risk offending the head Priestess and cause her to shut her gates to other slayers in need of lodging.
So, Giyuu paced the floor of the small guest house, restless. Though his eyes remained carefully trained on the window of his room, waiting for the slightest hint of movement that would give him an excuse to leave without offending his hosts, no sign of either his crow or any demonic threat manifested. Though, he supposed with a frown, it shouldn’t surprise him that he’d not heard from Kanzaburo; the ancient bird was likely flitting about the forest, lost.
He continued to pace until finally, the sky in the East began to lighten signaling that dawn was fast approaching. Stealthily, he slipped out of the small hut that had served as his temporary accommodations and made his way toward the Torii under which he and that Miko — Y/N — had passed upon their arrival.
He’d almost cleared the gate when he saw the elder Priestess standing beside the Torii, apparently waiting for him. Giyuu nodded his head at her, the only expression of courtesy he was willing to give, but he was halted as the old woman flung out a single arm in front of him, her hand flat and palm turned up, waiting.
And that was how Giyuu learned the Shrine was not, in fact, a Wisteria House; not as he was forced to fork over a considerable sum of his earnings into the Priestess’s expectant hand.
Wisteria Houses meant Corps Members stayed free of charge; the price the Shrine’s keeper demanded in exchange for his brief stay bordered extortion.
At least he’d had the money; if he’d been of any lower rank, the old woman would have cleaned him out.
He scowled as he departed but his irritation quickly fell away as he finally laid eyes on Kanzaburo, who nearly collided with his Master’s head as he struggled to pant out his orders.
And so, as the Water Pillar trekked through the forest and toward his new assignment, the view of the Shrine faded behind the dense canopy of the mountain forest, and so too, did any final, sparing thoughts of it, or its inhabitants.
———-
Nearly a month passed since Giyuu stumbled across the strange shrine maiden in the forest separating his Estate from the old Shrine, and the Miko had nearly faded from his memory. Not that such a feat was difficult; the raven-haired Pillar’s mind was far more occupied with tasks like patrol and chasing down leads that could potentially lead the Corps to an Upper Rank demon to focus on much else.
He’d intended only to find a decent meal and then depart the village before nightfall to investigate rumors of women disappearing in a small town to the south. Night was rapidly approaching, however, and he’d yet to find any vendor that sold anything he liked, much to his chagrin. He was about to cut his losses and continue on, when he spied a familiar blur of white and red idly perusing one of the stalls, apparently oblivious to the impending sunset.
Without thought, his feet carried him toward her, his annoyance sparking to life.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
The Miko’s – Y/N’s – head turned back and her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the Pillar standing behind her.
“Tomioka-sama,” she greeted with a polite bow. “I did not expect to see you so soon.”
He ignored her greeting, choosing instead to take a step closer. “I asked what you were doing.”
If she was taken aback by his terseness, she didn’t show it. “I am returning to my shrine after an afternoon of errands,” she replied smoothly. “As is usual for me.”
“It is nearly dark.”
“An astute observation,” and to his annoyance, he saw an amused twinkle in her eye. “Do you also know that tonight is also a full moon?”
Said moon had already made an appearance above them, growing brighter and brighter as the sky faded from twilight to night.
Giyuu had never been one for rolling his eyes, but the young woman’s knowing smirk grated at something inside him, made him feel as he often did whenever Kocho would make a sly comment with that smile of hers, that for some reason made him feel like he was the butt of some joke only she knew.
He grimaced. Teasing; that’s what the shrine maiden was doing. She was teasing him.
“It is nearly dark,” he repeated. “And I did not think you’d be naive enough to risk traveling after sunset.”
“I believe it was you who insisted I did not have to ignore my duties, so long as I paid attention to my surroundings.” She replied coolly. “So that is exactly what I am doing.”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Fine. If the stubborn girl wanted to be bait for whatever awaited her in the forest once the sun finally set, then that was her choice. He’d saved her once, and he’d given her sufficient warning; what she did from then on did not concern him.
He was about to bade her farewell when a slurred, boisterous voice boomed her name from across the market. Several heads turned toward the source, including Giyuu's, until he found a round faced, piggish man stumbling away from a sake stand, his cheeks flushed a bright red.
The man repeated the Miko's name in that grating, sing-song voice of his. "Whe're you goin' all by yourself so late?"
He didn't know what possessed him to ask, but Tomioka turned to the shrine maiden. "A friend?"
“His name is Susumo,” she said airily, though she could not conceal her scowl as the man drew closer. “He’s merely the village drunk who forgets to keep his hands to himself.”
The shrine maiden’s eyes narrowed accusingly at the villager, and the Miko remarked, in a raised voice, “And he is not welcome at the Shrine, though he pretends to forget otherwise.”
Susumo only held his hands up, as though in surrender. “You can’t blame a man for wanting to know what lies under all those layers,” and as if the implication of his lechery wasn’t clear enough, he gave the Miko a leering once-over. “Can’t say I was disappointed.”
“But your friend is right,” he slurred, a smirk forming on his lips. “The dark is too dangerous for a pretty thing like you to risk walking back alone —“
“I shall escort her,” Tomioka said abruptly and she whipped back to him, her mouth falling open. “After all, I’m welcome at the Shrine.”
Susumo, too, gaped at the Swordsman. The Miko recovered quickly however, unwilling to allow the opportunity to pass or for the Slayer to suddenly come to his senses and realize he’d rather leave her to fend for herself in the forest.
“You have my gratitude, Tomioka-sama,” and she gave him a small bow of her head. Relieved, she flipped her braid over her shoulder and smiled warmly up at her raven-haired companion. “Shall we?”
She did not wait for Tomioka to answer, nor did she give any further acknowledgment to Susumo, who only continued to stare at the Hashira, his face bright red. With a feigned indifference, she breezed past him, but a sudden yelp from behind caused her to snap back in alarm.
The first thing she noticed was the proximity of the back of a dual-patterned haori as it stood between her and the village drunkard. The Water Pillar’s shroud nearly brushed the tip of her nose, forcing her to step back. Cautiously, she peered around Tomioka’s rigid form, and her eyes widened at the sight before her.
Susumo, it appeared, had tried to grab her, only to be cut off by the Water Pillar himself, who snatched him by his wrist. Though it did not appear that Tomioka was using a great deal of effort to restrain him, it was clear Susumo was struggling — greatly so — against the ferocity of the Slayer’s hold, given how a vein bulged in his forehead, his face, rapidly turning purple.
Her gaze flicked to the Swordsman’s hand, and she felt herself blanch at the odd angle of Susumo’s wrist.
She was no doctor, but she knew wrists weren’t meant to twist as his did in Tomioka’s crushing grip.
“Leave.” the Water Pillar ordered coldly, and there was a darkness in his eyes that matched the brutality of his hold. “Your presence is unnecessary and unwanted.”
“Y-you! Susumo sputtered.
But Tomioka’s grip only tightened. “Now.”
And then he released him, Susumo half-stumbling back from the Swordsman. His eyes were wide with both fear and loathing, and he muttered incoherently under his breath as he massaged his rapidly-swelling wrist.
The Water Pillar, however, did not pay any more attention to the red-faced villager. He turned only to the shrine maiden, who remained frozen in place, her eyes wide. "Shall we?"
Numbly, Y/N nodded and the two set off down the path that led back to the Shrine. Dimly, the Miko noted that the Slayer kept noticeably close to her as they walked, as though he was unwilling to let her wander too far away. The air between them as they traveled was thick and tense. She was on edge enough thanks to Susumo and his oily words, and she was desperate to do anything to distract herself from the buzzing mounting under her skin.
She cast a sly, sidelong glance at the Swordsman walking at her side. He’d not been receptive to her small-talk the last time he’d escorted her back to her Shrine, but saying something ��� anything — would be better than this stifling quiet threatening to choke her.
“How old are you?” Before the Swordsman could decide whether to answer, she continued on. “If I had to guess, I would suspect you’re around my age, and I just passed my nineteenth birthday.”
She hummed aloud. “You seem quite young, yet you’ve achieved some level of status as a swordsman, according to Granny.” Her eyes fell to the blade secured at his hip before she lifted them back to his profile. “Yet you’re as withdrawn and taciturn as an old man.”
Her words, thankfully, seemed to irritate him into responding. “Are you always so forthright?”
The Miko grinned. “Perhaps I am like you, Lord – what was it? Hashiba?”
“Hashira.”
“Yes, that. Perhaps I am like you, Lord Hashira – utterly lacking in social ability.” There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she brushed her shoulder against his bicep. “But at least I make up for it by talking.”
“Talking is a distraction,” Tomioka monotoned, his eyes fixed resolutely on the hidden path of the forest before them. “It only serves as an interference to one’s duties.” He looked pointedly at the Miko’s profile, but inexplicably found himself unable to look away. “Or an excuse to ignore them.”
But she was unflappable. “And yet you are the one who decided to escort me all the way back to my Shrine – so who is the one ignoring their duties, Tomioka-sama?”
“I think you enjoy diverting my attention,” the Water Pillar retorted, though Y/N could see the rising annoyance in his eyes.
She felt his gaze bear into her as she flipped her loose hair behind her shoulder. “It’s not possible to distract someone unless they find the diversion in question captivating, Tomioka-sama.”
The Water Pillar almost looked amused. “And you are certainly that, Y/N.”
The Miko ducked her head to avoid that piercing gaze, so that the ravenette would not see the faint rosy blush creeping across her cheeks. “I did not think you had the constitution for teasing, Lord Hashira.”
Tomioka looked at her fully then, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I do not jest.” He hesitated for a moment, eyebrows furrowed as he scrutinized her. “Nor do I lie.”
Y/N’s lips parted. There was something about the way the Swordsman beheld her that made her stomach flutter. In her last encounter with the enigmatic Slayer, she’d been so rattled by her close encounter with the demon, that she hadn’t truly noticed much about the man who’d saved her life, apart from his bland detachment and rather unfortunate social skills.
But now, the Miko was struck by how handsome the raven-haired Hashira was; she was mesmerized by the deep azure of his eyes, as vast and deep as the sea. His skin was a delicate alabaster, and, contrasted with the flesh of his hands which were calloused and scarred, his face had not a blemish in sight.
She blinked, clearing away some of the fog that had crept into her mind, put there by the vexatious Slayer. “I must return to my duties,” she said softly.
They spent the remainder of their journey back to the Shrine in silence. She was quick to break away from him the moment they passed under the Torii, though not before she muttered that he was welcome to stay, should he so choose.
She busied herself with her duties, but even the neediest obligations could not fully distract her from feeling the burning heat of his stare as the Water Pillar’s watched her fiercely from across the courtyard. And nothing, nothing at all could have prepared her for how he eventually joined her in carrying out her duties,
The Water Pillar stayed the night once more, departing sharply at daybreak. Later, as Y/N swept the courtyard free of loose brush and clutter long after his departure, she noticed a crow sitting high in a tree, its black eyes watching her every movement. Though its gaze was sharp, the presence of the great, sleek bird did not disturb her, though not as much of a feather twitched from its perch upon the branch as the Miko continued through her day.
As she’d readied for bed later that night, she realized she’d felt oddly comforted by the crow. She imagined it a silent protector, a new guardian of the Shrine, no different than the statues of the gods which dotted its grounds.
She settled into her futon with a great yawn, the image of a certain dark-haired Swordsman flickering in the back of her conscience until she was swept into sleep’s sweet embrace.
Just outside the Shrine’s sleeping quarters, the bird remained, eyes carefully tracking every shift in the shadows, waiting.
And then the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, and the threat of night receded once more.
But the crow remained.
———
Spring, 1915
The crow became a permanent fixture at the Shrine, though it always seemed to keep strictly to a single tree at the edge of the property, one that gave it a full view of the courtyard and structures surrounding the main honden.
Despite the bird's constant presence, more than a month passed before the Water Pillar returned, though he'd seemed even more sullen and withdrawn than he'd been during their previous two encounters. Y/N did not consider herself a friend to Tomioka by any means, but she was the only one brave enough to approach him as he'd lingered by the Torii, apparently unsure whether he should seek out their hospitality or return to the forest.
"You are welcome to come and sit for a hot meal," she called cordially, though she maintained a tentative distance. She frowned when he did not respond. Instead, the Water Pillar continued to stare unseeingly at the cracked stone path leading to the Shrine's courtyard.
"Tomioka-sama?" She pressed gently and the Swordsman's attention finally snapped to her, as though he'd just become aware of her presence.
The haunted look in his eyes sent a chill up her spine. The Miko cast one, cautious glance up at the sky, and her eyes narrowed at the wall of black clouds steadily rolling in from the east. A shift in the wind brought forth the distinct, metallic scent of rain, and if she listened hard enough, she swore she could hear the distant rumbles of thunder. “You know, there will be a storm tonight — please consider waiting it out here, where it’s safe.”
Tomioka only stared at her for a moment before he nodded. His hand twitched into a vague gesture inviting her to lead the way, and Y/N escorted him to the Shrine's elder, in search of her permission.
Granny Priestess agreed to let him stay, but on the condition he paid for his imposition. The Water Pillar had silently agreed, producing one small money bag from his pocket and placing it squarely in the Priestess’s outstretched, waiting hand.
The heft of the bag had made Y/N frown; it seemed a great sum in comparison to their meager lodging offerings, but the Swordsman did not object, so she held her tongue. To comment would only serve to irritate her Master, and the old hag was scornful enough to assign her to duties that would isolate her from the raven-haired Slayer.
Only after the old Priestess sauntered off, leaving behind nothing but the lingering, bitter stench of sake, did the Miko speak again.
“I’m glad to see you in good health, Tomioka-sama,” she bowed, though she thought she spied the corner of his mouth twitch down at her formal greeting. “I trust your patrol went smoothly?”
The Water Pillar’s expression was tight; dark. “It did not. The demon I was tracking managed to get away.” His jaw clenched tight. “But not before it slaughtered an entire family in the mountains.”
All at once, the world around her seemed to slow. It had been easy to assume the dark-haired Swordsman before her always managed to find his target just in time, before it could slaughter its victim. Now, as she beheld the lethal coldness that had settled over his features, Y/N knew her assumptions had been wrong.
Perhaps, she noted with a shudder, her rescue had been the exception and not the rule.
Beneath the icy stoicism limning the Water Pillar’s eyes, the shrine maiden noted a distinct heaviness that weighed down his shoulders; made them curl slightly forward, defeated.
She resisted the urge to reach out to him, in comfort. “I won’t offer you empty platitudes,” she murmured. “But I can invite you to offer your prayers for those who were lost.”
He looked at her, brows drawn, and she knew his instinct was to decline, so she added, “I will do it regardless of whether you join me.”
All at once, any protest he had was snuffed out within him. Instead, he was left with a curious softness as he regarded the shrine maiden, so assured and earnest in her invitation.
He didn’t know why he’d sought out the Shrine.
He’s been angry; angry at himself for not being faster, for allowing innocent people to die on his account of his failure.
He still felt angry. Yet, as he followed Y/N into the Shrine’s haiden to light incense, he also felt a solemn gratitude for the Miko, who’d not let him indulge in his self-loathing but instead requested he act, and act with her.
So he had; and somehow, the weight on his chest, the one that threatened to suffocate him, lightened bit by bit until Giyuu felt like he could breathe once more.
Later that night, Giyuu spotted the shrine maiden from his window as she darted around the courtyard to light the tōrō to illuminate the Shrine grounds. A deep rumble of thunder, however, signaled the spring storm had finally arrived. Y/N, however, only continued with her task, huddling over herself to strike the matches needed to finish lighting the lanterns as rain began to dampen the landscape around her.
He was about to go outside and demand she return to the warm, dry haven that was the girls’ sleeping quarters lest she catch a cold, but then the last of the lanterns were lit and the shrine maiden straightened.
And then she tilted her face up toward the sky, allowing the rain to wash over her.
And she grinned. And Giyuu was mesmerized; so much so, that he had not stopped staring at where she’d stood, laughing in the rain, even long after the Miko retired to bed.
-
Y/N awoke well before sunrise the following morning and spent hours laboring over the hot stoves in the kitchen. By the time the sky finally lightened, she'd only just finished her task and was in the process of boxing up her creation when she spotted one of her fellow shrine maidens passing by the entryway.
The Miko called out her name. "Has Lord Tomioka awoken yet?"
Her sister trainee lingered in the doorway. "Oh yes, he's been up for a while," and the girl looked back over her shoulder. “But he is already on his way out —“
The Miko swore viciously under her breath as she slammed a lid atop the small bento and hastily wrapped it in the small cloth she’d swiped from the laundry.
“Move,” she barked at a small group of trainees that had gathered in the hallway outside the kitchen. The girls flattened themselves against the wall as Y/N sped by. She hurtled up the stairs, nearly tripping in her haste. Just as she burst into the courtyard from the honden, panting and winded, she spotted him.
“Tomioka-sama!” Y/N called, hurrying after the retreating form of the Water Pillar before he could pass through the shrine gates. “I have something for you!”
The raven-haired slayer turned back to her, his face neutral, though Y/N could tell, by the slightest raise of his brow, that she’d piqued his interest.
“Thank goodness you hadn’t left yet,” the Miko said brightly, holding out a small bundle wrapped in furoshiki cloth. “I was worried this wouldn’t be ready before you did.”
Tomioka’s eyes dropped to the parcel in her hands. “What is it?”
Y/N motioned for him to take it, and to her slight surprise he did, holding it slightly in front of him as though it were liable to burst open. “A meal for the road. Granny and I prepared it this morning — as thanks, for everything you’ve done.”
But the Water Pillar was already shaking his head, trying to press the package back into the shrine maiden’s hands. “I need no thanks; I do my job, and your shrine happens to be part of it.”
If his words disappointed her, Y/N did not show it. “And yet we are grateful all the same,” she said firmly, arms crossing in front of her chest to avoid taking the small bento back. “Besides, it’s salmon; it will only go bad if you don’t eat it.”
Had she not been watching him, Y/N would have missed the slight widening of his eyes, or the way his hand twitched back towards himself, bringing the packed lunch closer to him.
Cerulean eyes watched her for a long moment, before dropping as Tomioka tucked the bento into his pocket.
“Thank you,” was all he said before he turned away and continued through the gates of the shrine, setting off on the path which would lead him through the forest.
If she hadn’t known better, she would’ve sworn the Water Pillar looked happy as he departed.
———
The Slayer returned exactly one week after she’d given him the home-cooked salmon – but he did not return empty-handed. For there, wrapped in the same furoshiki cloth, was a strange, oblong object, sitting in the palm of his hand though if he thought it heavy, Tomioka gave no indication.
“What’s this?” Y/N leaned curiously over the Pillar’s outstretched hand and squinted, trying to discern what the cloth could have been concealing.
Tomioka pushed his hand toward her, beseeching her to take the parcel from him. “A knife.”
The Shrine Maiden looked up at him in alarm, pulling away from the Water Pillar. “Why on earth would I need a knife?”
He rolled his eyes. “Protection.”
“From what?” The Miko wrinkled her nose down at his offering, though there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “As I recall, I walloped you just fine with my broom.”
Tomioka shot her a dull look. “Be that as it may, cleaning tools are useless against demons. Without the sun, the only thing that works against them is decapitation with this — its metal is unique.”
He parted the folds of the cloth to reveal a simple blade, though Y/N found it daunting all the same. The hilt was basic, an unembellished metal handle wrapped in plain black leather. The blade itself was an unassuming silver, slightly longer than her hand.
The Slayer motioned for her to take it, though she only shrunk away. “You know how to use one, yes?”
The Miko’s eyes met his, wide and anxious. “For domestic uses, of course, but not –”
Tomioka’s fingers closed around her wrist and lifted, guiding her hand toward the dagger. His hand moved to cover hers, wrapping them both around the hilt of the blade before squeezing. “Grip it like this,” he held their joined hands up for her to inspect. “Keep your hand in a fist; do not lift your fingers away from the grip – that’s the best way to injure yourself instead of your target.”
But the shrine maiden could hardly focus on the Pillar’s instructions. Her attention was directed entirely at the way her hand was swallowed by his, his skin warm and his grasp firm. She studied how his calluses – thick and forged from years of brutal sword training – pressed against hers; how, despite the roughness of his fingers and palms, and his solid hold still remained gentle.
“-- and thrust like this,” he remained oblivious to her distraction as moved her arm in a sharp jab, a second and then a third time, before dropping her hand. “Now do it yourself.”
His command startled her out of her trance, a heat creeping up her neck from beneath the collar of her kosode. She held out the blade awkwardly before her as scrambled to recall the Water Pillar’s words. To her dismay, all she was able to conjure was the memory of his touch, and how cold she suddenly felt without it.
Lamely, she mimed jutting the knife at an invisible enemy, the blade gracelessly wobbling through the air. Though she was by no means a swordsman, even she knew something was off, her movements disjointed and clumsy.
She glanced shyly back to the raven-haired Demon Slayer and deflated as she was met only with bemused resignation.
Tomioka shook his head in disdain. “Perhaps you would fare better with a broom.”
The Miko bristled. “I am not a swordsman —“
“You’ve made that abundantly apparent.”
“— and I do not have the basics you seem to take for granted.” She finished, glaring indignantly at her raven-haired companion. “So teach me.”
The Water Pillar considered her for a moment before he gave her the slightest, almost imperceptible nod of his head.
“Watch me.” He turned his body toward the Miko and mimed getting into a defensive stance — feet ajar, his weight evenly distributed on each leg, and bent.
He looked back to the Shrine Maiden expectantly, and she parroted his movements, crouching into what she imagined was the perfect mirror of his position.
It wasn’t.
“No — you need to—“ Tomioka straightened and huffed, impatient. He moved quickly behind her, and without thinking, his hands shot to grip her hips to guide them into the proper stance, until her weight was evenly distributed on both feet.
“Like that — now bend your knees.” The ravenette pushed down on her hips until her legs bent, apparently oblivious to the way the Miko flushed crimson.
He was close; far, far too close. She’d never been touched the way the Water Pillar touched her. Tomioka’s hands were twin brands, burning her skin even through the layers of her shrine attire, and it sent every nerve beneath her skin buzzing.
She was aware of every inch of him pressed against her; of his arms, caging her in, his hands twin brands against her hips as he turned and pulled her into the proper stance. She was aware of how warm he was, of how formidable his presence felt, even though to her, he posed no threat. Every movement of his was precise and fluid, like the water he’d claimed to style his techniques after.
And if his touch wasn’t distracting enough, his scent threatened to overwhelm every last bit of sense she’d clung onto. Y/N didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed how good he smelled — like mahogany and citrus — so rich and so warm; a stark contrast to his otherwise cold and aloof nature mask.
The swordsman, however, appeared to remain oblivious. “There,” he finally said, having satisfied that she’d achieved proper form. For moment, the two of them lingered there, with Tomioka’s chest against the shrine maiden’s back, his hands remaining steady in place on her hips. It was as though they’d frozen: Y/N, out of a mixture of shock and red-cheeked embarrassment, and Tomioka out of utter cluelessness.
Another beat passed before the Water Pillar finally realized the compromising nature of their position. His hands dropped quickly from her hips, and there was a rush of air at Y/N’s back as he swiftly stepped away, putting distance between them once more.
The raven-haired Slayer gruffly cleared his throat. “You should also keep wisteria on you.” And Y/N gulped down her embarrassment to turn back toward him.
Tomioka kept his face neutral and cool, but the tips of his ears had turned pink. “Check your perfumes for it or ask one of the other shrine girls if you can borrow theirs – oil would be better. More concentrated”
Any residual awkwardness that may have lingered fell quickly away. The Miko only stared blankly at him, her head tilted slightly to the side as her eyebrows pinched together. “Perfume?”
Tomioka blinked. “Yes. As all women have.”
It was an effort to fight off the smile twitching at the corners of her lips. “Exactly how many women do you know, Tomioka-sama? Such that you would know their perfumery habits, that is.”
His mouth thinned into a firm line. “Enough.”
And though Y/N supposed he’d meant to sound self-assured and confident, the Slayer was betrayed by the slight doubt in his voice, as though he’d been questioning his own answer.
The shrine maiden only continued to look at him, her eyebrow slightly raised, amused. The longer the silence stretched between them,the more awkward the ravenette grew, his discomfort plain from the way he shifted under her stare.
“You seem like someone who would use it.” He finally offered, after another moment of quiet.
It was her turn to blink, taken aback. Her smirk quickly slid from her face and with a grimace, she felt her right eye twitch, ever so slightly. “Apologies, then, for disappointing you.”
Tomioka frowned and he made like he was going to respond, but the Miko squared her shoulders and stalked briskly past him.
“I must return to my duties, and I’m sure you need to do the same,” she paused in the doorway of the garden hut and cast one, sidelong glance back to where he stood, clueless. “Until next time, Tomioka-sama. Thank you for the blade.”
With that, the Miko paced briskly away from the garden hut, her spine stiff. The Water Pillar remained in place for a moment, stupefied, before he collected himself once more, before setting off back toward the forest; to his Manor.
And as Giyuu retreated through the rusting Torii gate, he could not quite shake the distinct impression he’d done something wrong, though he knew not what.
–
The Water Pillar returned the following week, though to a decidedly cooler greeting than that which he’d steadily grown accustomed to receiving.
That wasn’t entirely true — the majority of the Shrine’s residents had welcomed him warmly, their kindness always far more than he thought he deserved. Only one hadn’t greeted him as enthusiastically as the others, and to his annoyance, that one was the only person whose opinion of him mattered, even if he couldn’t quite articulate why.
She hardly stopped to acknowledge his arrival, only gracing him with a brisk nod, though she’d refused to meet his eyes. Bemused, Giyuu followed her across the courtyard as she made her way to the Shrine’s small storeroom. He leaned against the doorway and watched as the Miko began pulling jars of dried herbs from the rickety shelves lining the walls and stacked them on a sizeable work counter that cut halfway across the room. All the while, she continued pointedly ignoring him, humming lightly under her breath as though she could not see or hear him as he shifted against the doorframe, waiting.
Her obstinate silence grated at him. “May I assist you?”
“No, no, I am perfectly fine, thank you.” She turned away to browse the shelves once more, before finding what she needed: a stone mortar and pestle.
The grinder settled against the wooden counter with a heavy thud and the shrine maiden snatched up one of the jars she’d stacked and dumped its contents into the bowl, followed by another bottle of herbs. Pestle in hand, she set to work grinding the leaves together, mixing in a vial of fragrant oil she’d kept in her pocket to create a thick paste.
Giyuu watched her quietly as she worked. “You’re…” he frowned. “You’re behaving strangely.”
Y/N glanced up at him. “In what way?”
“You’re trying to avoid me.”
“Am I?” She straightened, rolling her shoulders. “Only because I’ve not yet bathed today. I didn’t want to risk offending you with my stench.”
Giyuu paused. “Why would that matter?”
“You made sure to point out you thought I needed perfume during your last visit.”
He pushed off the doorframe, eyebrows knit together. “For protection.”
The shrine maiden rolled her eyes. “Yes, and apparently, because you believe I am the type to need it.” When Giyuu only continued to stare at her with that same, mildly lost expression, Y/N groaned, exasperated. “You implied I stink.”
The Water Pillar’s jaw slackened as he gaped at her. “That is not –”
“It is what you implied,” she repeated, turning away from him to focus on her task of grinding herbs, though the force with which she ground the pestle was perhaps greater than necessary.
Giyuu rounded the small countertop of the Shrine’s storeroom to face her head-on. “I like how you smell.” He insisted. “It’s nice.”
The Miko’s irritated churning of the stone paused and her eyes finally lifted to his. For a long moment, she watched him, head slightly cocked.
“You are very odd, Tomioka-sama.”
But she said it with a small smile that he almost wanted to return.
Before long, things between them returned to normal once more, with the Miko directing him to collect her gathering basket from where she’d left it in the Shrine’s infirmary and bring it to her. Once he returned, he helped her grind charcoal to make incense sticks as she chatted happily away.
Surprisingly, Giyuu found himself not only engaged in her musings about daily life at the Shrine, but offering her small personal anecdotes of his own, though he was not nearly as proficient as she when it came to story-telling.
Once the sun began setting once more, and he received no new orders from Headquarters, he simply sought out the Shrine’s head Priestess and silently passed her a small money bag.
And then Giyuu retired to the guest’s quarters for the night.
—--
As spring warmed into summer, the Water Pillar began making bi-weekly visits to the Shrine that quickly melted into habit; expectation. Once a fortnight, a thrill would settle over the young maidens in anticipation of the arrival of the stoic yet handsome Slayer, with girls of all ages eagerly looking toward the Shrine gates in hopes of spying him the moment he crossed beneath the Torii. The elder employees of the Shrine had learned to time Tomioka’s arrival by listening for their excited gasps, exhaled as a collective as brooms and rices sacks were dropped where their handlers stood, the girls far too interested in rushing to greet the exalted Slayer than they were in completing their tasks.
“I do not see the reason for such excitement,” she sniffed, though even she wasn’t stupid enough to think her fellow trainees bought her bluff. “He is only a swordsman.”
“A handsome one,” a wispy trainee named Miyoko sighed dreamily. “And no doubt strong and capable.”
The group of maidens dissolved into another fit of giggles, concealing their blushes behind their hands.
“His face is attractive, but his hair is odd,” another commented. “It looks like he’s hacked at it with his own blade.”
“Oh, who cares about his hair? I’m far more interested in what’s beneath that uniform —“
“Enough,” Y/N snapped. While her friendship with the Water Pillar was tenuous at best, the suggestive way her sisters-in-training spoke of him left her feeling decidedly discomforted.
Though, if she were honest with herself, she’d admit that she, too, wondered whether Tomioka’s strength was the product of a finely-hewn tuned physique. But she wasn’t, so she bottled that thought up and tucked it tightly away, where it belonged.
Slowly, her cohorts all turned to look at her.
“You seem to spend a great deal of time with him, Sister,” Miyoko directed at Y/N, who felt her cheeks heat. “Is there anything you’d like to share?”
“Tomioka-sama always asks where Sister Y/N is, the moment he arrives!” A tiny voice chimed, and Y/N’s eyes slid shut in an effort to fight off a wince. “Sometimes they even do chores by themselves!”
Komatsu. At only ten, she was the Shrine’s youngest trainee, and followed Y/N around like a shadow. Not that the shrine maiden minded all that much; she tended to spoil the girl a bit, when she could. But as pure as the girl’s intentions surely were, she’d yet to lose that childlike earnestness that made her prone to revealing information that Y/N rather remained a secret.
“Alone with a man?” Miyoko repeated, her eyes shining with malicious glee. “How scandalous — even for someone without a family to embarass, dear Y/N.”
“Careful, Miyoko,” she warned softly. “Don’t go speaking on matters of which you know nothing.”
“Or what? What would you do?”
As fond as Y/N was of her sisters-in-training, one did not make it through the Shrine’s rigorous education and training without learning how to trade in the kind of currency young women valued most.
Information; specifically, gossip.
So the shrine maiden only leveled Miyoko’s own smug smirk with one of her own. “Or I shall tell Granny how you spend your afternoons kissing the boys from the village, rather than tending to your lessons.”
The other girls gasped, their stares turning back to the gossiping shrine maiden. She savored how quickly the girl’s prideful grin slipped from her face as the weight of the threat settled.
While Y/N, parentless and thus without anyone to truly care about her propriety, was being primed to take over Granny Priestess’s position overseeing the shrine, her position was unique. She was parentless and thus, without anyone to truly care about her propriety or whatever other ridiculous expectations of modesty that were often attached to other young women her age. In being no one, Y/N was relatively free to do as she pleased, and that freedom almost made up for her lack of belonging.
But the other girls residing at the Shrine were different. Families across the region sent their daughters to the Shrine for training, not only in their cultural practices and arts, but also for education; to become well-rounded women who would then serve to be valuable marriage prospects once they returned home.
Scandal would not affect her; but it would affect someone like Miyoko.
“How do you think your parents would feel, to know their heir was behaving so brazenly in public? Risking her reputation on the marriage market before she’s even entered it?”
Truthfully, she liked Miyoko; had gotten along well with her, in fact. But she would not risk those sacred few moments she spent with the Water Pillar in an effort to keep the peace with another trainee. Not when those few instances she spent in his company were the only times she’d felt connection — true, human connection and belonging.
Her sister-in-training ruefully fell silent, and Y/N savored her victory. Later, when she was left with nothing but the company of her own thoughts, however, the exchange played back in her mind.
In all her posturing, she’d managed to avoid having to answer for Miyoko’s lofty observation.
You seem to spend a great deal of time with him, Sister.
She did; and, to her slight horror, she realized that she had no interest in stopping.
She only wanted more.
–
It was past dawn when Giyuu trudged under the great Torii gate of the Shrine, exhausted and aching.
It had been a long while since a demon was last capable of wounding him, but he’d been blown backward by a delayed attack that hit after he’d beheaded the damn thing. As a result, he’d been sent flying back, slamming through a dilapidated wall of the abandoned hut he’d tracked the creature to, resulting in a sizeable gash to his shoulder.
He grit his teeth in mild annoyance. He would need some treatment of his wounds — not that they were deep by any means, but they were substantial enough that he knew infection could spell trouble for him, should it spread.
Some small, irate voice in his head snidely reminded him he could have just as easily gone to the Butterfly Mansion for treatment — that, in fact, the Insect Pillar’s estate had been much closer to the location of his mission than the Shrine had been. He’d rationed that, as much as he admired and respected Kocho, he was still a bit raw from her mocking about how unliked he truly was among his comrades.
Besides, he groused. Kocho was not the one he really wanted to see, anyway.
He found Y/N in the Shrine’s storeroom, seated upon the floor with a detailed ledger spread out before her as she took inventory of various scrolls and texts.
Giyuu did not bother to announce himself. “You have medical training, do you not?”
The Miko startled, the charcoal stick she’d been using to tally the ledger clattering to the floor. She blinked up at him in surprise. “Tomioka-sama — welcome, it’s been a few weeks — forgive me, I did not see you come in.” She quickly rose to her feet, shutting the store ledger and tucking it under her arm.
Her eyes found the blood-stained shoulder of his hair and widened. “I have some; I can stitch and dress wounds —“
He nodded. “Then I require your assistance.”
—-
Y/N led him to a small office inside the honden that served as the Shrine’s unofficial infirmary. “Take a seat,” she nodded at a small stool that sat under the room’s solitary window, right by a modest working table. “Let me see what we have.”
Tomioka sat upon the stool with his back to her as she busied herself sifting through cupboards in search of supplies. “What sort of wound is it?”
She turned back and nearly dropped a tin of medicinal salve she’d located as she beheld the Water Pillar strip himself of his clothing from the waist up.
There, across his right shoulder blade, she saw it — saw his blood. Quickly, she located thread and a needle and she grabbed a roll of cloth that could double as wrappings and she crossed back across the room.
She spread her bounty out across the table, right beside the neatly folded pile of his clothing. Silently, she set to work cleaning the gash, and she breathed a quiet sigh of relief when she saw that it was little more than a shallow flesh wound.
“Lucky you, this won’t need stitching,” she said lightly as she wiped away the last of the dried blood from the Water Pillar’s skin. “But I shall need to wrap it so it won’t become infected.”
Tomioka only gave her a curt nod. She stepped back to work open her tin of medical salve, and as she warmed the substance in her hands, she let herself fully examine the Swordsman sitting before her. Her eyes trailed over the sculpted planes of his back. It surprised her how muscular he was, given his leanness. Yet, without the layers of his uniform shirt and haori, she could see he was well-built, each muscle defined.
She didn’t know why it surprised her that there was a man beneath the mask of the Slayer, but what a man he was. Her mouth went dry at the thought. It was an effort not to allow her eyes to wander lower; to ponder what he might look like under his uniform pants, stripped and fully bare before her —
“What is that scent?” Tomioka’s sudden question startled her away from her increasingly treacherous thoughts.
She’d never been more grateful to be facing away from him. That way, he could not see the blush coloring her cheeks as she hastily slathered the salve across his wound. “Anti-septic; I know it’s rather stringent, but — ”
The Water Pillar shook his head. “I know what antiseptic smells like. I mean you. The scent you wear.”
She pursed her lips for a moment before she recalled the distinctly floral scent of her cleansing oils. “Sakaki blooms, I suppose.”
“What properties does it have — what are its effects on others?” He pressed. She was surprised at how insistent he seemed, and there was almost an urgency in his tone that unsettled her.
“None, to my knowledge — why do you ask?”
The tips of Tomioka’s ears turned pink and he turned away from her, lips pressed into a firm line. “Forget I said anything.” he muttered after a moment, his shoulders and spine stiff.
Neither one of them spoke again as Y/N finished treating the Water Pillar’s injury and wrapped it.
“You're done,” she said after a moment, tapping him lightly on his other shoulder.
“You have my thanks,” Tomioka quickly refastened the buttons of his uniform shirt as the Miko stepped aside, pointedly wiping her hands clean with a small cloth. She only looked at him once he lifted his haori from where he’d carefully laid it atop the small examination table, but her eyes narrowed as he rose from the stool, shrugging the material back over his shoulders. “I am happy to pay you for the resources you used —“
Y/N did not appear to be listening, not as she leaned forward and pinched the sleeve of his haori between her thumb and index finger.
“You have a tear,” she frowned, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. “Right here, see?”
There, on the side bearing his sister’s half of his haori, right where his sleeve met his shoulder, was indeed a small hole, the threads around it broken and shifting slightly in the wind.
The Miko’s hand fell away, and she squared her shoulders, mouth set in a firm but determined line. “If you’ll give me a moment, I assure you I can have it repaired in no time –”
“Not necessary,” the Swordsman said abruptly, twisting back from her. “I can figure it out on my own.” He would not part with it, would not so much as let another put their hands on it and risk ruining his most cherished possession.
Y/N only stepped toward him, ignoring his attempt at distance. “There’s no need to be prideful,” she huffed impatiently. “Truly, it would take no effort at all –”
“No.”
“Why are you being so difficult?” She snapped, but her hands continued reaching for him, for his sleeve –
Tomioka snatched her wrist mid-air and held it there, halting her. “No one touches this. Understand?”
Y/N’s lips parted in faint surprise at the Water Pillar’s severity. Her eyes darted to where his fingers were locked tight – uncomfortably tight – around her wrist. When she glanced back at the stone-faced Slayer, she felt a chill lick down her spine. She’d known he could be intimidating against threats, even without saying a word. It was his eyes – his eyes would harden, with the lapiz hue of his irises darkening to something more akin to indigo, as he stared down an opponent. She’d witnessed it the very first night she’d met him.
She just hadn’t thought she would ever be on the receiving end of such a cold glare.
“I understand,” she said softly, and she began flexing her wrist against his grip in an effort to work herself free from his hold. “Please forgive my indiscretion, Tomioka-sama. I overstepped.”
The raven-haired Slayer blinked and quickly let her go, her wrist falling limply back to her side. Just outside the infirmary’s small window, he heard the familiar, urgent cry of a crow.
He’d never been more grateful for a distraction. “I must be on my way.” His tone was stiff; clipped.
“But — you’ve only just arrived —“
“Farewell, Y/N.” Giyuu gave her a curt nod.
Helplessly, the Miko watched as the Water Pillar stalked out of the small office, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He did not so much as spare a glance back, leaving Y/N to wonder whether she would see that odd patterned haori again.
The thought she might not made something cold and heavy sink into her gut.
—-
(One week later)
It wasn’t often that Giyuu Tomioka found himself annoyed, much less angry. He much preferred channeling his existing emotions into slaying demons, allowing them to taste a fraction of the rage and hatred he felt deep within, a vicious fire he so rarely let bubble up to his service.
Until that evening. After the fiasco that was Mount Natagumo and the subsequent chaos at the Master’s mansion as a result of the Kamado boy and his demon sister, Giyuu had finally noticed that the previous day’s trials had resulted in the tear along the shoulder of his haori that he knew could no longer be ignored.
He grit his teeth; the battle against the Lower Moon spider demon had hardly required him to exert any energy — yet the demon’s last ditch attempt to preserve its life had managed to enlarge the small hole in his most prized possession, and the Water Pillar was utterly without the skill to repair it.
So, he’d been forced to sit through the meeting with the Master, the hole in his haori feeling more like a gaping wound that only festered with every passing moment, until finally, finally they’d been dismissed.
Giyuu hadn’t wasted any time departing swiftly from his Master’s estate, though that hadn’t stopped him from catching the tail end of Shinazugawa’s biting remark of how fuckin’ typical it was for him to leave without so much as a farewell to his comrades. He tried not to let the Wind Pillar’s words get to him; but he was unworthy of their company regardless, so he supposed it really didn’t matter what they thought of him. It shouldn’t.
And so, that was how Giyuu found himself padding silently along the cracked, stone pathway which led to the Shrine at the edge of his designated territory, ready to eat crow and ask for assistance from a particular Miko whom he felt certain would not hesitate to remind him of how he’d coolly rejected her help only days earlier.
Hence, his irritation.
So, his movements stiff and his mouth twisted into a firm grimace, Giyuu stalked under the Torii and into the main courtyard of the old Shrine. It was coming upon midday, though there was a thick cover of clouds overhead that threatened that open up at any moment and shower rain across the region. He ignored the respectful bows of the Shrine’s various inhabitants and staff, eyes sweeping over faces in search of her.
He located her near the storehouse, chatting with one of her fellow trainees as the pair worked to clean vegetables. Giyuu trudged over to her, eyes locked unwaveringly on her serene, easy smile, as he tried to ignore the way it made something in his gut clench and churn.
He drew to a stop right before her and her Shrine-sister, the latter looking up at him with wide eyes, her hands stilling over her work as she looked up to the Slayer in awe.
Giyuu cleared his throat but Y/N only continued wiping the dirt from carrots with her cloth.
The ravenette tried again. “I am in need of your assistance.”
Y/N’s comrade nudged her with her elbow, but the Miko only continued to clean, pointedly ignoring them both.
Giyuu pursed his lips. “With my haori. The tear has grown larger —“
“I am busy.” Y/N’s tone was clipped. “Perhaps there are others who might assist you.”
“Please.”
The Shrine Maiden’s hands finally stilled and she lifted her chin to face him. The moment she beheld the pleading sincerity in his eyes, coupled with the hard set of his jaw that betrayed just how desperate he was, her gaze softened.
She sighed. “Very well then,” she rose, brushing her hands free of any residual dirt. She held her chin high and squared her shoulders, determined not to show him how he’d bruised her ego; how he’d frightened her. “Follow me.”
—
The Shrine sat at the base of a great mountain. But, nearly half a kilometer up the winding, twisting path leading up the mountain and carved into its side, was a grassy hilltop that then plateaued into a small overlook that boasted a phenomenal aerial view of the Shrine below.
The summer grass had turned a vibrant shade of emerald, broken up only by dots of tiny white and blue wildflowers that had gathered in small clusters sprinkled throughout the overlook. At the back of the clearing stood an ancient willow tree, its trunk gnarled and knotted with age, its wisps swaying lazily in the wind.
It was her favorite spot; a little ways away from the hustle and bustle of the Shrine, which meant they would have some privacy as she worked. Y/N settled down against the grass and pulled a needle and a spool of thread from her pocket. She turned her face up toward the Water Pillar where he stood over her. “I’ll take that haori, now, if you’ll please.”
Wordlessly, Tomioka carefully slid the garment from his shoulders and handed it to her, though he hesitated in letting go as she took it gingerly into her hands.
It was clearly very important to the Slayer, and perhaps that was why she felt the need to reassure him. “I promise to take care of it.”
He nodded stiffly and let go of the fabric and the Miko quickly set to work repairing its torn shoulder. The Water Pillar lingered awkwardly beside her for a moment longer before he too, sat in the grass next to her, though his back remained straight, his posture rigid.
She glanced at him as her needle wove the haori’s fabric back together. “I suppose this happened because of your occupation?”
It was faint, but the shrine maiden swore she saw his mouth twitch into something reminiscent of a grimace. “Yes.”
“You should be lucky it wasn’t your flesh.”
At that, Tomioka scoffed. “I would not allow such a weakling to get close enough to try.”
“My, I’d not pegged you as the boastful sort, Tomioka-sama.”
“It’s not boasting; I speak only the truth.” He retorted evenly.
The shrine maiden only hummed as she worked. “And what of your family? Do they support your path as a Slayer?”
The Water Pillar turned his head away, his form stiff. For a moment, the Miko feared she would be left to repair his haori in silence, with nothing but the faint whistling of birds to keep her company.
“I have none,” Tomioka’s voice was soft, nearly swallowed by the wind. “There is no one left to object, even if they wanted to.”
Y/N’s hands paused their work as she thought. “You are alone?”
It would be nice, she supposed, to find another who, like her, belonged to no one; a kindred spirit of sorts.
“I suppose,” Tomioka spoke up after a moment, his eyes squinted in thought. “I have a mentor. But it was he who trained me to join the Corps.”
“I should hope he’s more sober than mine,” Y/N drawled. “And less irritating.”
The Miko’s attention was so fixed on her careful stitching along the hole in his haori, that she didn’t see his faint smile at her words.
——
The Slayer and the shrine maiden continued talking long after she’d finished repairing the tear in his haori. It was only when Tomioka had realized nightfall was a mere hour away that the two reluctantly descended the hillside to return to the Shrine.
“I almost forgot.” The Water Pillar said, halting in front of the honden as Y/N escorted him back to the Shrine’s entrance. He dug into his pockets and pulled something free. “Here. For you.”
The Miko gaped down at the fat red fruit that sat heavily in his palm. “This is -“ she said breathlessly, “A pomegranate!”
He nodded, arm still outstretched towards her as he waited to drop the ruby fruit into her hand.
She shook her head. “No, Tomioka-san, I cannot accept something so expensive-“
“I insist.” The Water Pillar withdrew a small knife and split the fruit in half, staining his hands crimson with the juice that spilled over its soft flesh.
Hesitantly, the young Miko accepted the half he offered her, and thumbed some of the fat, glistening jewels loose. The moment she brought them to her lips, Y/N sighed, contentedly, and for some reason, Giyuu found his cheeks heating as he watched her savor the sweet fruit.
She lazily opened her eyes after swallowing her first mouthful, but she was startled to see the Hashira staring at her, unwaveringly, and she realized he’d moved closer towards her than he had been only seconds earlier.
Tomioka’s azure eyes were fixed hard on her lips, as he leaned in close to her, Y/N flushing as he drew nearer.
Is he going to kiss me? Her traitorous heart thundered at the idea, and it caused her no short amount of grief to know she was uncertain whether she wanted him to do so. As her emotions warred with her logic, the Water Pillar’s gentle fingers cupped under her chin, and his thumb brushed delicately across her lower lip.
“Pomegranate juice,” he said, but Y/N could still feel the warmth of his breath still as his hand lingered under her chin. His eyes were wide as though he, too, could not believe what he’d just done.
“Yes,” she breathed, before she felt her cheeks heat. “I – I mean, thank you.”
The Water Pillar’s gaze dropped to her lips and her stomach twisted violently. All at once, awareness seemed to come crashing down upon him, and he then stepped back, his hand falling from its hold on her face and back to his side.
The shrine maiden remained frozen in place for a heartbeat longer. “Are you certain you’re unable to be our guest tonight?” Her voice was little more than a pitiful squeak.
Her eyes lifted to his and she knew the answer before he spoke it. “I cannot,” and to her surprise, he almost looked as disappointed as she felt, but he added hastily, “But I will be back. Soon.”
“Soon,” she echoed, feeling rather dazed. “Yes. Of course. I — we — look forward to it.”
She was thankful that Tomioka had already turned away from her as he made his way down the long, winding steps that led to the main route out of the forest; that way, he could not see the way her cheeks burned crimson, or how she buried her face in her hands as she cursed her own embarrassment.
—
Giyuu was grateful his back was to the young Miko as he retreated through the Shrine’s gates and back to the path which would lead him home. It meant she could not see as he stared at his thumb – the thumb he’d used to clear away the small bead of pomegranate juice from her lips – or how his eyebrows pinched together. It meant she could not hear his heart as it beat wildly in his chest at the memory of how soft and full her lip had been beneath the pad of his thumb, soft enough that some treacherous part of his brain had urged him to lean in, to see if her lips would feel as good against his –
He shook his head, trying desperately to dispel his wild intrusive thoughts. It was ludicrous; he did not think of the young shrine maiden in that way. Not when she frequently sought to needle him, not when she frustrated him to no end.
His collar suddenly felt tight; his skin, far too hot. His gaze dropped back down to the hand that had touched her, and it clenched.
A pomegranate. It was only a pomegranate; nothing more.
“It was a thank you gift,” Giyuu declared, as though speaking the words out loud gave them more force. “It is nothing more than an expression of gratitude.”
And even his crow, ancient and dull as he was, scoffed at the obviousness of the lie.
——
Late Summer, 1915
Summer blazed hot and humid. But neither the sweltering heat of the sun nor the most arduous missions he took exhausted Giyuu more than the complicated, tangled mess of feelings that had taken root within him. Because with every day that passed, the Miko of the Shrine at the edge of the forest occupied more and more of his mind. And Giyuu did not know what it meant or what he should do about it.
She’d not just repaired his haori or made him salmon; she’d somehow wormed her way into his every waking thought, and to his great confusion, he found himself almost unwilling to think of anything but her.
Admittedly, Giyuu Tomioka did not have the requisite tools in his social arsenal to successfully navigate human interaction. He hadn’t quite known the extent of his ineptitude however, until the Insect Pillar had so cheerfully pointed out that none of his comrades, in fact, liked him. That revelation had made him doubt every interaction he’d had since, made him wonder whether even the lower ranked Slayers viewed him with the same apathy, if not the same outright hostility toward him shared by Shinazugawa and Iguro.
He’d come to doubt them all — except her.
Y/N was different; at the end of each visit to the Shrine, the Water Pillar did not find himself feeling drained or unwanted. He felt lighter; rejuvenated, even. She was a breath of fresh air that Giyuu found more difficult to go without with each passing day.
She still picked at him, but she did so without the malice he’d normally come to expect, even from those he considered friends, like the Kocho. The young Miko had a way of teasing him that did not leave him feeling decidedly othered. Rather, her japes only spurred him to respond with his own, though admittedly, they tended to fall flat.
He’d known, from the moment she’d attempted to bludgeon him with her broom, that there was more to the Miko than met the eye; but he hadn’t imagined he’d find himself as drawn to her as he was, unable to tolerate going more than a handful of weeks without paying her a visit.
And, given the way she’d blushed after he’d thanked her for repairing his haori, perhaps she was drawn to him, too. Perhaps he hoped she was.
But he would have to wait to find out, for his obligations to the Corps had taken him to a village a considerable distance away from his designated territory. He’d been tasked with investigating a series of disappearances of young women in the region, but his orders had come abruptly enough that he’d not been able to spare a visit to the Shrine before he departed.
He was anxious — eager — to return, though not before he took care of the demon likely behind the mystery plaguing the village he now patrolled.
Nightfall was still a little ways off, and so Giyuu found himself wandering the streets to pass the time. He made his way to a sizeable outdoor market, still packed with shoppers oohing and ahhing over vibrant displays of silk, crafted jewelry, and sugary confectioneries.
Idly, he too, joined other patrons in browsing the small vending stands that lined the bustling village streets, though his perusal was disinterested, if not bored. But his eyes snagged on one small bauble displayed on the merchant’s small stand upon a swath of silk. It was small; unassuming. But the carefully crafted decoration was painted in a startling shade of crimson that he found hard to ignore.
The image of a certain Miko flashed through his mind. He couldn’t leave without it. he wouldn’t; not when its paint so perfectly matched the color of Y/N’s hakama trousers.
I spend the year longing for autumn. That was what she’d told him, that day on the hillside after she’d repaired his haori.
He almost smiled to himself. This would be a way for her to enjoy her favorite season even in the scorching heat of summer or the biting cold of winter.
He waited for the merchant to notice his presence, his fingers twisting around the small money sack he kept tucked in his pocket. His eyes flickered back to the small trinket. Idly, Giyuu wondered when he’d begun associating the color red with the shrine maiden and not with the blood he’d always imagined stained his hands.
He continued to stare the merchant down until he finally managed to catch the vendor’s eye, who flinched at the intensity of his unblinking stare.
Giyuu jutted his chin toward the small token. “How much?”
—-
He found the Miko a few mornings later, relaxing on the hillside overlooking the Shrine. She laid amongst the late summer wildflowers that had bloomed, her form framed against the grass with petals of soft blue and bright marigold.
Giyuu wordlessly settled beside her, and he tried to ignore the thunderous beat of his heart against his sternum as she rolled her head toward him to greet him with a sleepy smile. They exchanged pleasantries and settled into a comfortable silence, both content to watch the sun rise higher over the horizon.
Easy; it was so easy for him to sit beside her, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“So, you are to take over the Shrine, one day?”
Y/N’s head turned to the Water Pillar in surprise; though he’d grown steadily more talkative over the months since she’d met him, it wasn’t often that he initiated conversation.
She settled back against the cool grass of the hilltop overlooking the Shrine, enjoying the precious few moments of quiet in the early morning before the chaos of the day called her away. “Yes,” though there was a slight uncertainty in her voice. “I’m sure it’s the expectation, after all. I have to repay Granny for her kindness.”
Giyuu frowned. “But is that what you want?”
“What I want is irrelevant,” the Miko folded her arms behind her head and tilted her face up toward the sky. Her eyes tracked the great, fluffy clouds that drifted lazily by, though the Water Pillar suspected she was attempting to avoid having to meet his eye.
“It’s not irrelevant,” he countered. “If nothing else, you should be allowed to consider other possibilities.”
She did not answer him, and the silence between them stretched enough that he thought to drop the subject, not wanting to press her any further.
“I think,” she said in that faraway voice that Giyuu had come to learn meant she was trying to conceal some deeply felt emotion. “I think should like to belong somewhere.” Her eyes shone. “No, that’s not it — I want someone to belong to me, and I to them.
“A husband.” He said flatly.
The Miko shook her head. “I have never belonged to anywhere or to anyone. I’ve no family to call my own - only an old woman who took pity on me as an infant and raised me. I wonder — what must it be like?” She laid back on the grass and closed her eyes. “That is the one thing I would change. I belong nowhere because I’m no one — nobody’s.”
Giyuu frowned. “I don’t think that’s true—“
“It is true,” she insisted, though she said it with such ease and conviction, like it was the most obvious and natural thing in the world. “I am here for a moment and then I will be gone, and no one will ever know or remember that there once was a shrine maiden named Y/N here. I’ve made peace with that.”
I would, Giyuu wanted to tell her. I would remember and I would tell them all.
“I am nobody as well,” Giyuu admitted quietly after a moment. “And I have no one left to belong to.”
The image of her face, so kind and sad and full of understanding at his words, had stayed with him for the rest of the morning and even as he settled in for a few hours of sleep in the Shrine’s guest wing.
And in his dreams, her face remained a constant.
—
The sky had turned a vivid shade of orange by the time the Water Pillar emerged from his guest lodgings, ready to depart and resume his duties. Y/N had been helping another shrine maiden tote firewood across the courtyard when she heard a quiet call of her name.
She turned and saw the raven-haired Swordsman standing near the great Torii gate.
She looked back to her fellow trainee, who waved her off with a knowing smile, and Y/N brushed her hands clean against her hakama pants before she approached him.
“Leaving so soon?” And she tried to mask her disappointment at the shortness of his visit.
Giyuu nodded. “We’ve been stretched thin, in light of a few…changes to our ranks.”
The Miko nodded grimly. He’d told her that a fellow Hashira had been slain a few months prior, and another had retired following a rather violent battle that had destroyed part of a far off city.
“But I wanted to give you this.”
She glanced down to his outstretched hand, where a small parcel was wrapped in plain furoshiki cloth. Stunned, she took the package from him, her eyes flicking between it and the Water Pillar watching her intently.
Gingerly, she unfolded the bundle and unveiled a long, but fragile metal and wood reed.
A hairpin, she realized with a soft gasp. Y/N could scarcely bring her fingers to run over the exquisitely crafted ridges of the leaves that adorned the top portion of the pin, afraid that even the slightest pressure from her touch would cause the Water Pillar’s precious gift to her to crumble.
I spend the year longing for autumn, she’d told him. She hadn’t thought he’d been particularly interested in listening to her talk; but as Y/N cradled the delicate ornament between her palms, she felt a blush begin to creep across her cheeks.
As her fingers traced across the delicate ridges of a cluster of maple leaves, lacquered in a thick coat of scarlet paint — a perfect match to the hue of her traditional Miko hakama pants — Y/N realized that perhaps Tomioka had been paying more attention to her than she’d realized.
For the Water Pillar had given her a piece of autumn to hold onto year-round.
“Tomioka-san, you do not-“
“Giyuu.” The ravenette interrupted her. “Please, call me by my name; it’s Giyuu.”
Y/N’s mouth closed, but she smiled softly, considering. “Alright. Giyuu — please, you do not need to feel obligated to bring gifts for us — it was only salmon.”
But Giyuu only shook his head. “I don’t bring gifts for everyone; just you.”
Y/N turned scarlet.
“Please, just-“ Giyuu frowned, and Y/N could have sworn she saw the faintest glow of pink coloring the Hashira’s cheeks. “Just take it.”
“Okay,” her voice resembled a mouse’s squeak as she cradled the pin delicately between her hands. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”
“And it wasn’t just salmon.”
Y/N looked to him in surprise, her head cocked in curiosity. “Pardon?”
Giyuu exhaled harshly through his nose before stepping closer to her. “This is not only because you made salmon.” Her eyes tracked his hand as it rose to grip the front fold of his haori in his fist. “This – this is all I have left of my family.”
“My sister,” he gestured to the red half of his haori. “She died protecting me.” His hand drifted to the green and orange patterned half of the garment. “And this belonged to a dear friend. He also perished protecting me – and others.”
The Miko’s lips parted, understanding and sorrow flooding her eyes. “Tomioka-san — Giyuu — I had no idea —“
“They both died because of demons – because I could not help them. And now this is all I have left to remember them by.” And then he did the unthinkable; he grabbed her hand and pressed it against the checkered portion of his haori, right over his heart. His hand was warm and firm. Gentle, though she could feel his callouses against her knuckles as he held it in place. “So it wasn’t just salmon.” He repeated, and there was a heat in his eyes Y/N had not seen before, one that stoked a fire in her belly. “And you are not just anyone.”
A soft exhale blew past her lips at the sincerity of his words. For the first time in all her nineteen years, she wondered if this was what it meant to mean something to someone.
“Thank you,” she breathed, eyes wide and sparkling with unshed emotion. “I will treasure it.”
She swore she saw a faint blush creep across the Water Pillar’s cheeks, but she brushed it aside as nothing more than the shadows of the sky as twilight darkened the horizon.
Tomioka nodded. “I must get going now; I will see you soon.”
She did not want him to go.
But the shrine maiden concealed the pang she felt in her chest with a breezy smile. “Farewell, Tomio-“
“Giyuu.”
She blushed. “Yes — Giyuu. Until next time.”
—
“I cannot believe he lets the old woman charge him an arm and a leg to stay a single night,” Miyoko said in awe as the pair watched the retreating form of the Water Pillar through the shrine house gates.
The hairpin clutched tightly in her hands suddenly felt like a stone weight. “I’m sure he stays here only for convenience’s sake,” Y/N replied airily, turning sharply away from the egress to the shrine to hide her warming cheeks.
Miyoko snorted. “Hardly. The Demon Slayer Corps has tons of safehouses throughout the country. Corps members get medical treatment, hot meals, and lodging free of charge.” Y/N’s sister-in-training grunted as she heaved a hefty bag of rice flour from the storeroom to the girls’ side, no doubt hauling it out to prepare the evening meal.
“I’ve heard of at least four such houses in this region alone. As a Hashira, Tomioka-sama could go to any one of them and be treated far more kindly than he is here.”
Y/N frowned. “I wonder why, then, he continues to return here so often? Surely our shrine is some distance from his home, given that he stays the night each time.”
Miyoko shot the young shrine maiden a knowing glance. “Perhaps he tolerates the Granny’s abuse because he is fond of the company.”
Y/N only felt her face grow hotter as she ducked down, though she felt Miyoko’s amused stare burn through her back.
—-
The Water Pillar had returned from his intel assignment and promptly journeyed to the Shrine, its inhabitants abuzz as they prepared for the arrival of autumn and the colder months, now only mere weeks away.
He found the shrine maiden of his interest inside the main wing of the manor, back in the kitchen as she prepared herbs to be incorporated into various salves and medications. Y/N smiled brightly at him as he’d sidled up beside her, taking a handful of dried greenery from the bunch next to her and deftly pulling the leaves from the stem and handing them to her.
“Is it your day off?” The Miko gratefully accepted the leaves he’d stripped and dumped them into the rocky mortar to join the others.
Giyuu felt his stomach clench as his fingers brushed against hers. “I have completed my duties for the time being, yes.”
"You're welcome to help me, as long as you do not mind a bit of busy work."
He didn't; of course he didn't. In fact, as he accepted the heavy stone pestle from the Miko and set to work mashing the leaves she handed them into the mortar, Giyuu rather supposed he would do just about anything to remain in the shrine maiden's company, even if that meant assisting her in a task as banal as grinding medicinal herbs. And though the Slayer and the Miko fell into their well-practiced habit of quietly tending to Y/N's duties side by side, there was a notable absence of the bright chatter he'd grown accustomed to hearing during his visits.
The Water Pillar frowned. “You’re quiet.” It was not a question. “There is something on your mind.”
“Is there?” Y/N hummed loftily, her hands continuing to strip leaves from their stems. “Perhaps I am simply focused.”
Giyuu found his eyes wandering to the side to study the Miko’s face more often than usual. Though she maintained a pleasant smile as they worked, he could see that it did not fully reach her eyes. And even her sage expression could not conceal the way the troubled look in her eyes, hands pausing their work as she stared at something behind the walls of the small shrine kitchen.
“Something is bothering you.” Giyuu took the bundle of herbs clutched in her hands and replaced them with his pestle, allowing her to work her frustrations over the paste forming at the bottom of the stone bowl.
She blushed and refocused her gaze, grinding the pestle hard. “Nothing is wrong!” She chirped.
“You are a dreadful liar.”
The Miko replied with an airy laugh that made his throat tighten. “So I’ve been told — often, in fact.”
“There is…trouble in the village,” Y/N said carefully, though she kept her hands busy as she continued to grind herbs into a thick paste. “It is nothing we can’t handle, but it has put many of us on edge. Particularly Granny.”
Giyuu frowned as he handed the shrine maiden another bunch of leaves from her basket. “What sort of trouble?”
She hesitated. “It is petty village drama, nothing more.”
“You won’t give any further details?”
The Water Pillar could not explain it, but he found himself troubled by the way the Shrine Maiden forced a smile and a far too casual shrug of her shoulders. “There are none worth re-hashing.”
He frowned, but he did not press her further, resolving instead to poke around later. Perhaps he would see whether the Shrine’s head Priestess’s tongue was as loose with information as it was with vulgarity once she’d properly indulged in her sake; he’d make certain she was well-stocked in advance.
Giyuu furtively glanced back at the shrine maiden’s profile, in part to see whether he could deduce anything from her expressions, but he found himself instead studying her, puzzling over a change in her appearance he hadn’t noticed before.
Sensing his stare, the Miko turned to him with a light smile that then faltered. “What –?”
“You changed your hair.” It took everything within him not to reach out, to see if her hair would feel as silky in his fingers as it looked shifting softly in the wind. “I’ve never seen it down.”
“Oh!” Her smile turned bashful, a pretty pink dusting spreading across her cheeks. “I wanted to wear my hairpin – see?”
She turned her head, the long curtain of her hair rippling smoothly with the movement. With her back to him, Giyuu could see the pin he’d given her neatly tucked into the long strands of her hair, pinning half of it back. The red of the pin’s maple leaves posed a lovely contrast with the hue of her hair.
Y/N was already quite beautiful, but with her hair partially down, he thought she looked softer; younger. She peeked over her shoulder at him, fingers nervously combing through her tresses. “It’s not practical for every day, of course, but I thought since you’d likely be arriving soon –”
His eyes widened and Giyuu became acutely aware that his heart now thumped wildly in his throat as Y/N choked off with a squeak, apparently realizing what she’d revealed. Though she hurriedly turned back around, Giyuu could see how the tips of her ears burned bright red.
Despite her efforts, her admission hung like a cloud in the air between them. She’d worn it – the hairpin – for him.
Giyuu swallowed thickly. “I like it.” He cleared his throat and turned, allowing his own unruly hair to obscure his face. “On you, that is.”
For once, the Miko had neither a quick remark nor barb to lob back at him. Instead, she only turned back to her task of grinding her herbs, a thick curtain of her hair concealing her face from his sight.
Once she'd finished bottling up her new medicinal salves, Giyuu helped her carry the tins to the Shrine's storage house, directly across the courtyard from its main wing. The shrine maiden remained curiously quiet, even in spite of his own lame attempts to converse with her. He'd finally given up after his dry comment about the weather went ignored. But every so often, he let his eyes wander to her as they returned to the honden, and that nagging feeling returned as he watched her gnaw incessantly at her bottom lip, a faraway look in her eyes.
Giyuu was not a nosy man, but the Miko's clear distraction unsettled him. He was about to pull her aside, to demand she tell him exactly what it was that had chased away the smile he so longed to see when they were approached by Y/N's haughty Master.
“Lord Tomioka,” the head Priestess nodded curtly at him in greeting. “I am glad to have run into you — I am in need of your assistance.”
The old Priestess turned to her young protégée. “Go assist the younger ones; they need to give their offerings before dinner.”
Y/N’s mouth opened to protest but the head Priestess cut her off. “Now.”
To his surprise, the shrine maiden did not argue with her Master, only turning to him to give him a helpless shrug before she began to make her way toward the Shrine’s honden.
The Water Pillar grimaced. He tried to convince himself the pit in his stomach was only because her odd behavior gnawed at him; that he was only curious to learn what it was that troubled her. But as the Miko cast one last, reluctant look over her shoulder at him, Giyuu found that he was as unwilling to watch her go as she was to leave.
If the Shrine’s head priestess noticed his inner anguish, she paid it no mind. “You will accompany me in the kitchen.”
—-
The first thing he noticed was the conspicuous absence of the scent of sake, which he’d grown accustomed to following the Priestess around like a pungent cloud of perfume. He resisted the urge to scowl; he would have to find another way to get the old woman to talk.
Giyuu followed the woman into the small structure that stood adjacent to the honden that served as the Shrine’s kitchen. He watched silently as she pulled a cleaver, large and deadly sharp, free from where it was stored in a cabinet and laid it atop a butcher’s block. The elder stepped outside of the kitchen and returned a moment later, a recently de-feathered and skinned chicken in hand.
“Things around here seem…tense,” Giyuu observed carefully as the old woman slapped the chicken on the counter for preparation.
“Tense is one word for it, I reckon,” she bit, taking up her cleaver. “The world we live in is dark. I should think you would know that better than most.”
The corner of his mouth dipped down. “But even your girls seem unusually subdued; distracted.”
Her eyes flashed to his, piercing and sharp. “You mean Y/N.”
It wasn’t a question.
“She is always restless this time of year,” the old woman sighed. “Though she loves autumn, she despises winter — or, rather, she despises how it reminds her of what she does not have. And winter is well on its way.”
He nodded, recalling what the shrine maiden had revealed to him that day, on the hillside.
“But your observation is correct — that is not all of the reason she is so distracted,” the old Priestess said darkly, and Giyuu was surprised to see how alert and focused the normally soused elder seemed. “A man from the village — Susumo — has been following her. Demanding her.”
Giyyu straightened. “What do you mean by ‘demand?’”
The haggard woman cursed below her breath as she broke down the chicken’s body. “I mean in the way that men often feel entitled to women — especially angry drunks like him.”
Every hair on Giyuu’s body stood straight as the weight of the Priestess’ warning settled.
“I have forbidden her from venturing out in the dark alone,” the Granny continued, harshly wrenching a joint on the fowl.
“She is a Priestess in training; surely that status affords her some protection?” Giyuu’s knuckles turned white where his fists clenched at his sides.
“I’m not sure the shrine is enough to keep him out for much longer. He’s been lingering — and threatening consequences, if I do not agree to hand her over to him for marriage.” The old Priestess grimaced. “Her status does her no good if he burns this place to the ground.”
The old woman set her cleaver next to her with a heavy thud, her frustration palpable. “The girl is of age, and I am not her blood family; there is no one here who can claim authority over her, not like a parent or an elder sibling.” When her eyes lifted to his, Giyuu could see a hint of fear underlying the hard anger in her gaze. “These days, I half-expect to awaken and find that she’s been stolen in the night.”
The Water Pillar felt his jaw clench. It was rare that he felt the burning flush of anger and it was not directed at a demon, but the idea that Y/N was being harassed and threatened by some village drunkard who felt entitled to her, lit something hot in his stomach. For as vexatious and confounding as he found the young Miko to be, no one deserved to be stalked like prey.
Especially her.
“I’ve had a crow stationed here to alert me of any demon attacks for months,” Giyuu began, and the old woman looked to him in surprise. “But I will assign more to keep watch during the day. If there is anything strange afoot, they will tell you.” He paused a moment before adding, “And they will alert me, too.”
The head Priestess laid down her cleaver to look at him, long and hard. “Then she may have a fighting chance yet, Lord Hashira.”
————-
By the time he found Y/N once more, dinner was over and the moon had risen high in the night sky, casting the shrine grounds in its pale, silvery glow.
He’d told her, rather tersely, that he was unable to stay the night, and he tried to ignore how his chest tightened at the crestfallen look that flashed across her face. Despite her tangible disappointment, she insisted on escorting him out of the Shrine, desperate to cling to every second that might be spared to them.
“You are rather quiet tonight,” the Miko observed, walking him to the grand Torii. “More so than usual.” It was an understatement; the Water Pillar had been downright sullen and withdrawn from the moment he’d returned from whatever takes Granny had insisted she help him with.
Rather than give her any explanation, Giyuu halted his step and reached for her wrist, stilling her. “You did not tell me you were being harassed.”
She looked up to the Water Pillar in surprise. “How did you —?”
He released her from his grip in favor of drawing closer to her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Y/N opened and closed her mouth, struggling to find her words. “I suppose,” she began, but her mouth quirked down in a frown. “I did not think you needed to be burdened by something so insignificant.”
Giyuu stared at her as he mouthed the word insignificant, the look he shot her giving the distinct impression he thought her an idiot. “I do not think your safety is insignificant,” Giyuu’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, clenching it tight. “Nor do I think you are insignificant.”
“Compared to your other obligations? I should think I’m very unimportant.” Y/N turned away from him, fiddling with a gathering basket she carried on her hip to avoid having to look him in the eyes.
But the raven-haired Pillar caught her wrist and turned her back to face him, not willing to be ignored. “If you call for me, I will come to you.”
Y/N’s heart lurched at the Water Pillar’s words, spoken with such conviction and sincerity that it made her falter in her step. “Tomioka-san,” she said breathlessly, her eyes wide as she turned to him. “You have far more important duties to see to than to concern yourself with than mere village drama —“
But the raven-haired Hashira only shook his head as he took another step towards her, his expression severe; calculating. “You have the knife I gave you, yes?” His eyes dropped to her pocket, and Y/N felt compelled to show him that the small blade was indeed tucked safely within the folds of her hakama pants.
“Giyuu,” she pled, and she noted the way that he twitched towards her at the sound of his name falling from her lips. “Please, don’t worry —“
“I do not make promises I cannot keep,” the Water Pillar cut her off, closing the distance between them until the tips of his zori nearly grazed hers, his head bent down towards her as the heat of his stare threatened to consume her. “So I repeat: if you call for me, I will come to you.”
Any thought of arguing faded from her mind as Y/N became keenly aware of the lack of space between their bodies, of the way her hands, clasped in front of her chest brushed against the folds of his haori as it shifted softly with the wind.
“I understand,” she breathed. Y/N held his gaze for a long moment, though it was in part due to the battle waging within her not to allow her eyes to drop to his lips.
She would not let herself acknowledge how close they were; how soft they looked, or how warm they might feel against hers; her skin.
Giyuu lingered as well; after a pregnant pause, he finally stepped back, blinking as though coming out of a trance. “Good,” he nodded, and he glanced furtively over her shoulder. His eyes narrowed and he nodded as though satisfied before he turned crisply on his heel to begin his trek towards his duties and away from her. “Do not forget.” He called one last time over his shoulder, before the shadows of the woods swallowed him whole.
As Y/N dazedly made her way back towards the shrine, a crow following closely behind her, she almost laughed at the suggestion she could.
——-
Autumn, 1915
The weeks passed by without much fuss, and soon, the palpable tension that had settled over the Shrine as a result of Susumo’s lingering threats subsided. Soon, life at the Shrine returned to normal, and Y/N often found her mind wandering to thoughts of raven hair and endless blue eyes.
Until that night.
It had been a normal evening at the Shrine; autumn, blissful autumn had arrived, heralding forth crisp winds and golden skies. Though the days were steadily growing shorter, Y/N found herself rejuvenated by the new chill, especially as she watched the leaves of the trees shift from green to gold to ruby.
The leaves on her hairpin indeed had been a perfect match to those which were steadily drifting from the tall maples dotting the Shrine. Though she couldn’t wear her hair down the way she had the last time the Water Pillar paid the Shrine a visit, Y/N had found new ways to incorporate his gift into her daily life, weaving it through her plait or tucking it behind her ear.
That night had been one like any other; after dinner, the girls of the Shrine had scattered to tend to their evening duties. The shrine maiden had been walking alongside her Master, planning for the upcoming festival in the nearby village, during which the Shrine would seek new patrons to keep it operational. The women mulled over which families might be more inclined to assist them, and settled on a prominent merchant known to frequent other shrines on his travels through the country.
That was when they’d spotted the smoke.
“Fire!” A shrill voice cried, and both the old Priestess and Y/N blanched. “The honden is on fire!”
All at once, chaos broke out across the Shrine grounds as girls darted to and fro, frantic. Granny began barking at her charges, ordering the younger ones to gather in the courtyard while instructing the older girls to assist in putting out the flames.
"The granary!" Someone else cried. "The granary has gone up in flames!"
The elder Priestess snatched Y/N's wrist in her weathered hand. “The scrolls!” Granny's expression of horror was a sure match to her own. “They’re in the storeroom near the granary!”
The scrolls in question had been in the Shrine’s custody for over five hundred years, carrying sacred inscriptions of the gods and prayers essential to its operation and legitimacy.
They were priceless; irreplaceable.
“I’ll go!” And before her Master could protest, the Miko had already turned away and began sprinting toward the fire that was rapidly engulfing the granary near the back of the property.
Thankfully, the storeroom had yet to catch fire, but if the one steadily consuming the granary was not dealt with soon, it wouldn’t be long before it spread to consume the small wooden hut.
And Y/N knew it wouldn’t take much to reduce the storeroom to ash.
Coughing, she pressed her arm to her nose and mouth, using the large bell sleeve of her kosode to block some of the smoke that burned her eyes and nose. She pulled her other sleeve over her hand to protect it as she pushed the storehouse’s door aside.
Inside was dark; quiet. Though the nighttime made it difficult for her to see the scrolls and prints carefully rolled and tucked away into tiny cubbies lining the hut’s walls, Y/N wasn’t stupid enough to waste time searching for a candle to light. So, with only the flames eating away at the granary at her back to light her way, she began pulling handfuls of scrolls free from their storage, tucking them under her arm.
She turned to take her first armload of priceless Shrine artifacts from the storeroom and nearly tripped over a collection of heated coal pans that had been stacked in the corner to keep the scrolls sealed within the room at a stable temperature. She managed to hold onto her scrolls, however, and she quickly moved them away from the hut, placing them safely on a nearby rock that was still far enough away from the storeroom should it catch fire. She returned to the hut to survey what else she needed to salvage, but a familiar, tiny yelp and the flurry of movement in her periphery made the Miko’s stomach twist.
“Komatsu!” Y/N turned and saw the anxious younger girl lingering at the storage hut’s door, her tiny hands trembling. “Get away from here! It’s not safe!”
“B-but Sister,” the girl cried, hopping anxiously from foot to foot. “This is too much to do on your own —“
“You need to go find Granny,” the shrine maiden ordered. “I will join you in a moment.”
The girl’s lower lip wobbled. “But —,”
“Now!”
With a great sniff, the girl turned away, leaving Y/N alone once more. The Miko sighed and resumed her hasty perusal of the hut’s shelves, searching for anything else that could not be replaced.
There was a rustling near the doorway and Y/N bit her lip in an effort not to swear in front of her younger peer. “Komatsu, what did I say —“
She turned to admonish the girl, but her reprimand dried instantly on her tongue. For there, in the entryway to the storeroom, was Komatsu, her eyes wide and her face bone-white with a terror that matched Y/N’s own.
Because the girl was not alone.
Wrapped around her bicep was a hand, as large as a small boulder, and tipped with long, wicked claws that threatened to pierce Komatsu’s bicep. The hand was attached to a forearm, inhumanly thick and muscled. Slowly, Y/N’s eyes dragged up the length of the monstrous arm to behold the sinister face that grinned at her.
It was Susumo — only it wasn’t Susumo. Y/N recognized the vague features of the face that had once belonged to the village drunk and her personal tormentor. His hair was the same as was the general shape of his face, and the cruelty of his smirk, but that was where the resemblance to the Susumo she’d once known ended.
Now, he boasted a row of sharp fangs that distended nearly to his lower lip. And his eyes — no longer were they a cold, soulless black; now they were crimson red, and his pupils were cut into catlike slits.
Demon. A voice whispered in her mind. Demon.
“Enjoy my fires, Priestess?” Even Susumo’s voice had changed, forming a growl that matched his monstrous appearance. “I set them for you — I knew you would not be able to resist seeing such a spectacle.”
“Komatsu,” Y/N ignored him in favor of addressing the young girl, though her voice was unusually high though she fought to keep it as steady as possible. “Please go find Granny and help her with the honden.”
The young trainee trembled but Susumo’s clawed hand only tightened around her arm. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that, sweet Priestess,” the demon crooned. “You have something I want, you see.”
The slick, oily look in his eyes made his desire clear.
Y/N’s eyes darted quickly around the hut, finally falling on a series of coal pans stacked to the side of the room, only a few feet from where she stood, paralyzed. Her quick, cursory glance at the pans revealed iron that was slightly red, and she swore she could see the air around them distorted by the heat.
Hot; they were still hot.
The Miko looked back to where the demon continued to leer at her, ravenous. “Fine,” she said coolly. “I will go with you, Susumo.”
Komatsu looked between her and the demon in horror, but Y/N only kept her eyes locked with the demon’s. She edged closer to where the coal pans were still burning hot, eyes not daring to drop his as she drew closer to the demon and the younger trainee. He grinned, revealing cruelly sharp and bloodstained teeth, and his yellow eyes shone with a triumphant smugness, believing the Miko was surrendering to him at last.
As she brushed past the pans, Y/N furtively reached out a hand and closed her fingers around one of the handles. “Komatsu,” the Miko kept her eyes carefully trained on the demon. “Run.”
Her hand seized around the coal pan and with every ounce of her strength, she swung it toward the demon. The hot iron of the pan slammed into the side of his head, forcing him to drop his hold on the younger girl. There was a struggle between the older shrine maiden and the demon, who fought to wrench the pan free from her fierce grip, but Y/N would not relent.
“Run!” She shrieked at the girl again, and Komatsu darted away. Y/N’s fingers stretched to close around the tiny lever on the handle of the coal pan, and with a snarl of fury, she managed to latch around it, squeezing it with all her might. The lid of the pan opened and red-hot coals spilled forth over the demon’s head. Susumo howled in fury, and Y/N dropped the pan, letting it crack against his head as she shot past him, desperate to escape the tiny storeroom.
The faster she got into open air, the better chance she had of living.
But a claw, sharp and deadly sunk into her bicep, and yanked her back. She could not help the small scream that tore from her throat as she felt his talons rip at her skin and the sleeve of her kosode was shredded into ribbons beneath his nails.
“Sister Y/N!” Komatsu’s tiny, terrified voice cried out from several feet ahead.
The shrine maiden swallowed her building panic. “Go!”
The little girl hesitated again and Y/N knew she could not follow after her, not without risking her safety once again. With a defiant scream of rage, the shrine maiden tore her arm free of the demon’s razor-like claws, fighting back the bile that rose in her throat as she felt blood run down her arm, hot and thick.
The demon grasped wildly at her but found only air. Thinking only of the safety of Komatsu and her fellow trainees, Y/N turned on her heel and ran for the trees, away from the chaos unfolding at the Shrine.
And the demon, still snarling and panting and undoubtedly enraged, followed her into the forest.
Shit, shit, shit!
Y/N hurtled over a snarled root as she ran, her life dependent upon every stride as she fled the newly-demented Susumo.
In the back of her mind, the Miko knew her efforts were in vain; because for every inch she managed to gain, the angry demon at her heels seemed to gain a foot.
“You’ve denied me for far too long!” The monster’s voice growled behind her, far too close for comfort. “I will have you!”
Y/N palmed the small nichirin knife tucked safely within the deep pockets of her hakama pants, and wildly she wondered whether it was possible to decapitate a demon with such a small blade. Perhaps the Water Pillar should have left her a sword. After all, a sword could not really be that different from a broom, and she’d walloped her fair share of handsy drunkards and would-be thieves with the cleaning tool.
If she lived through the night, she would tell him as much the next time she saw him.
Y/N’s musings did nothing to help her avoid the root of an old tree that jutted out from the earth, snarling around her ankle and sending her flailing to the forest floor. Angry tears of frustration clouded her eyes. Although she knew these paths like the back of her hand, that knowledge did her little good in the dark, as she fled for her life.
Scrambling up to her feet, Y/N caught sight of a pair of eyes watching her from the brambles, dark and inky.
A crow. The image of a certain Hashira flashed before her eyes, as Y/N recalled the way that the members of the Demon Slayer Corps used crows to communicate.
Perhaps this crow was so affiliated, and she was desperate enough to try. “Please!” Y/N begged, sobbing as the crow stared down at her with those black eyes. “Giyuu!”
———
The night had been unusually peaceful for the Water Pillar.
His ambling patrol around his territory’s perimeter hadn’t revealed so much as a whisper of demonic activity. But the absence of any conspicuous threat did not mean his guard was down; his eyes remained sharp, his ear finely tuned, listening for any shift in the wind, any sign that something was amiss and required investigation —
A sudden rustle of leaves sounded from his right, and Giyuu’s hand moved reflexively for his blade, bracing against its hilt in preparation. A small shadow burst from the canopy above him, its wings flapping wildly. He recognized it instantly as the crow he’d assigned to watch over the Shrine — to watch over her.
“Demon attack at the Mountain Shrine!” The crow squawked, circling above him frantically. “Demon attack! Go now — quickly!”
He hadn’t hesitated to turn sharply on his heel, furiously making his way toward the Shrine. He broke through the line of trees at its edge in record time, and even he’d been taken aback by the chaos that had broken out.
“The honden is on fire!” the old woman cried out to the Pillar as he swiftly landed among the chaos unfolding across the shrine grounds. “The girls were still doing their evening duties – but then another fire was started near the granary!”
“My crows said a demon had made an appearance,” Giyuu’s eyes carefully scanned the terrified, frantic faces of the Shrine’s residents, his hands braced against the hilt of his sword. “Has anyone been hurt?”
The head Priestess stared at the Water Pillar in muted horror. “I have not seen – but I haven’t taken any headcount of the girls to know –”
A piercing cry from near the south gate of the Shrine cut the old woman off, and both Priestess and Slayer whipped toward the sound. A girl, no more than nine, was half-running, half-stumbling toward them, frightened tears streaking down her face.
“Komatsu!” the old Priestess blanched as she caught sight of the small apprentice’s busted, bloodied lip. With a sob, the young girl flung herself into her elder’s arms and clung tightly to her. “What on earth –?”
“Sister Y/N!” the girl called Komatsu wailed, and Giyuu felt himself go cold. “Granny – th-that man – he’s a monster!”
The head Priestess paled in recognition. “Susumo?” Giyuu’s gut clenched at the name. The old woman knelt before the girl, her hands clutching wildly at her slim shoulders as she shook her lightly to recenter her. “Komatsu, was Susumo the monster?”
The young girl nodded. “He was so – hiccup – fast! I didn’t even see him!” She only cried harder. “And t-then Sister Y/N – she grabbed the coal pan and dumped it on him until he let go.” Komatsu trembled as she lifted a shaking hand to wipe at her cheeks. “A-and then she t-told me to r-run –”
THe old Priestess caught the girl’s quivering chin in her hand and forced her to meet her eyes. “Where is Y/N, Komatsu?”
Komatus’s eyes were wide with fear. “She ran,” she whispered. “Into the woods – b-but Granny – she was bleeding –”
The Shrine’s Priestess turned to the Slayer, ready to beg him to follow after the demon and her apprentice, but the Water Pillar was gone. For a brief moment, she feared all hope was lost; that they’d been abandoned and non one would be able to save the young Miko – her heir – from whatever horrid fate awaited her at the ends of Susumo’s crazed, brutal claws.
She caught a flurry of movement right against the dark line of trees that snagged her attention; a flap of the edge of a mismatched haori, and the glint of a blade being drawn, its wielder already furiously making his way into the shadowy depths of the forest.
The Priestess exhaled and clutched her trembling young trainee to her chest. As she soothed the shaken young girl, the old woman prayed the Water Pillar would not be too late.
–
She was fucked; well and truly fucked.
Y/N had no idea how long she’d spent sprinting furiously through the forest, but she knew she was quickly running out of stamina. Worse, it seemed the demon on her heels knew she was slowing, and was now playing with her. But even his patience seemed to be at its wit’s end; for a sudden sharp blow to her back sent the Miko flying several feet forward until she slammed against the uneven, rough terrain of the forest floor.
Y/N gasped for air that would not come as she tried to push herself up. Crawl! Her mind begged her body. Crawl, damn you!
A dark chuckle from behind sent every hair on her body standing straight on end. A hand locked around her ankle and flipped her over until she was nearly nose to nose with the demon crouched over her. “Got you,” he sang, and the moonlight glinted off the sharp edge of his fangs as he grinned.
Her fingers found the handle of the knife the Water Pillar had gifted her in her pocket. With a determined grunt, she pulled it free and plunged it deep into the meat of his shoulder, praying furiously to any god who would listen that she might have hit an artery so that he would bleed out.
The demon loosed an enraged scream and fell away from her, hands blindly fumbling for the blade.
No longer pinned beneath him, Y/N scrambled back. Her hands scraped against the broken brush and pebbles below her in her desperate attempt to put distance between herself and the demon rising to his feet ahead of her, snarling. As he began advancing toward her, Susumo gripped the knife she’d buried in his shoulder and with a grunt, he wrenched it free and tossed it carelessly to the side, right along with the last shred of any hope she’d had of making it out of the woods alive.
The demon’s mouth curled into a cruel, savage grin, the moonlight glinting off his long, wicked fangs. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he growled, saliva dripping down his chin as his nostrils widened to scent her blood and her fear.
This was it; there was nowhere for her to run, no weapon she could try and protect herself with. There was nothing she could do; she was going to die, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Just as Susumo drew upon her, close enough that she could smell the rancid, pungent odor of rotted meat on his breath, he stumbled back, startled.
One moment the demon was standing mere inches from her, ready to devour her whole; the next, he was sent sailing back, his body smashing into the trunk of a nearby tree with a sickening thump!
A blur of dark matter soared over the Miko’s head toward the monster. Susumo barely had time to stand before the shadow converged on him once more. There was a flash of light — the moon reflecting off metal — followed by a dull thud. The shrine maiden’s heart lodged in her throat as she watched the head of the former village drunkard roll across the forest floor before distingrating, his body following soon after.
She was nearly hyperventilating as the shadow turned to face her, but the pall of the moon finally illuminated the face of her savior — her Water Pillar.
“G-Giyuu,” she stuttered, her eyes stinging with unshed tears of relief that washed over her all at once.
But Giyuu did not respond, his lapis eyes narrowing in on the dark stain spreading across the white of her kosode. Y/N cowered at the cold, unbridled rage that contorted the ordinarily stoic Hashira’s face as he began to shake at the sight of her blood. In a flash, Giyuu had closed the distance between them and knelt down by her side, gripping her wounded arm in his hand as he tried to pull her tattered sleeve down and inspect her wound.
“Tomioka — Giyuu,” she pled, trying to wrench her arm from his iron-like grip. “Please, it’s not that bad —“
“Did it get you anywhere else?” Giyuu demanded harshly, and the authority underlying his tone made Y/N fall silent for the first time since she’d known him. “Did it -“ the Water Pillar hesitated. “Did it touch you anywhere else?”
Y/N was trembling, and the Hashira’s hand around her arm tightened. “Ah!” She winced. “No, I promise, Giyuu, it’s just a flesh wound, I’m fine-,”
“You are bleeding. You are not fine.” Giyuu snapped back. “You could’ve been killed, or turned, or -,” the Water Pillar began to hyperventilate, and it shook the young Miko to her core. The Water Hashira was normally so unflappable, so stoic, that his panicked anger frightened her.
“-So do not tell me you’re fine,” Giyuu’s rant continued. “Not when you could’ve — not when I might’ve failed — not again --”
She was at a loss for what to do as she watched the raven-haired man struggle to form words. Vaguely, she recalled the way the Granny-Priestess had once explained to her that when someone panicked, they needed to regulate their breathing, and there were many ways someone could help force another to breathe properly…
Stomach fluttering, Y/N’s free hand came up to grip the fold of the Water Pillar’s haori. Giyuu’s incessant rambling only ended when her lips urgently pressed against his own, his eyes going wide. A heartbeat or two passed and then the Miko pulled away, her eyes serious as she stared at the stunned Water Hashira.
“You need to give me a sword.” She told him, earnestly, her face blazing.
———
Giyuu helped her back to the Shrine, though the Miko found herself needing to bat off the Water Pillar with a stern reminder that she’d only sustained a small arm wound as he’d tried to scoop her up into his arms.
The Swordsman had been rather subdued the entire journey out of the forest, his eyes curiously wide and dazed right until the pair breached the tree line at the edge of the Shrine’s property. The moment they stepped into open ground, they were swarmed by the tearful, relieved faces of the Shrine’s inhabitants. Words of gratitude to him were woven through worries over the Miko’s arm wound as they made their way across toward the small infirmary which, thankfully, had not been touched by Susumo’s fire.
The honden itself was still standing; though the flames had finally been subdued, smoke still curled up toward the sky, blocking any view of the moon or the stars.
The head Priestess waited for them outside the infirmary. Though her face was grave, Giyuu could spy the relief shining in her eyes. He stood numbly by as the Miko and her master regarded each other warily for a moment, before the elder Priestess reached forward and yanked her charge forward into a fierce embrace.
“Reckless girl,” she chastised gently against the side of Y/N’s head. “Thank every one of the gods that you’re safe.” The old Priestess’s eyes found those of the Water Pillar. “And thank you, Lord Tomioka.”
Y/N was promptly escorted inside to have her wound examined and stitched. Despite the old shrine keeper’s gratitude for his aid in saving the young shrine maiden, that thankfulness apparently did not extend to permitting him inside the infirmary with them, and for good reason. For under the Elder’s withering glare, the Water Pillar realized that Y/N’s treatment would require her to be stripped of her kosode, leaving her exposed and bare.
As unwilling as he’d been to part from her, the thought of witnessing the Miko undressed and vulnerable had been enough to temper his urge to look after her, if nothing else because the mental image of her in such a state flustered him to no end.
Though, he supposed his bewilderment also had something to do with what had transpired between them in the forest.
Kissed him; the shrine maiden had kissed him.
His fingers drifted to his lips. They still felt warm where they’d been graced by hers, and he swore he could still feel the softness of her mouth from where it had brushed against his.
He needed to talk to her; he needed to know what the hell she’d been thinking, kissing him like that.
But as shocking as the Miko’s kiss had been, there was something else, something far heavier, that weighed on his mind.
She’d nearly been killed. By a demon. On his watch.
He should’ve apologized; he should’ve begged for her forgiveness for letting her come that close with death. For letting her get wounded because he hadn’t been fast enough.
I was concerned for you, he wanted to tell her. I thought I would be too late.
No; concern didn’t cover it; did not do near enough justice to his true emotions upon learning the Miko had fled into the dark forest with a hungry, loathsome demon hot on her trail.
He’d been scared; terrified; almost beside himself at the possibility that he’d be too late and find that she’d already been reduced to the beast’s meal,
He’d been scared he’d never again see her smile or hear her laugh, and that had terrified him more than anything. For it was the memory of both that soothed his anxious nerves each time he startled awake from visions of his dead loved ones, demanding to know why they had died in his stead.
He’d feared that he would have to add her face to those he saw when he slept — the faces of those he’d failed to protect, who’d died for his sake. He’d been terrified of seeing her image in painstaking clarity, just as he saw the faces of his sister and Sabito every morning.
He did not know what to do with them, these confusing feelings, so abundant and intense that they’d welled up within him and threatened to spill over. He couldn’t name them, let alone begin to untangle the knot they’d formed within his heart. All he knew was that every one of them were inextricably tied to her.
His shrine maiden.
His.
—
Y/N’s arm ached, but it had been properly sewn and bandaged, and there was work to do before she could settle in for the night; and so, she found herself helping her peers with cleaning up the courtyard from the debris of the night’s events.
Truthfully, she'd been grateful for the distraction. Occupying herself with cleanup meant she did not have to think about what she’d done in the forest. But then Granny Priestess saw her trying to heave away broken wood with her freshly stitched arm and Y/N found herself forced to abandon her fellow trainees as the old bat smacked her upside the head and squawked about how she was going to break her stitching and complicate the healing process.
The Miko tried not to pout as she retreated, opting instead to grumble over the old woman’s dramatics as her arm stung and her ego throbbed. When she finally returned to her sleeping quarters, exhaustion slammed into her, making her limbs heavy and leaden. Unable to quite rally the energy to crawl into her futon, she slumped against the doorway of the room, her head and her heart a tangled mess of emotions she couldn’t quite name.
What she’d felt the moment the Water Pillar had stepped into the moonlight had been more than mere relief that he’d managed to save her life for the second time. She’d felt safe, so unbelievably safe that the forest itself could have been on fire and she wouldn’t have been afraid; not as long as he was there with her.
Something between them had shifted; that much was clear. In truth, things likely had begun to change the moment she repaired his haori, and she’d admitted to him her deep-seated loneliness and lack of belonging.
She only hoped he felt the change, too.
—
Much to Y/N’s chagrin, autumn was quickly giving way to blasted winter.
Though, the Miko hadn’t been able to fully resent the rapid shift in the seasons; repairs at the Shrine had consumed nearly all of her attention, and as Granny’s heir, she was expected to contribute to its reconstruction more than any other trainee.
That expectation meant Granny left the task of figuring out how to finance the necessary repairs entirely to her young protege. Y/N had spent all of two days agonizing over ways to raise the necessary funds when she awoke to find a mysterious sack of money that had been left on the doorstep of the honden. Inside had been an amount more than generous to cover the cost of repairs from the fire, with a hefty remainder that could be put toward other necessary improvements to spruce the Shrine up, and perhaps restore it to its former glory.
No note had been left with the money to indicate the identity of the Shrine’s benefactor. But amid all the excitement of her peers at the thought of being able to afford materials and laborers to assist with the more difficult aspects of the Shrine’s refurbishment, Y/N had spotted a familiar crow perched high in a nearby tree.
That position had afforded the bird with a perfect view of the money sack, allowing it to silently ensure it fell into the proper hands. But repairs had finally slowed, and Y/N now found her days returning to normal. Almost.
What was not normal was how agitated she'd become in waiting for his return.
Another week passed without any communication from the Water Pillar, and the Miko had grown desperate for any sort of distraction. She found herself one late, autumn morning passing the time in the Shrine’s garden hut. She was pretending to be searching for tools that would help her prune the wilting Shrine garden when something grazed against the small of her back. Startled, she turned and was greeted by familiar, unruly raven hair and a pair of deep azure eyes.
“Giyuu,” his name slid easily off her tongue, and suddenly she could not remember why she’d called him anything else.
A ghost of a smile graced his lips. “Hello, Y/N.”
A poignant silence followed, and her cheeks grew hot. "Don't mind me," she said quickly, turning her head away from him as she pretended to organize stray gardening supplies. "I am only just now finishing my tasks for the day."
Though he remained silent, she became acutely aware of the way Giyuu’s eyes followed her as she tried desperately to keep herself busy, to avoid having to meet that piercing, discerning stare.
“I did not get a chance to properly thank you after the turmoil of that night,” she said casually. Nervously, she hoped that his heightened senses did not alert him to the way her heart fluttered in her chest, or how her stomach flipped in her gut. Her nails dug into her palms as she lifted her head to meet that unnerving, fathomless stare.
But the Water Pillar had already closed most of the distance between them, having moved so silently she’d not heard him, despite even the creaky, uneven slatted floor of the garden hut. “How is your wound?” He asked softly, his hand skirting up the outside of the arm Susumo had wounded. “Has it healed?”
It took a great amount of effort for Y/N to remember how to keep her breathing steady. But she forced her lips into an easy smile as she rucked up the flared sleeve of her kosode to reveal her bicep. “It will likely scar,” she admitted, her fingers lightly tracing over the three, angry red marks that remained imprinted on her skin, though they’d fully scabbed over. “I consider myself quite lucky, all things considered.”
“Why did you do it?”
The Miko ducked her head, willing the sheet of her hair to fall and conceal her mounting blush. She did not need to ask him to clarify; she knew after what he was asking.
But she feigned ignorance all the same. “I don’t know what you mean, Tomioka-sama –”
“Don’t call me that,” and even though she refused to meet his eyes, she could sense his irritation at her avoidance. “We’re well past such formalities, Y/N.” Giyuu stepped closer to her, his cerulean eyes melting into something more akin to the midnight blue of the evening sky. “You kissed me. That night.” The Water Pillar’s hand glided up the arm that Susumo had injured, caressing softly over the healed skin beneath the sleeve of her kosode.
“I-I did no such thing!” Y/N sputtered, though her reddening cheeks betrayed her. “I was only attempting to help you calm down — you were panicking, and inconsolable.”
Giyuu’s responding smirk only served to irritate her more. “Should I thank you then, Y/N?” His hand slid from her shoulder to below her chin, his delicate fingers curling to tilt her head up towards his, as he closed the distance between their bodies. “Should I show you how grateful I am that you were able to assuage my worry?”
Y/N tried to focus on anything but the feeling of Giyuu’s breath — warm and enticing — against her face as he leaned in close. “You had no reason to worry; I was completely fine before you showed up.”
“Fine,” the ravenette scoffed, his grip on her chin tightening slightly. “So fine that you were bleeding and about to become that beast’s snack — or worse.”
“But you saved me, did you not?” Y/N whispered, unable to stop her eyes from dropping to the Water Pillar’s sensual, soft-looking mouth before rising once more to meet his punishing gaze. “And then I helped you.”
Giyuu’s second hand brushed against her waist and the shrine maiden thought she might leap out of her skin. “You did,” he conceded, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a small, half-smile. “Though I apologize that you needed to do so — I suppose I become a little over-zealous when things that are precious to me are threatened.”
Even if she could have thought of some witty remark to throw back at him, those words surely would have been blocked by her heart as it lodged in her throat.
Things that were precious to him. She was precious to him.
“So I’ll ask again, Y/N,” Giyuu whispered, and his nose brushed delicately against hers. “Should I thank you for your assistance?” The fingers beneath her chin stroked her jaw. “Should I kiss you?”
She fought to suppress the excited shudder that licked up her spine. “Yes, Lord Hashira,” she breathed, and her stomach turned cartwheels as Giyuu’s gaze dropped to her mouth. “Perhaps you should.”
“Who am I to deny the request of a priestess?” Giyuu murmured, and then his lips were moving against hers, warm and soft. Y/N’s fingers flew to clutch the Water Pillar’s rocky biceps beneath the soft cloth of his haori, anchoring him against her. The hand that had gripped below her chin slid to the side of her face, tilting her head so that the Water Pillar could have better access to her as he pressed his lips harder against hers.
Y/N moaned into his kiss, wanting him closer, impossibly closer to her than he currently was.
Giyuu broke away from her once, though he kept a hand on the back of her neck to keep her in place. “What are your duties today?”
Y/N’s fingers curled around the front of the Water Pillar’s haori, her forehead resting against his. “None of import.” She gave him a sly smile. “No one will miss me if I am gone for a few hours.”
Giyuu returned her smile with a tiny smirk of his own. “In that case,” he tugged her hand and he began to lead her towards the grassy overlook where they’d spent a great deal of time talking and learning one another. “I could use your assistance.”
–
Y/N hadn’t greeted the sunrise with the intent to neglect her shrine duties, but she couldn’t say she regretted how she ended up spending the day.
They spent the day resting on the hillside overlooking the shrine grounds, rolling back and forth upon the browning grass as they kissed each other again and again.
“You weren’t wrong, that day — right after we met,” Giyuu gasped against her lips as they broke apart, the blush on Y/N’s cheeks a sure match to his own. “I do not find you captivating.”
Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed. Her mouth parted, a protest on her tongue when Giyuu surged forward, his lips brushing against her neck. The Miko’s words choked off with a squeak as the Water Pillar danced his lips to the hollow of her throat, his tongue flicking out once right where her heart pulsed wildly.
“I think you are utterly transfixing; enchanting,” he breathed against her skin. “You have cast a spell over me that I do not want broken.”
“I find it hard to believe anyone could wield that sort of power over a Hashira,” Y/N’s voice was high pitched as Giyuu’s lips made their way back to hers.
In the back of her mind, Y/N wondered if his words were motivated purely by his physical desire for her. It would not have surprised her if he was only so taken with her because he longed to be touched; held. Like him, she’d gone much of her life without intimacy from anyone. She could not blame him for seeking it from someone so willing to give as she.
“But you are not just anyone, not to me.” was all he replied, his lips moving softly against hers once more. “You are…everything.”
Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The Water Pillars words, dripping like honey from his lips, were only sweetened by the fervent sincerity of his eyes as he pulled back to gaze into hers, so deeply, she felt as though he could see every thought in her head.
She wondered if he lowered that piercing, discerning stare, whether he’d be able to see straight to her heart, too; see how it bore his name.
Even though her breath guttered in her throat at his words, her heart clenched painfully in her chest. The idea that she’d attached more meaning to their relationship than he, that perhaps she’d overestimated her value to him made her tense, made her want to push him away and —
“You’re distracted,” Giyuu murmured against her lips, brushing his nose against hers. “Your thoughts are loud.”
Her fingers caught the front fold of his haori, fiddling idly with it. “There is nothing for you to repay, you know. You do not owe me your time or your attention. I know the Shrine is simply a part of your designated patrol. I understand if its convenience is the only reason —”
A single finger pressed itself against her lips, quieting her. “You think and talk too much.” The ravenette chastised. Her mouth parted, a protest forming on her lips, when he cut her off again. “Ah ah,” Giyuu silenced her with his lips, his tongue flicking out to skim along her bottom lip. Above her, he shifted and allowed his weight to fall against her, pinning her beneath him. Reluctantly, his mouth broke away from hers. “It is my turn to speak.”
“I do not come to the Shrine because it is easy,” Giyuu’s lips brushed hesitantly against her jaw. “Nor do I come here out of any preconceived obligation to repay your kindness.”
He pulled back to study her, panting and flushed beneath him. As his eyes slowly combed over her, Y/N felt a strange knot pull and twist in the depths of her stomach. “There is only one thing that brings me back here, no matter how exhausted I am after weeks of endless missions; no matter how often certain junior Corps members pester me to train them.” His eyes narrowed at the hollow of the Miko’s throat, exposed by the way her kosode had shifted as the pair of them rolled around the grass. Curious, Giyuu leaned down and pressed his lips firmly against it.
And then he did the unthinkable; the Water Pillar moaned, ever so softly, against the fluttering of Y/N’s frantic pulse. The sound, so rich and full of need – of want – washed over her and drowned out all other thoughts, all other higher reasoning from her mind. INstead, the Miko was left with nothing but the sharp urge to press her thighs together, an unknown heat beginning to pool in her most sacred area.
“Do you know what that thing is, Y/N?” He whispered against the soft dip in her throat, his breath hot as it fanned across her skin. “Can you guess what it is I cannot stay away from – could not, even if I desired otherwise?”
His fingers dropped to the collar of her kosode, tracing lightly over its crisp, white fold. “When I close my eyes in the mornings, it is your face I see,” he murmured. “It is your laugh I hear in my dreams; your scent I find myself longing for when I awaken.”
The Miko shivered as his index finger traced from her collar up her throat, over her chin until it came to rest on her bottom lip, gently stroking over its curve. “It is you I seek to turn to remind myself that there is still good in this world – good still worth protecting. Why is that, Y/N?” His eyebrows furrowed and he seemed almost earnest in his question. “Why is it that my mind refuses to be occupied by anything but you?”
“Because I vex you,” she said softly, eyes wide and locked with his. “Because, try as you might, you’ve never been able to fully fit me into a box as you have with others.”
Giyuu shook his head. “Vex me?” He tsked at her. “Perhaps once that was true. But now? I desire you in ways I can hardly understand, and it drives me mad.”
Her breath hitched in her throat. “What are you saying?”
“I think I’ve been rather clear,” and instinctively, Giyuu rolled his hips against hers, desperate to relieve some of the friction mounting in his groin. “And it’s that I want –”
But the Miko did not get to hear what Giyuu wanted; not as he was drowned out by the screeching cry of a bird from high above. Only, this bird was not the dull, graying crow she’d come to associate with her Swordsman.
“I thought your crow was older?”
The Water Pillar frowned as he turned to look up, his eyebrows drawn together. “That’s not Kanzaburo — that’s one of the Master’s —“
“CAW,” the bird circled above their heads in narrow, rapid turns. “Lord Tomioka! Return to headquarters immediately!”
Giyuu’s jaw clenched. “Can it not wait?”
Y/N, however, only gaped up at the bird flying above them. “It talks —?”
But the crow only cried again, “Emergency meeting at headquarters!!
With a short, frustrated exhale, Giyuu rolled to the side of the Miko and rose, but not before he extended a hand and helped lift her to her feet.
He gingerly brushed some loose grass from her hair. “I’m sorry.”
She only shook her head as she reached to adjust his haori, righting it in his shoulders. “It’s your duty, Giyuu. I understand that.”
He scowled back up at the bird still circling above them, bleating a refrain of “Emergency! Go now!”
“I’m not finished with this conversation,” Giyuu said plainly, a frustrated hand working through his hair. Though his annoyance was plain as day, it fell away as he looked back to the Miko at his side, his gaze softening. “Nor am I finished with you.”
A single finger reached under Y/N’s chin and lifted her head toward him so he could brush another kiss against her lips. “I will come see you – soon.”
With a shy boldness, the Miko rose on her toes and gave him one final kiss, and Giyuu’s hand tightened where it rested against her waist. “I’ll wait for you, Lord Hashira.”
———
December, 1915
Y/N cursed at the ancient priestess who insisted on using only gas-powered lanterns rather than the newer, much safer, electric powered lights that other shrines had begun using.
“We are an esteemed shrine dating back hundreds of years,” the old crone had simpered, “Tradition has kept us going this far!”
Y/N hadn’t helped her cause by asking whether tradition or spite was what kept the hag from dying off and finally leaving her in peace.
And that was how the young Priestess-to-be found herself stomping through the snowy grounds of the Shrine, forced to light each and every lantern by hand using a match and oil, utterly by herself.
She knew better than to levy such an obvious taunt at the old woman, but admittedly, Y/N hadn’t been in the best of moods as of late.
Giyuu had not returned since that day on the hillside, when he’d kissed her silly and told her he could not stop thinking of her. It was as though he no longer existed; even the crows at the Shrine were no more, having all disappeared one morning before she’d awoken.
As the weeks passed, the weight of his absence had grown heavier, threatening to beat her into the ground below.
But Y/N had done her best to hold her tongue over the last weeks as her anxiety mounted, and Granny should’ve known that — so really, it was her own fault if she’d taken offense to the Miko’s barb.
She grumbled and cursed under her breath as she trudged toward the small garden hut standing at the furthest edge of the Shrine’s grounds — her last stop of the night. She shoved past the old, rickety door and braced her merrily flickering, hand-held lantern out before her, bathing the small hut in a warm, orange glow.
All was silent and quiet within the small storeroom. The air was cold, though the slatted walls of the hut offered some protection from the howling, snow-dotted winds outside. Determined to complete her task and return to the comfort of her warm futon, the Miko fumbled around one of the store shelves for a small can of oil.
“It’s you,” a quiet voice startled her from behind, and Y/N nearly dropped the lantern clutched in her hands.
But she did not feel afraid as she recognized the calm, soothing cadence of the voice, that voice that belonged to the one person capable of making her blush.
The one person who held her heart.
“It’s been a while, Giyuu. I was wondering when I’d see you again.” She turned and saw the raven-haired man standing in the doorway of the garden hut, his face characteristically neutral, though he seemed tense, even more so than usual.
Instantly, she moved toward him. “What’s wrong?”
His eyes tightened, and the darkness which swam within them betrayed his aloof facade. “Things have changed quickly in my world,” he began, and she saw his fists clench at his sides. “We believe the demons are preparing for war — and so we have been as well.��
“War?” She repeated softly, her step faltering. “I hadn’t realized the demons were so…organized.”
Giyuu nodded. “One creature is responsible for all demons. He is the orchestrator; he is the one we must kill, and we believe the opportunity to do so is drawing nearer.”
The monotonous cadence of his voice fell away as he quietly added, “That is why I haven’t been able to return — we’ve been training. This battle — it may start at any moment.”
He made like he wanted to say more, but he stopped himself, pressing his lips into a tight line.
“And?” She prompted gently, taking a solitary step toward him.
“He hesitated, and she spied how his throat worked to swallow. “And I do not know when I will be able to see you again. After tonight.”
Y/N watched him for a moment, her eyes searching his. “When you say you don’t know ‘when’ we will see each other again,” she began, cautiously. “Do you mean ‘if?’”
Giyuu’s answering silence said more than any words could.
For a moment, the Miko could not remember how to speak, not as she felt the organ in her chest splinter into a thousand, mismatched pieces.
“I just wanted to see you,” the Water Pillar struggled to swallow around the growing lump in his throat. “One last time.”
She could scarcely breathe.
He was leaving and he might never return.
Leaving to go try and put an end to the scourge of demons that plagued their world. It was a noble thing to do; sacrifice in its purest form.
But she hated it.
She was filled with such a deep melancholy that it nearly brought her to her knees. As the Water Pillar turned to leave, Y/N couldn’t stop herself as she reached for him, her arms encircling him as her hands locked over his front, stilling him.
“Giyuu,” she said thickly, her face pressed into the back of his haori as she willed the tears in her eyes not to fall. “Giyuu.”
He turned in her grasp and looked down at her in awe, a finger rising to brush the errant tear that had escaped down her cheek as he held her gaze.
The flame within her lantern flickered as Giyuu softly grazed his lips against her own, Y/N’s arms weaving around his neck to hold him close to her.
His hands were gentle, if not a little uncertain as they found her waist, but once they came to a rest against her, he pulled her close, arms winding around her middle and holding her securely against him as he deepened the kiss. She moaned softly into his mouth, her hands tangling in his hair as she opened up for him, his tongue gliding alongside her own until she was left breathless and wanting.
Vaguely, the Miko was aware that he was walking them deeper into the garden hut, allowing the old door to thud shut behind him, and the thought of not returning to her plush futon suddenly did not seem like such a loss.
Giyuu’s hands returned to her face, thumbs stroking softly along her cheeks as he broke their kiss to brush his lips against her eyes, her nose, and forehead. Y/N’s hands parted the Water Hashira’s haori from his shoulders as Giyuu’s fingers dropped to her collar bone, sliding beneath her kosode, and grazing her bare shoulder.
“You have been my most treasured encounter,” he whispered, and she felt her heart seize in her throat, tears threatening to spill anew from her eyes.
A year’s worth of interactions had all led to this moment, but it was not the satisfying payoff of the tension and longing that had been steadily building between them.
This was a goodbye.
Because it was likely that the Water Pillar would not survive the impending battle; but neither did he want to leave this end untied.
She had known, deep in her heart, that this affair had been doomed before it had ever begun, but that hadn’t stopped her from falling for the kind, brave, selfless man now kissing her like she was his entire world anyways.
She would not get to have him in the morning, so she resolved to give herself to him for the night.
Giyuu’s hands eased her kosode from her shoulders, exposing her to the cool air within the garden hut. His warm hands, however, worked to chase away any chill that spread across her skin as he ran his palms over the curve of her shoulders before sliding down to rest on her bare waist, his long fingers grazing just below the curve of her breasts.
Her own fingers trembled as she fumbled with the buttons on his uniform shirt but in time, she’d worked them open and Giyuu broke their kiss long enough to let his shirt drop to the floor beneath them.
The two stood there for a moment, chests rising and falling rapidly, as they looked at one another, half-nude and vulnerable. The shrine maiden and the slayer knew that they had come upon a precipice, and if they stepped off that ledge, there would be nothing to break their fall.
Y/N made the first move, taking a tentative step towards the Water Pillar as she trailed her fingers lightly up the beautiful, sculpted ridges of his abdomen, relishing how warm he was beneath her touch.
Giyuu shivered beneath her fingertips as the miko’s hand came to a rest against his sternum, marveling the way his heart thundered beneath her hand. “Are you certain?” He breathed, his face was impassive, but his own uncertainty was betrayed by the slight tremor in his voice. His hand rose to gently cup the side of her face, his thumb ghosting over her bottom lip.
She reached to grab the Pillar’s free hand and brought it up to rest against her sternum, mirroring her own hold on him so that he could feel the steady drum of her own heart — and how it thrummed for him. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m yours, Giyuu.”
Once, she had believed the Hashira incapable of expressing anything other than cold aloofness. she’d not been able to comprehend the subtle ways with which his eyes could signal his mood; how they darkened when angry, or how the outer corners turned up, almost imperceptibly, when he was content.
But she had long since learned to read him, and so, her stomach fluttered at the way the raven haired man’s gaze heated with both adoration and desire — for her.
Giyu brushed his nose against hers affectionately before bringing their lips together once more, his kiss growing fervent as her hands slid up to tangle in his ebony hair. Y/N gasped into his mouth as she felt Giyu bend down, his hands gripping firmly under her thighs as he lifted her up, forcing her to lock her legs around his waist. Her lips parted, and Giyuu’s tongue slid seamlessly into her mouth.
Her lover locked one steely arm firmly around her lower back to support her as Y/N felt him lower them to the floor to lay her down, the Water Pillar’s free hand coming to brace against the back of her skull, to protect her head from thudding back against the wooden slats of the hut floor. The Miko steadied herself, prepared for the cold bite of the dirty hut floor to nip at the bare skin of her back, but she was only settled against something warm and soft; something that smelled distinctively of the Slayer panting above her.
Her fingers dropped to her side and grazed against the familiar fabric of Giyuu’s haori; his most prized and cherished possession, spread out beneath her to protect her from the cold ground, a makeshift bed against which she would let him take her and make her his.
He withdrew his lips from hers to sit back, his cerulean eyes tracing over every inch of her, from the way her dark hair spread out in a soft halo around her, to the blush staining her cheeks. His eyes darkened as they lowered to her bare chest, at the way it rose and fell jerkily as Y/N struggled to control her breathing.
Giyuu’s long, slim fingers reached out to trace along the top of her scarlet hakama pants, his finger tips just grazing along her ribs and the underside of her breasts.
“I’d never known such -,” He covered his struggle for words by pressing a sweet kiss against the hollow of her throat, a soft gasp escaping the Miko at the unfamiliar sensation. “Such beauty,” Giyuu’s lips trailed down to skirt across the ridge of her collar bone. “Not until I met you.”
His face was against her sternum, pressing kisses as he trailed his lips down her skin. “I am sorry I could not give you more time.” His voice was soft, softer than even she had ever known. Before she could respond, Giyuu’s mouth hesitantly brushed against the stiffened peak of her breast, and Y/N’s mouth fell open with a soft cry.
Azure eyes flashed up to meet hers. “Is this — is this okay?”
The Miko's eyes fluttered shut as she nodded, unable to trust that she could hold her voice steady if she spoke. Her fingers weaved their way through the Pillar’s thick, raven locks, and she grazed her nails against his scalp in encouragement.
Giyuu grunted softly at her touch, and he leaned forward to suck more of her soft mound into his hot mouth, teeth grazing lightly against her nipple as he explored her.
“Oh,” she moaned, her thighs inadvertently pressing together as Giyuu’s tongue and lips worshipped her bared flesh, licking and sucking and nipping at her in his devotion.
“Beautiful,” he murmured against the soft, sensitive skin of her breast. “So very beautiful.”
He repeated the movement again and again before he traced his mouth across her sternum and began lavishing her other breast with the same fervor. Her hands fisted in his hair as she mewled for him, enamored with the feeling of his hot mouth latched around her. He gave her more and yet it was not enough; every pass of his tongue over her stiffened peak only amplified the ache between her legs, only made the emptiness she felt more pronounced.
A breathy, whining and needy moan blew past her lips in time with a reflexive buck of her hips against his.
The ravenette pulled off her breast with a start, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed as he gazed down at her in awe. “Do that again.”
“W-what —?” She pushed herself up on her elbows to look down at him, her chest heaving.
“Tell me what to do,” Giyuu’s breath was ragged though his fingers continued trailing down her sides, seeking out the ties securing her bottoms around her waist. “Tell me how I might help you make that sound again.”
“I –” Y/N squirmed beneath the intensity of his gaze, her thighs rubbing together to stifle some of the electricity she felt between her legs. “I want you to – I need you closer.”
Her eyes drifted to the bulge that had formed between the Hashira’s thighs, and she felt her heart skip in her chest.
Giyuu pressed his groin against hers and ground. She gasped at the spark of pleasured friction the movement stoked between her thighs, and her eyes flew to meet his, only to see they were as wide as hers.
And just as hungry.
Her hand gently cupped his face. “Closer. Please.”
He pressed his cheek into her palm and with a soft groan, his fingers quickly loosened the fastenings of her bottoms and then he was pushing them down her hips and over her legs, discarding them carelessly to the side. Giyuu sat back on his knees and let his eyes roam her, now fully bare and laid out beneath him.
When his appraisal of her finally reached the thatch of curls between her thighs, the Water Pillar loosed a shaky breath. She had half a mind to cross her legs, to conceal the most intimate part of her body from the raging fire of his gaze as he studied her, but she forced herself to remain relaxed; open.
One, broad and calloused hand stretched tentatively out to run along the outside of her hip and down her leg, before smoothing back up in the inside of her thigh. His eyes flicked once to hers, and then he leaned forward and brushed delicate kisses down her abdomen, over her hip and along her thigh. He continued his descent as he slowly pushed himself back from her, and once he imparted one last, sweet press of his lips against her ankle, he rose.
The flickering light of the lantern cast shadows along the alabaster of his skin, further accentuating how the muscles of his torso and abdomen flexed and shifted as he worked to free himself of the remainder of his clothes. His eyes did not leave hers, not even as his hands found the buckle of his belt and tugged it loose, and Y/N found herself free falling into their depths.
The ravenette dropped his belt to the floor, and then his fingers were at the waistband of his trousers, pulling and fiddling with their fastening. At last, Giyuu freed his lower half from the confines of his uniform pants and stepped out from the puddle they made at his feet.
Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as her eyes raked over his beautiful form, so lean yet solid and muscular. Her cheeks burned with a renewed blush as her gaze followed the small, dark trail of hair beginning just below his navel, and down between his hips, where the evidence of his desire stood proud.
Her throat went dry. He was large — the flared head of his tip nearly grazed his navel, and his width was a little more than two of her fingers. Her thighs clamped together nervously, as she pondered how on earth she’d be able to accommodate him.
Giyuu noticed her hesitation, and a faint dusting of pink spread across his cheeks. “I have never -“
The shrine maiden shook her head. “Nor I,” she whispered, though the knowledge that this was as new to him as it was to her helped ease the clench in her stomach. For all her nervousness, the Miko could not ignore the heat and longing which burned within her as she lifted her eyes back to his. She found her muscles softening as she saw the same fire within those cyan pools she’d come to love. Y/N laid back against the floor — against the comforting soft of his haori, and let body relax, her legs falling open to him.
She held her hand out to him, beckoning, “Come back to me, Giyuu.”
The ravenette did not hesitate as he returned to her, covering her body with his own as he pulled her in for a heated kiss, the weight of his hardened length resting heavily against her hip as he settled between the cradle of her thighs.
Y/N moaned into his mouth, instinctively rolling her hips against him, desperate to feel closer to the man who had claimed her heart before she’d realized anyone was capable of holding it.
Giyuu groaned, softly, against her as she repeated the movement, breaking their kiss to look down at the flushed Miko threatening to drive him wild with her silken touch. As much as he was desperate to feel her — every part of her — he knew what they were about to do would not be nearly as pleasurable for her as it would be for him.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” the Water Pillar’s eyes were stormy, a tempest of competing desire and pain at the idea of causing her even the slightest discomfort raging within him.
Y/N brushed her lips against his once before trailing along his jaw, pausing only to suck softly as the soft spot beneath his ear. “I am only ever undone by you; never hurt.”
He moaned softly, lowering his head back down to reclaim her mouth firmly with his own, his lips beseeching her to let him consume her.
She was only too happy to do so, parting her mouth so that his tongue could slide in and dance languidly with hers, as he reached between them, gripping hold of his aching length and positioning himself at her entrance.
The first brush of his hot, velvety tip against her folds broke their kiss, both gasping at the new yet intoxicating feel of the other’s most intimate area.
Giyuu braced his free arm by her head, his fingers stretching to run comfortingly through her hair, as he pressed his forehead against hers. “If it becomes too much, just tell me, and we can stop.” His voice shook ever so slightly as he waited for her signal, the ache in his groin becoming nearly painful.
The Miko grazed her lips against his throat. “Don’t stop.” She murmured. She hitched her legs higher up on his hips, angling herself so the trembling man above her would have better access to her.
Slowly, so very slowly, the tip of Giyuu’s length began to push into her, and Y/N felt herself temporarily forget how to breathe. Above her, Giyuu’s eyes squeezed shut in a concerted effort not to sheathe himself within her in one stroke.
“Y/N,” Giyuu panted, unable to stop the shaky moan that fell from his lips as he sunk into her warm heat that wrapped tight, so impossibly tight around him.
The shrine maiden winced at the unfamiliar and slightly uncomfortable sensation of being slowly stretched and filled by the Pillar. She felt as though she was a wave, crashing and breaking and parting around a rocky shore with every inch gained by the press of his hips against hers.
Giyuu hardly had a quarter of himself seated within her when he felt his head brush against a thin barrier. His eyes opened to look down at the Miko, panting beneath him, her eyebrows pinched in slight discomfort. When she noticed he’d stopped, she peered up at him through her thick eyelashes, her cheeks flushed.
The hand Giyuu had held at his base to help guide himself within her lifted to grip her hip, her legs relaxing as his fingers massaging soothing circles into her flesh. Giyuu removed his forehead from its resting place against hers and he buried his face into the side of her neck as he pressed his body flush against hers. The hand he’d used to brace himself found hers, and he lifted to rest above her head, his fingers twining tightly with her own.
“I’m okay,” she whispered, pressing a sweet kiss against the shell of his ear. Giyuu nearly shuddered at her words, and he pressed his hips forward, his cock finally breaching that thin, inner barrier to the rest of her welcoming heat.
Y/N cried out at the bright spark of pain that flared through her as Giyuu claimed her as his own, but the Pillar held her steady, pressing open-mouthed kisses against her neck.
A hitched gasp blew past Giyuu’s lips as he became fully seated within her heat, her core gripping him like a vice. He panted against the sweat-dampened skin of her neck as they both adjusted to the sensation, her nails digging harshly into the skin of his back as she waited for the discomfort to subside.
Giyuu pulled his face back to look down at her, the hand he’d had on her hip rising to cup her face as he brushed his lips across her cheeks and eyes.
“My beloved, are you all right?” His breath came hard and fast as he panted, the growing friction between where they were connected becoming hotter, more demanding the longer he remained still.
Y/N’s eyes slowly opened to meet his, he felt her relax as he kissed her, slow and gentle.
Her lips broke from his and she nodded, shakily. “You can move — just hold me. Please.”
Giyuu let his full weight fall against her as he wound an arm tightly around her waist, his other hand tilting her face up so he could kiss her fiercely, eager to show her what she meant to him when his words otherwise failed to do so. As she opened up to him, tongue flicking out shyly along his lip, Giyuu rolled his hips experimentally against hers.
Both the shrine maiden and the Pillar cried out in unison as Giyuu’s movement stoked an intense pleasure where they were joined.
It was like a spark of flame had ignited between her legs before shooting up to her belly, making her insides clench and pulse.
It was addicting, and, judging by the way the raven haired swordsman above her hissed, he’d felt that jolt of electrifying pleasure, too.
“Oh,” Giyuu moaned as he began to move atop her, his cock sliding in and out of her heat as he worked to set a pace. “You feel – this is –” his stutters broke off into ragged pants that melted into broken moans with every movement as he found his rhythm.
The grip he had on her hand tightened as he pulled back from her neck in favor of watching her body jolt and bounce with each of his thrusts.
His head dropped down to study how his length, now coated in something shiny, appeared with every long draw of his hips out before disappearing back into her warmth.
He threw his head back. “Heaven,” the Water Pillar groaned out, a tendon throbbing in his neck as another cracked moan slipped free from his throat. “You are heaven.”
Shallow thrusts turned deeper, more purposeful, as the Water Pillar settled into his tempo. Each push of his hips opened her up more, bit by bit, until Y/N’s limbs liquified and she was left moaning and whimpering in time with his movements.
One particular thrust made her cry out, caused her legs to reflexively tighten around Giyuu’s hips as something hot flared deep within her stomach.
“M-more,” she managed, her voice tapering off with a squeak. She needed to feel that spark again, wanted to feel that jolt of electricity that made her stomach clench. “P-please — ah!— Giyuu —“
With something between a moan and a growl, Giyuu angled himself to thrust deeper, his weight pushing her hips back from the floor. Her legs were forced to hike higher up his waist, her ankles locking instead against the dip in his spine rather than his backside.
The new angle meant that Giyuu was able to hit at a spot that sent a bolt of lightening between her legs, and she could feel herself tighten around him.
The combination of her walls fluttering and pulsing around him and the strange fullness she felt was both overwhelming and exhilarating. She did not think she could stand to feel empty again; to not feel him consuming every inch of her.
Gradually, the small garden hut was filled by the sounds of their pants and moans, weaving together to form the melody of a song meant only for them.
Giyuu began thrusting harder, and soon, a dull clap of skin began to reverberate off the hut’s slatted wood walls, adding a steady beat to the rhythm of their pleasure. Though the air inside the hut had been nearly as frigid as what lay beyond its door, both the Miko and the Slayer found themselves coated in a thin sheen of sweat that made their skin glisten in the faint, orange glow of her lantern.
Above her, the Water Pillar was as lost in his pleasure as she. Guided purely by instinct, Y/N arched her lower back away from the floor until her breasts were flush against his sternum, desperate to feel that jolting spark between her legs.
She felt the walls her of her core clench tighter around Giyuu’s length with her movement, and he answered her with a deep growl as his arm cinched tighter around her waist.
Deep; he was so deep within her, that she wondered whether he might reach her soul before they had to part.
Giyuu’s thrusts quickened, the base of his groin grinding against that sensitive spot between her thighs that had her wanting more as she moaned, her thighs squeezing the Hashira’s hips.
His head was thrown back, his eyes tightly shut as the most beautiful sounds of pleasure Y/N had ever heard poured from Giyuu’s mouth.
“I — fuck.” He growled as one arm tightened around her waist to the point of pain, the other grabbing her hand to bring it to his lips in a futile attempt to stifle the sounds lilting from him like song.
His name fell from her lips like a hallowed oath and Y/N’s legs fell to the side, allowing Giyuu to chase the crescent of his release, as hips pistoned into her with wild abandon.
“Y-Y/N,” her black-haired beauty of a lover grit through clenched teeth, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. “My treasure, I-I’m gonna-“
The Water Pillar buried his face into the side of her neck, cradling his groans into her throat, and Y/N could feel his length twitch within her.
As Giyuu’s hips slammed into her one final time, so to did the realization that she loved this; she wanted always to be this close to him, wanted always to be unable to tell where she ended and he began.
She loved him.
But the bitter truth was that she’d never again get to hold Giyuu the way she was right then, legs wrapped tightly around his waist as she felt something warm gush through her, a pleasured groan, so beautiful and husky tumbling from the Hashira’s lips as he pressed a sweet kiss against her collarbone.
She would not get to love him past this most sacred rite.
If she were honest, she’d likely never again experience this intimacy with anyone, for as long as she lived — for how could anyone else ever possibly compare?
She supposed she’d been doomed to never hold onto the people who were meant to love her since the day she was born. She should’ve known better.
But as the roll of Giyuu’s hips into her heat slowed, and his labored breaths eased, Y/N could not find it within herself to regret it; to regret him.
Because, fool though she was, she loved him.
Giyuu collapsed against her, his face nuzzling into the crook of her neck as he came down from his high, still buried inside her as the two panted.
Her hands moved of their own accord to card through his raven hair, fingertips massaging his scalp as his breathing slowed, his breath adding further moisture to the already sweat-dampened skin of her neck.
She wished they could remain like that always; that the dawn creeping over the horizon would not herald forth the sun, and they could stay on the floor of the garden hut forever, wrapped in one another’s embrace. She desperately wanted to memorize the tempo of his heart as it beat steadily against his chest, the vibrations of which she felt against her ribs. Such a beautiful melody, it was, and yet it filled her with such despair to know she might never again hear its sweet song; that it might cease playing forever, the moment Giyuu resumed being the Water Pillar once more, and walked through the shrine gates for the last time.
But Y/N had never had anyone she could call her own, and as much as she loved the man nuzzling her neck as he whispered sweet nothings against her skin, he’d never been hers to keep.
“My beautiful, beautiful Y/N,” Giyuu murmured, kissing his way up her throat to her lips. “Are you alright?”
She held his lips for a moment before breaking away, letting her eyes roam his face, and she nodded. “Are you?”
To her utter surprise, the Water Pillar chuckled softly, his laugh breathy and his smile heartbreakingly beautiful. “Yes, my treasure. I am more than alright.”
He brushed a kiss against the tip of her nose. “After all, I am with you.”
———-
He’d brought her against his chest and they’d laid there together, simply staring at one another, trading soft kisses as Giyuu traced a finger over every feature of her face at least twice.
If he was to die, he knew his last thoughts would be of her, and he wanted to be sure he’d committed every last detail of her face to memory.
Soon, far too soon, the deep indigo of the night sky was broken by the first, watery rays of morning light, and both the Miko and the Slayer knew their time was up.
The lovers dressed quickly, their backs to one another as both steeled themselves for the goodbye they could no longer avoid.
And now, that time had come. Though it was Giyuu who walked to his likely doom, Y/N felt as if she was embarking on her own death march as the pair drew near the towering Shrine gate. Perhaps she was; after all, he would be taking her heart with him, and she was unlikely to get it back.
Y/N did not know whether to lean in and kiss him, one last time, or whether such a display of affection would only scratch at the gaping, open wounds they now bore on their chests, where their hearts had been.
Giyuu, apparently, did not know what to do either, so the two only stood there beneath the Torii, eyes swimming with emotions neither could bear to voice.
There was a beat, and then the two moved toward one another, drawn together like magnets as they locked themselves in a tight embrace. Giyuu’s hand cupped the back of her skull as Y/N pressed her face hard into his shoulder. Her fingers dug into the fabric of his haori, desperate to keep him rooted to her — to life, safe and away from demons.
But he couldn’t stay; she knew that. And so, with a deep inhale in a desperate attempt to memorize that mahogany and citrus scent of his she so adored, Y/N pulled away. She made to step back from him entirely, to put distance between them, but those warm fingers caught her under her chin, tilting her head up to face him before his hand slid to cup her cheek.
The emotion swimming in the azure depths of his irises threatened to chisel away at the lock she kept on her own. Tears burned in her eyes, but she would not let them fall; she would not make this harder for herself — for him — than it already was.
“If you do not hear from me, leave the mountain. Go to the city, and do not go out at night. Keep your dagger and wisteria on you at all times, even when you sleep,” Giyuu’s eyes were serious, the hand on her face holding her in place. “Live, Y/N. Grow to be an old woman. Die only from age.”
The shrine maiden closed her eyes as she willed herself not to cry. “And if you win?”
Giyuu hesitated for a moment and Y/N knew better than to ask him to make a promise he could not keep.
“Send a crow, if you can.” She whispered, feigning a small smile. “It would be nice to not be afraid to go and gather night-blooming herbs.”
The Water Pillar nodded, his hand smoothing through her hair one last time as his lips pressed against her forehead. “Thank you, Y/N.”
She didn’t need to ask what for.
She hoped she’d never forget the way he said her name; the longing and the breathless passion that dripped from every syllable, and the way it sent shivers down her spine.
Giyuu broke away from her and set off towards the east. Y/N watched until he was nothing more than a speck on the horizon, before he disappeared entirely.
He did not look back.
————————
He hadn’t trusted himself to look back at her, though every fiber of his being had screamed at him to turn around and behold her beauty one last time. But the Shrine Maiden had become his largest weakness, and Giyuu knew if he’d looked back, he would never make it back to his estate; to the Corps.
And if you win? She’d asked him, and he hadn’t been able to form the words of the answer he’d so desperately wanted to give her.
Because while Giyuu Tomioka never made promises he couldn’t keep, that did not mean he didn’t hope. Right then, more than anything, his greatest desire was to win this war; win it, and come back and tell Y/N that she no longer needed to fear the night.
In any other life — if Giyuu had been any other man — there would be no question as to who he’d choose to spend the rest of his days with.
And so, Giyuu thought as he forced himself to march forward, his eyes burning, if he made it out of this war alive, he would go back to the Shrine and tell Y/N of their victory himself.
And perhaps she’d then allow him to make her his wife.
Keep an eye out for Part II to see if Giyuu comes back and makes good on his promise!
COMMENTS, REBLOGS, AND LIKES ALWAYS APPRECIATED!
#demon slayer#kimetsu no yaiba#giyuu tomioka#kny#kny x reader#giyuu x reader#kny giyuu#kny fanfic#demon slayer fanfic#kny smut#demon slayer smut#demon slayer giyuu#kny tomioka#tomioka giyu x reader#tomioka giyū#hashira#kny hashira#giyu tomioka#giyuu
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Never Out of Sight
Synopsis: Leon finally returns home after a rough week of work, and you're there to welcome him. He's allowed to feel normal for once and ignore his responsibilities, going back into a world that did not have a use for a gun at every turn. Though, he still awaits that inevitable call that will burst his bubble of normalcy and force him to leave again.
I got inspired by @uhlunaro 's Enough series, and honestly, I got a lot of angst planned, so I decided to give Leon fluff instead! I'm also trying out a different style so I apologize if it feels different than my usual formula
Word count: 1.8k
Warnings: Kinda edited, I finished it at like 2 a.m., so apologies. Also, there's suggestive content in here if you don't like that kind of stuff
I.
The click of a lock echoed throughout the living room. Leon entered the threshold with a sigh, removing one of his boots and tossing it to the side of the front door. The other followed shortly, landing on the ground with a thud. It was still early in the morning, the apartment still a grayish color as the sun barely began to peek out. He wondered if you heard him; it would be hard not to. He was a bit careless, but with the way his muscles ached and yelled for rest, he couldn't help it.
The apartment smelled of cleaner and air freshener. You had probably just done some spring cleaning–he could easily imagine you worrying about him as you scrubbed dishes and mopped the floor of the kitchen. Guilt entered his system, and he decided pondering on that would make him feel worse.
The most obvious thing to do was shower, and immediately after climb into the bed you two shared to grab you close and hold you until you groaned at him to let go because he was stronger than he thought. His heart ached now, wanting that more than ever.
Though, his screaming muscles won. Once he laid eyes upon the couch, he fell on top of it. Leon told himself he could shower later before succumbing to his exhaustion.
–
He was home. You knew he was home because the air of your apartment was different. The smell of rust and his stale cologne greeted you once you opened your eyes, and your heart felt full. You were slightly disappointed he didn't settle next to you for his rest, but you figured he must've had an incredibly exhausting week. You wouldn't give him too much shit for it.
After contributing to your daily routine, you entered the living room to find his sleeping form. Leon was still in his work t-shirt and jeans, even forgetting to take off his socks. He had one of his arms draped across his eyes, and soft snores were escaping him. The last time he was this exhausted, he slept till 4 in the afternoon. You supposed this would be a similar case.
Nonetheless, the last thing you wanted was to wake him. He was a bit of a grumpy bear when he never got enough rest. He'd never admit it, but he hated feeling tired. Made him feel strange, as if he couldn't do anything.
You poured yourself a cup of orange juice–quietly of course–before glancing at him again. Your eyes ran over his form, watching the way his chest fell and rose.
"Welcome home, Leon." You whispered. For once, you felt at peace. He came home to you once again.
II.
The rest of your day consisted of working from home and reading. The thought of turning on the TV and waking him made you feel bad, so you decided it was time to stop procrastinating on your work and actually be productive.
You had just finished your latest outline when you heard shuffling in the living room. Your heart leaped with anticipation. You were wrong with your estimation, but you were glad he got sleep regardless.
"Sweetheart?" His voice called to you.
You couldn't contain the smile that was curving. "Coming," you replied.
The moment Leon saw you exit your office space, his eyes softened, and he instinctively pulled you into his arms, a groan of satisfaction left his lips. He needed to see you bad, and you felt it.
“Long week?” You asked, voice muffled against his shoulder.
“You have no idea.”
You didn’t, with Leon having to be secretive about certain details of his job, but you didn’t want to pry into it. You knew he was a hard worker, and that’s all you needed to know. Though you would’ve been lying to yourself if you said you enjoyed the fact he came home with bruises or broken bones. At least now, as you looked at him, observed his face, you couldn’t find any noticeable injuries.
“If you wanna talk about it, I'm here, you know."
“I’m just happy to see you, that’s enough for me.” Leon mumbled into your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Don’t wanna talk about it anyway.”
“If you insist,” you said to him, a hint of teasing in your tone. You slipped from his arms–a noise of protest coming from Leon in the process–to open the fridge. “Are you hungry?”
“I practically slept half the day, so, yeah,”
“Well,” you said, scanning the contents of the shelves. “We have two options: Takeout or–Leon,” you grumbled, watching as his arm came into view. He grabbed the milk carton, but he didn’t have it long since you swiped it from him.
“What?” He looked slightly startled.
“I know what you’re gonna do,” you pointed an accusing finger. “you’re gonna drink it straight from the carton–what are you, a heathen?”
“How did you know that's what I was going to do?” He pouted a little, and you had to fight the urge to kiss him. You were supposed to be irritated at him. You couldn’t let his stupid, handsome face win this time. "I could've been on my way to grab a cup."
You sighed. “You’re not very sneaky. You left the cap sitting on the counter last time."
“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.” He tried to nab it from you, but you were quicker than him. You knew his tricks.
“You have germs, Mr. Kennedy, don’t contaminate the milk.” You smiled at him.
“I have germs, huh?” There was a glint of mischief in his eye, and it made your stomach flip. You knew what that look meant. Leon stepped a foot closer to you, and you suddenly felt nervous.
“Leon,” you warned, unable to contain yourself from letting out a small laugh. “Don’t you dare–”
He was fast, too, proving so by catching you by your waist when you attempted to flee. You squealed. His warm breath tickled against your cheek as he let out a chuckle, clearly amused with himself. When he started to place kisses all across your face, you jabbed him in the abdomen. It didn't phase him.
"Hey, that could have hurt, you know," he said, cupping your face to plant an actual kiss to your lips. "I could've been bruised there."
You grinned at his taunting tone. "You would've said something." God, you loved him. More than anything.
He kissed you again, bringing you closer before picking you up bridal style. You let out a squeak at suddenly being off the ground. "Hey!"
He gently plopped you on the couch, hovering over you, love now clear in his azul eyes. Your heart melted. "God, I missed you." He admitted. "Promise me you won't ever change, sweetheart."
"Not even with a gun pointed to my head," you told him.
He kissed you again, harder. You swore he knew exactly what to do to everytime to bring you to your knees, to make your legs feel as if they were made of jelly.
Welcome home, Leon.
—
III.
You forced him to shower after your excursion. At first, he grumbled, mentioning his aching muscles, and getting up was not in his itinerary.
"If your muscles were aching," you commented, "You certainly didn't show it earlier."
"Well, that was different."
"Leon, you should shower, you stink."
"You certainly didn't say anything earlier." Leon used your own words against you. You felt him smirk, and you lightly smacked him. He was currently laying his head on your chest, your fingers fiddling with his hair–he loved when you did that.
Eventually, he did remove himself from you begrudgingly. It gave you a view of his body; the scars on his legs, arms, back. It painted a picture of what he went through, of what he had done, had sacrificed. It hurt to look at him sometimes because it reminded you that there were some scars you couldn't help him with.
III.5
That night, you swore he held onto you just a little bit tighter. Perhaps hoping you wouldn't be awake to notice.
Something happened during the last week of work, but he was trying so hard not to show it.
IV.
A few days of serenity passed. Leon had offered to actually try cooking for once, but you didn't let him. The last time he tried it was on your one year anniversary and he wanted to make pancakes. The ending result being black, hardened pieces of charcoal. You remembered the smell lasting for a week, and he apologized for causing trouble.
You had done the cooking, much to his dismay.
("I wanted to at least do something while I can. I don't know when they'll call me in."
"Well, if you're so inclined, you could always do the dishes afterwards, Lee."
"I meant something for you."
"That would be doing something for me!")
You had been working in your office, Leon catching up on the news, as you heard a phone ring from across the hall. Your heart dropped, knowing it was his work phone.
You tried to ignore his voice answering it with business, grasping onto the last bit of time you'd hear it echo throughout the apartment.
He leaned against the doorway moments later. He sighed, an apologetic look on his face. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, they uh–they need me back."
You shrugged. "It's okay. I already figured anyway."
"It's really not okay, but duty calls." He had the same look of dread in his eyes whenever he was called back into work. You had told him maybe it was best to leave, to possibly find something that would be better than what he had. He only shook his head, not elaborating why. "I'll try to come back as soon as I can."
You wanted to put on a brave face, to simply smile at him and tell him to go ahead without any worries in your heart. You couldn't.
You got up from your seat and wrapped your arms around him. He returned the gesture greatly, once again kissing your temple as he buried his nose into your hair. "Just come back in one piece, yeah?" You said, voice cracking to your displeasure.
"I'll always come back to you." He affirmed, tilting your chin up. "I'd fight through hell if I had to."
"Don't forget I love you."
"How could I?"
–
You watched as he grabbed the boots he had flopped on the floor, grabbed his keys, and grabbed that stupid phone that filled him with dread. And you watched him as he kissed you a gentle goodbye.
As he was about to leave, you called him. "Leon,"
He turned to you without a second thought.
"I love you."
His face melted from serious to bittersweet. "I love you, too. More than you know."
He left soon after, taking your heart with him.
The house felt empty again.
--
@amatxs , @boundinparchment , @inaflashimagine , @izuniias , @airanke , @itoshisoup , @fugufishie , @spookluckpuck
#resident evil x reader#resident evil 4#resident evil imagines#resident evil#leon kennedy resident evil#leon kennedy imagines#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy#leon x reader#re4#re imagines#re leon#my writing#fluff#domestic fluff#angst
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꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ 𝒞𝐿𝒪𝒰𝒟 𝟫
info ⭑ nagi seishiro x reader. 1.4k wc. sfw ﾉ fluff
nagi doesn’t think his apartment has been this clean since he first moved into it.
to be fair, it hasn’t ever been really messy—not by his standards, at least. just cluttered. the only person who ever visits consistently is reo and despite his thinly veiled complaints about the lack of tidiness, nagi feels no need to impress him. you, however, are a different story.
he thinks it might be a little bit rude and even more embarrassing if his home is in any sort of disarray the first time you get to see it. that’s why he set his alarm early and spent his entire morning cleaning; organized all the pairs of shoes he carelessly kicks off at the entryway, washed the dishes he had neglected last night, and folded and hung up all the clothes tossed on the unused lounge chair in the corner of his bedroom.
nagi’s lighting a candle when he hears your knocks and muffled sing-songy voice announcing your arrival. once he’s sure the wick is burning, he tosses the lighter onto the coffee table before scrambling towards the door. in his rush to let you in, nagi misses the little step that separates the small foyer from the rest of the apartment. his hands stick out to catch himself in just barely enough time and he curses under his breath at the blunder. after righting himself, he pulls open the door, revealing your figure on the other side.
you’re smiling, but it looks like you’re holding back a laugh.
“everything okay?” you ask as you survey him from head to toe. you could have sworn you heard something—or someone—hit the door only a second ago.
nagi nods, his snowy white bangs bouncing up and down with the gesture. he’s sure you can piece together what happened without his input and he’s not too keen on admitting that he tripped on the way here. instead, he turns his body to create some space for you, jerking his head in the direction of his living room. “come in.”
“you can put those on.” nagi points to a pair of new slippers that he bought just for you. he figures you should have your own since you’ll be around more often. well, he thinks you will—people who are dating hang out at each other’s houses, right?
you do as he says, trading your sneakers for the house shoes (that fit perfectly) while glancing around his apartment. it’s neat, neater than you expected. the scent of dish soap and lemon cleaner tips you off that he had cleaned before you arrived and his effort brings a smile to your face.
“so,” he twirls the fine hair at the nape of his neck around his finger, “i have mario kart if you want to play. and we can get takeout if you’re hungry.”
“sounds good,” you assure him, following the man to his living room. other than the pop of green from his cactus situated on the table beneath his television, everything from his furniture to the lack of décor is neutrally colored. that much doesn’t surprise you but you’re curious to see if his bedroom has more character.
in your search for his room, your eyes catch sight of a narrow staircase leading up to a lofted area. “is your bed up there?” you point at the landing.
pulling his gaze away from the handheld console in his hold, nagi’s dark eyes follow the path of your finger and he hums in confirmation. “you can check it out.”
you take him up on his offer and make your way up the steps. the space you find at the top is just as simple as that of his first floor but twice as cozy. there’s a hammock chair in the corner that slightly swings with the air of your arrival and at least three throw blankets in varying shades of gray strewn across his mattress. your foot gently taps the soccer ball resting on the light hardwood floor, sending it rolling toward the wall, as you approach his bed.
shedding yourself of your slippers, you flop onto the mattress with a soft thud. your body sinks into the cushion as though it’s a marshmallow—it certainly feels as soft and pillowy as one. you’re two seconds away from calling down to nagi to comment on how comfortable his bed is when you turn on your side to face the table settled beside said bed. the surface you’re met with is littered with taped-on photo strips dating back to when the two of you first started hanging out.
the series of pictures are arranged chronologically like he’s been adding them as they’ve been taken. and you can see that, with time, he grew more comfortable with the camera—with you. poses that were once awkward peace signs turned to tight-lipped smiles and eventually he even went as far as crouching down so you could hold your fingers above his head like cat ears.
in his bed, swathed by his familiar scent, nagi’s little gesture leaves your heart floating and fluttering in your chest. you have your own identical set of these photos at home pinned to the bulletin board that hangs above your desk, you look at them every day—yet there’s something different about seeing them stuck to the spot that nagi stares at before he closes his eyes to go to sleep.
“hey, the game is—” nagi cuts his sentence short upon seeing that you’ve found the souvenirs from your visits to photo booths across town. he wasn’t even thinking about them when he told you to help yourself to explore his room. your silence blankets him with a strange sense of unease. nagi knows the two of you haven’t been dating for very long but he hopes the display doesn’t make you uncomfortable.
at his voice, you sit up on your knees to meet nagi’s eye. his finger is nervously twirling at his hair again and the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks are flushed a rosy pink. despite his height, you’ve never seen him look smaller.
you figure he’s embarrassed about you stumbling across the pictures. the both of you are still settling into your new relationship status, clumsily fumbling with couple-like behavior and romantic actions. although, he has nothing to worry about. it’s cute—his growing collection of memories.
you jerk your thumb over your shoulder, gesturing to the prints with a small smile. “mine are hanging in my room, too.”
the tension in his shoulders practically melts away with your words and his feet no longer feel anchored to the floor. nagi joins you on his bed, the mattress dipping underneath his added weight. he leaves a safe amount of space between himself and you but he’s considerably more relaxed than he was a moment ago.
“look,” you start, pulling your phone out of your pocket. nagi’s newfound proximity and his exhibit of your shared photo excite you and make you want to share one of the many ways you are beginning to fall into the designated role of significant other. you tap the glass surface of the device which lights up with your action, revealing an image of the two of you that reo took. your arms are wrapped around his waist and one of his hands sits atop your head. neither of you is looking at the camera, your gazes are focused on each other instead. with a smile, you turn your phone to him, “we’re even on my lock screen.”
nagi silently stares at the captured moment displayed on your screen. the day wasn’t long ago and the memory of it is still fresh in his mind. it was the first time you referred to him as your boyfriend in the company of someone close to him. just looking at the photo makes his heart skip a beat like it did when he heard the foreign-sounding word spill from your lips. only when the screen returns to its sleeping state does he look up to you.
he’s never had a way with pretty words and even now he’s struggling to voice his feelings, so instead of saying something sweet and saccharine fitting for the occasion, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “wow, you’re mushy.”
“shut up,” you tell him through an unconcealed laugh. your thumb and index finger come together to flick the center of his forehead. the fluff of his hair lessens the impact but he still rubs the spot instinctively as a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. you smile back at him before smoothing your hand over his head. “let’s go play.”
hihi~ sua here :3 ! thank you for giving this a read! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! much love from me to you ❤︎
#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: blue lock#nagi x reader#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader#nagi x you#bllk x you#blue lock x you#nagi drabble#bllk drabbles#blue lock drabbles#nagi fluff#bllk fluff#blue lock fluff
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An Irritation p. 2
pairing: Otto Hightower/Targaryen Reader (twin to Daemon)
tags: explicit sexual content, hate fucking, mentions of incest, otto hightower talking about sin
She had not thought to do it again.
But then, Daemon had been expelled from his short term as Master of Laws and had been in an especially instigative mood since then. He'd dragged her from her bath, complaining all the while, demanding they fly together.
When she refused, as it was Winter and a storm was pouring rain over Kings Landing outside, he prodded her, viciously trying to get her to rise up to his fire. But Daemon was poor company when in such a mood, so his pushing only served to make her furious. She'd bit out some response and dressed in a mere robe before leaving through one of Maegor's tunnels, her brother glaring after her as she left.
She ended up at the Tower of the Hand soon enough.
But to her utter disappointment, Otto Hightower was nowhere to be found in his chambers.
But never one to suffer disappointment for long, the Princess began to help herself. He had not been here to stop her after all, and what did it matter if she wished to ruffle around in his things? He was their servant after all, it should have pleased him that his possessions could entertain her for a time, she mused as she explored the chest of drawers against the wall, the nightstand that held a pair of gloves and the desk with his papers. She even exchanged her robe for a pair of his trousers, loose and far too long for her much shorter legs, but an interesting sight nonetheless. She wished she could have found his pin, but the blasted man seemed to never take it off.
She had begun humming when she went through the rest of his clothes, the stale mass of dark grey, black and emerald green uninspiring until she found a pair of thick, woven ties inside.
They were clearly meant for holding, perhaps to fasten against his belt or some other mundane purpose, but she as a dragonrider thought them to be rather similar to reins .
And so the Princess took them, laying herself back on the Hand's neat belt, hoping dearly she would not need to wait long.
She counted near a half hour before her ears caught the sound of doors opening beyond the bedroom.
Pleased, her pale hand rose up and pushed her half-dry, ivory curls up in an artful array and arranged herself into a more comfortable position on her stomach, though the mix of his trousers, her long hair and the dark green ties that were idly wrapped around her wrists like bracelets was an odd one, but she liked the way it felt.
Minutes were all it took then for the door to creak open - it halted of course, halfway upon opening. The Princess ignored it, instead twirling the fabric about as her heart thudded in her chest, curious to see if Otto would play.
More heartbeats followed, but words were not uttered.
She could only hear his footsteps, stepping over the floor and to the rug beneath his large bed.
"I did not think I would receive a visit from you, Princess. I did not receive a missive nor warning of it." Otto finally said, not as negative as he could have been. For the past week, the Lord Hand had been thoroughly avoiding her, which was an interesting development, especially with Daemon's horrible attitude of late. Normally the old man would've started lashing criticisms of her and Daemon both, no matter which twin had earned his ire, always lumping the two together. But even with her brother wrecking havoc, she hadn't heard Viserys grousing once about hearing of her from his Hand.
So the dragon turned onto her back, her pale hair covering her breasts but hardly as a fine act of modesty, what with the curve of her small breasts and her soft pink nipples being well on display.
The movement caused the Hand's breath to hitch, just slightly, which made her lips turn up into a pleased grin. That would surely bother Otto, who's immediate twitch of his brow told her that his action had been an accidental one. "I thought you were a servant of my House, Otto - I did not think a servant required prior warning before I had need of him." She replied, lifting herself up onto her arms, peering up at him expectantly.
"Of course. Yet it would only be polite. Then, I should have expected that to be something that was beyond your worries, Princess." He said then, drifting closer now and placing his hands on the sturdy wooden footboard of his bed. He always kept such neat hands, she noticed blithely. Clean hands with clean fingers and clean fingernails. Only days ago, those fingers had been rubbing at her cunt til she came. Daemon would have taken this man apart piece by piece, slowly feeding each limb to Caraxes if he ever found out.
"Mmm. The worries of a Princess are more important than such things." She agreed. She squirmed slightly then, rubbing her thighs together. The texture of the trousers that she was wearing was rubbing against her, heat looming within her at the motion.
This action caught the Hand's attention instantly. "It seems though, you've been here for sometime." He said darkly, finally approaching her properly, now looking down at her as if he could frighten her.
"I have."
Finally, Otto reached for her, looking rather frustrated but also aroused in her opinion, especially as his hand smoothed over her pale stomach. His fingers pushed her loose hair out of the way of his path as his touch traversed her torso, moving carefully along her delicate ribcage and then up the curve of her pale breast, the warmth of his hand pleasant, especially as his thumb moved over her nipple. The Princess moved slightly, pressing herself up against this touch, encouraging him to stroke and pet her. Cannibal liked the same.
"You've been going through my possessions." He stated, disgruntled and yet still touching her. He was still roaming over her flesh, but now his hand was touching the trousers she'd stolen, perhaps noting after ducking them down an inch, that she wore nothing beneath them.
"I was bored."
This, he didn't like, because then his fingers began digging into her, his nails raking over her until she gasped and red marks raised up through her soft skin. She was soaking through his trousers, she knew, and was tempted to grab at his wrist and escort it down between her legs - but she was fascinated where he was going with this. How odd it was to think him an interesting lover.
"To think, a woman of your privileges, to be blessed by the Gods to rule - and yet to be damned by such sin." Otto finally said, an edge to him that made her ache. So this is how he wanted to play? Very well, she thought, ecstatic.
"Oh yes, I forgot how pious you are, Otto. It must have slipped my mind the last time you were wetting your cock with my whorish little cunt." The Princess almost purred back.
That flash of pissed off and starving came over his face, and then he climbed over her in the bed. His hand gruffly moved underneath her hair, grasping at her nape with force as he kissed her. She kissed him back hungrily, her hands reaching for him and yanking at his clothes, fantasizing for a moment about putting on his doublet with the gilded hand of the King pin, perhaps with him putting his mouth to good use at her cunt while she wore it.
But Otto had another thought, it seemed.
Because her hands, having been making work of the ties on his doublet, were suddenly seized with an iron grip and roughly pinned above her head. And those ties, which she had been wearing as bracelets, were now her reins - as they were now being tied against the headboard with such swift action that by the time she thought to struggle and wriggle and fight, it was already done.
She shouted her frustration, wriggling against the ties, but to no avail.
"So much fire and yet two little straps can keep you bound so tightly..." The Hand said, looking down at how she struggled.
If it wasn't for the fact that he was still touching her, his fingers rubbing over her sides and then up to her breasts, massaging at them near worshipfully, she might have made a stronger effort of it. She could escape, if she so wished.
Otto lowered his head then, kissing at her rib cage slowly. "If you were not born a Targaryen, a girl with your appetites would have been punished by the Seven already." He said, his wiry beard tickling her as he mouthed along her sternum and then up the curve of her breast. His mouth was warm, but the tantalizing thought that he was visiting her body as he might a Sept while also murmuring of punishment could dazzle her mind. "A girl with such a mind - " The Hand continued, kissing one pink nipple while his hand plucked at the other. " - one no better than a slut... If you were named anything else, even just a bastard perhaps, you would have been stripped down and paraded through the streets to atone for the whorish desires within you."
Hot arousal bloomed in her, needy and aching at his words. House Hightower had always been tied to the Faith, but she'd never believed religion to be anything more than lies told to shame children to behave. Now, devilishly, she wondered if she should have learned more of it - if just so she could combat old Otto more properly.
"And what does that make you, Otto? Touching your slut Princess like this, as I'm sure your dirty old Septons fantasize about too. Some faithful man you are... I wonder, what would your wife think if she could look upon you now, hm?" She mused back, glad to not be so breathless when his fingers began roughly unlacing her from her trousers. The laces rubbed against her flesh so quickly as he pulled them away, as he'd done so with such harshness that they left tiny rope burns on her stomach. The trousers were ripped away just as quickly, and her legs were pushed up, bending them against her chest.
The look on his face was dark and outraged, just as he usually looked whenever her or Daemon's lips ever quirked a smile or pushed the Hand to his limit.
This she was fine with, pleased to see some fire, but instead of receiving a cock, she got a rough hit. Otto's hand spanded over the softest part of her arse, just where her thigh met it, and even over her cunt. The smack stung unbelievably, and the sensation actually made her yelp in pain.
But that didn't stop the Hand's hand, who smacked her again. And again. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.
Seven times, she realized once her arse was burning hot and stinging painfully. He'd hit her once for each of his stupid gods. Her core was weeping, the contact from his smacks not enough to satisfy, just to torture her. Perhaps he hadn't meant these to arouse her, but the evidence was surely hard to ignore.
"You really are no better than a common whore, aren't you, Princess? Look at you - " Otto opened her cunt lips with his thumb, a wet sound joining it. "Pink, pulsing and soaking wet after I've just struck you. I should bring you to the King and have him look upon you. You would bring shame to him, no matter white hair graces your head or dragon you straddle between your legs that make you believe you are outside of the will of the Gods."
"Oh is that what you desire, Lord Hand? If you wished for an early - well, earlier, death, I could introduce you to my Cannibal. It would be my pleasure." She assured, feeling indeed to her pleasure when the older man took his time stroking her.
The petting she liked, but when he did not add to her neddling, she immediately began to push at him, needing so badly to be ridden.
"Gūrogon aōha jēda sir, Otto? Tolī uēpa naejot qogralbar nyke rhinka?" Taking your time today, Otto? Too old now to fuck me roughly? She murmured coyly, knowing just how to annoy him with her tone and use of High Valyrian, which had never failed her before.
His thumb pressed punishingly upon her clit then, making her hiss and raise her legs up high as if that would make him relent.
"You will cease to speak your foreign language at once if you expect a response." Otto commanded, his voice strict and heady even as his free hand snatched at her leg, placing it high over his shoulder while he forced his fingers inside of her - they slipped inside of her easily, wetly, before beginning to thrust them within her, his speed not enough - she needed him angrier.
"Kostilus istia gūrēñagon ziry pār, ser." Perhaps you should learn it then, ser. She replied, mirth in her voice. And that was enough, she saw, with just a sharp twitch of the Hand's brow.
Her cunt received another sharp smack of his hand, the strike over her clit now, making her yelp. A second came over her wet lips. And then, with no warning, Otto took her by her hips and flipped her onto her belly. His body followed, straddling the back of her thighs as he forced his lips along her back, moving her pale hair out of the way so he might kiss along her neck, even grazing his teeth over her shoulders and then down her spine while his hands roamed her lithe body with a worshipping touch. He was so unlike Daemon or her other past lovers - the dragon princess never quite knew what he would do next, especially as she was under his mercy. What did a would-be jumped-cut second born son want to do with his Princess? He had yet to suckle at her as he did their influence, this she was disappointed she had yet to experience to it's heights. But then, Otto grasped at her rear, spreading her arse so he might run his knuckle along her cunt and even her arsehole. Every part of her came alive as he did, awareness and thrill raising her blood with excitement.
A knock came.
To any other, this would have been the moment they stopped - almost getting caught the tipping of the glass that would have shattered the moment.
But not to a dragon.
She was Cannibal in a woman's form - and above all, she hungered. Wantonly, selfishly.
"If you do not fuck me right now, Otto Hightower, I will scream for all to hear." She threatened, turning her head to witness his face.
He did not disappoint. Fury crackled through the air, and he very nearly looked to scowl before reaching for the front of his breeches and taking out his cock. "What is it?" He called out coldly to whomever dared to interrupt.
The head of his manhood slipped inside of her, lingering for only a moment before being removed - and then roughly thrust back within her until he was fully sheathed in her, almost making her yelp if not for his hand slapping over her mouth to keep her quiet.
"The Small Council has been called, my Lord Hand, and are awaiting your arrival." A servant replied from behind the door.
Otto slammed his hips against her, his cockhead hitting that place within her cunt that she knew with enough attention would make her peak if he fucked her hard enough. She thrust backwards against him, needing more, but his fingers had dug into her soft hips tightly, forcing her still while he controlled the pace.
"What topic has the meeting been called for?" He questioned gruffly. The Hand pulled out of her again, lingering with just the head rubbing through her folds, before thrusting within her again.
"I believe it is - Prince Daemon, my Lord." Pain came through her hips then - Otto's fingernails had dug so hard into her flesh that he'd surely drawn up her blood. "He has landed the Blood Wyrm over a tavern in Fleabottom - with the storm this eve, there was much damage to the area, including the death of a local tavern owner."
There was no more teasing to be had now.
Her brother's Hand had finally begun doing as she wanted most - he'd roughly slammed his cock inside her, as deep as it could go, nearly taking her breath away at the force.
"I - will be along - shortly." He growled, punctuating each word with a thrust, not even waiting to hear a response for the poor fellow who had given along the message before beginning to fuck her with true earnest.
If she had a mind to, she might've wondered if he would not worry of throwing his back out with this action - but there were no thoughts to be had, let alone a mind left to her as she lowered herself onto her elbows as Otto rammed himself inside her, fury ruling his body as well as his lust as he fucked her. There was a loud, wet noise echoing throughout the room, with their shared grunts and her muffled whimpers joining it. Over and over again, he drove into her body, until she felt him bruising her hips and his cock repeatedly hit upon her cervix.
His hand suddenly removed itself from her mouth. It reached for her ties and undid them deftly before grasping at her throat. Her body was pulled up until she was pressed solidly against his chest, his cock still deep within her even as his lips brushed along her ear.
"Did you come here as a distraction then, Princess?" Otto inquired dangerously, the rumble of his voice making her shiver with delight. "So your brother might do as he wish through the city?"
She moaned softly, especially as his fingers wracked up her side, the pain whirling with the pleasure. She wanted to finish so badly, she could feel his cock throb within her - the talk of Daemon though had made him violent.
"Daemon does as he pleases whether or not if his twin sister knows or cares." The Princess replied restlessly. She rolled her hips back against him, but his grip was like iron.
"Does he?" He countered, accusation in his voice.
She shoved herself against his back, enough to free herself. Otto was still in a fury over Daemon's recklessness, and once her feet hit the floor, her hair was captured - and then her lips.
The kiss was fierce and mean, teeth clashing and his tongue demanding the submissiveness of hers, which he would never receive. She kissed him back hotly, gasping when he pulled her back onto the bed, her scalp stinging as he threw her onto her back.
When he finally did leave her, he did so with his cock still wet, and the dragon wondered idly if her brothers would be able to smell it on him.
#otto hightower x reader#otto hightower smut#otto hightower fanfiction#otto hightower#a song of ice and fire#asoiaf#game of thrones#smut#fanfiction#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fanfiction
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could make an imagine where reader fem is a goddess or an immortal being who is caught and imprisoned along with morpheus and after a century spent in that bubble with the infinite being and keeping each other company, she created affection for the same however free now she she doesn't know if dream wants her by his side, since now he has responsibility and a kingdom to rebuild, and she has a lost century to chase.🤗🤗
A/N: Okay, I love this idea...hope you do too! 💜
My Hope
Pairing: Morpheus x immortal!reader
Summary: Reader is an immortal who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time and was captured alongside Morpheus when Roderick Burgess cast his spell to imprison death. The two form a bond during their century of captivity, but what happens after they're free?
Warnings: Angst (obvi), and definitely a fluffy ending. Discussions of captivity and Jessamy's death.
You were walking down a dark road at night, completely alone, with not a single concern for your safety. You often took walks late at night to ease your mind and help you sleep. You had lived far longer than any of your human companions could ever dream, but such a life took its toll on you. The loneliness had begun to creep in after a lifetime of losing everyone you had ever loved, again and again, with no end in sight.
You were nothing special, not a goddess or a powerful being of any kind. You were once mortal, but you had been granted a gift long ago by a woman you had befriended, the only woman who had managed to live as long as you. You had known her as Teleute, though others would call her Death.
You had been sick, dying, and Teleute had come to you in the moments preceding what should have been your death. She was your friend and you knew her well, but in that moment, you saw her for what she was. Unlike many of the people she had guided in her Endless life, you were not afraid, not of her, nor of the Sunless Lands. Although it was her duty, Teleute could not bring herself to watch your life come to a close. Instead, she gifted you immortality, the chance to live endless lives, the opportunity to spread your warmth and compassion to countless others in the coming centuries.
It was a gift you did not waste, nor did you wish to return it, but it had become a heavy burden at times like these. Moments when you laid to rest someone you had loved, whether it be friend or lover, it hurt all the same.
This particular evening, you wandered the dark streets, plagued by memories of those you had lost, sleep a distant dream. Just up ahead, you heard voices, one sounded frightened, but it was the other that caught your attention. The voice was impossibly deep, and it carried with it an authority you felt deep in your bones. The voice reminded you of black velvet, thick and luxuriously laid across your skin, warming you from the outside in.
As you neared the source of the voices, you suddenly felt a strange pull, and the world around you disappeared. You landed with a painful thud on a cold concrete floor, in a place you did not recognize. When your eyes fluttered open, you saw several people standing around you, and a cloaked figure lying on the floor beside you. You watched in horror as they removed each item of clothing from the figure, including a helmet of sorts, a leather pouch, and what appeared to be a ruby necklace. When all was stripped away, the figure of a man laid bare before you.
Though you did not know him, anger rippled through you at the cruel and careless treatment shown to him. "Who are you?" you angrily demanded of the man you deemed to be in charge.
"I am Roderick Burgess, the Magus, and I have captured Death."
You let out a hoarse laugh. "I do not know who this man is, but I can assure you he is not Death, nor, for the record, am I."
The man, Burgess, did not look convinced. "My spell brought you both to me, so if you are not Death, then who are you?"
You shrugged. "No one of consequence, at least not to you. So it seems your spells may need a bit of work."
He leaned in closer to you, careful to avoid the circle that surrounded you, a circle, you quickly realized, that was a boundary spell. "Perhaps some time alone in the darkness will soften you a bit. I have demands that one or both you must meet if you wish to see the light of day again." He paused, then gestured towards his acolytes. "But first, you will be stripped of your belongings, much like your friend."
To your horror, several men grabbed at your clothing and quickly rid you of it, down to nothing but your slip. You shivered in the cold, most of your skin bare for everyone to see, feeling the flames of rage settle into your bones. "You will pay for this disgrace, Roderick Burgess, of that, I promise you."
He did not seem bothered by your words, instead letting out a barked laugh as he walked away, his acolytes trailing behind him.
Your anger dissipated slightly when the spectators had left, turning instead to concern for the being laying next to you. You had nothing to cover him with, though you desperately wished for even a scrap of cloth you could share with him. He had to be cold, lying bare against in the concrete floor. "Are you alright?" you asked softly.
The man did not respond, but you could see the rise and fall of his chest, assuring you he was alive. "My name is (Y/N)," you said gently, just in case he could hear you. "I do not know why we are here, nor where exactly here is, but I will not leave you. I offer you what protection I can and I offer the promise of my companionship for as long as we are bound to this place."
While the man did not respond, you had a distinct feeling he could hear every word you said. His tense form seemed to relax slightly as you spoke, the obvious pain in his muscles seeming to fade away little by little.
Hours passed, how many, you did not know, but the man beside you never stirred, never woke. What you were unaware of was what was happening just above your heads, in the office of Roderick Burgess...
**********
"He is Dream of the Endless," The Corinthian said.
"And what of the woman?" Burgess asked.
Corinthian looked confused. "What woman?"
"I captured a woman with him. She will not tell me who she is."
"Was she wearing an ankh necklace?"
"No."
"Hmm...then I am unsure of who she is. My apologies. But I would recommend placing her in the same cell as Dream, to be safe."
"Cell?"
Corinthian sighed. He was surprised that a man as dense as Burgess had managed to capture an Endless, but pleased nonetheless. "Yes, a cell. An orb of sorts. Do exactly as I say and he will never escape."
**********
Down in the dungeon, you watched as men built a giant glass sphere, a sphere you assumed was intended for you and your companion, a companion who still had not woken. Much to your dismay, and perhaps your annoyance, you were correct in your assumption.
Your companion was unceremoniously tossed into this sphere upon its completion and though you fought with all your strength, you were tossed in along with him. You sat at the edge of the sphere, legs pulled up to your chest, desperately attempting to cover as much of yourself as you could with the tiny slip dress you wore. Your companion was curled up in the other corner, pain evident in his features, and you felt the rage build up in you again.
"You're a monster," you said to Burgess as he entered the room.
He laughed. "Perhaps, but if you give me what I want, I will free you."
"It does not matter what you wish for, I cannot give it."
"The you had better hope your friend can, or you will die in this glass cage, here in my dungeon."
You did not speak, choosing instead to level a steely glare at the man who had imprisoned you. Something in your gaze clearly frightened him, and he quickly left the dungeon, but not before ordering two of his men to stay behind and watch you.
You chose to ignore the men who stared at you, clearly trying to get a sneak peak at your body beneath the thin slip you wore. You instead turned your attention to the man beside you, whispering words of encouragement in his direction. You were worried about him, fearing the worst, but his chest still rose and fell rhythmically, at least for the moment.
**********
You were unsure how much time had passed when the man beside you finally stirred. You felt his presence more strongly than you had before, as if his soul had just now returned to his body. He was slow to move, as if each movement caused him pain, and your heart ached for him.
"Are you alright?" you asked gently, voice a soft murmur.
His gaze turned to you and you inhaled sharply. His eyes were deep pools of blue, but there was a distinct ethereal quality about them that took your breath away. You might have been nothing special, but there was certainly something special about the being beside you.
He did not speak, at least not audibly, but you heard a gentle voice inside your head, a voice you instantly recognized. "I am weak, but alive, thanks to your kindness."
It was the voice you had heard the night you were captured, the one that you felt inexplicably drawn to. "My name is (Y/N)," you whispered.
"I am Dream of the Endless," his voice replied in your head.
Hearing his name brought back memories, memories of your dear friend. "I know your sister, Teleute."
Surprise lit up his features and he eyed you closely. His voice was hesitant as he spoke in your mind, "You know of Death?"
You nodded. "She has been my friend for centuries. I live only because she allowed it."
Realization crossed his face, remembering his sister describing the woman she had gifted immortality to. He had never met her, but he felt as though he knew her simply through Death's stories. He did not know how to relay that information to you without verbal words in his current state. He was barely strong enough to speak short sentences within your mind.
As if you understood what he was thinking, you placed a gentle hand against his and whispered, "Rest now, we can speak later."
He appreciated your kindness, but also the warmth of your hand against his. He nodded and leaned back against the cold glass, eyes closing again.
You felt instinctively protective of Dream, in part because of your connection with Death, but also because much like Death had spoken to Dream of you, she had also told you about him. He was every bit as she had described him, though smaller and more fragile than you had expected. You realized it was likely because everything had been taken from him, things he relied upon for strength and power. You knew there was not much you could do for him in the way of protection, but you silently vowed that you would do everything in your power to ensure you both got out of this alive.
**********
The years passed by, Dream never speaking a word aloud, Burgess never backing down from his demands, and you refusing to give Burgess the satisfaction of your emotional reactions. You were as silent as the Endless beside you, but when Burgess left, you would speak softly to the dream lord, and he would reply in your head.
As time passed, he grew strong enough to speak long, slow sentences in your mind, telling you of his home, The Dreaming, and of the dream folk who resided there. He spoke of Lucienne, his librarian, and of Jessamy, his beloved Raven.
There were moments, when he spoke, that is eyes seemed to glow with starlight. It was a beautiful sight, but it never lasted more than a moment, the realization of his predicament always dampening any glimmer of hope he held in his soul.
Unbeknownst to you, he had found hope in you. You were like a light in the darkness, keeping him from falling into complete despair. Your soft words and your gentle reassurances were enough to keep him going despite the hell you both remained in.
One morning, much to your surprise, and to his, you heard the sound of wings flapping outside the sphere. When you looked up, you saw a beautiful raven with a patch of white on her chest and you knew instantly this was Jessamy, Dream's beloved raven companion.
Dream's face lit up for the first time in years. You saw the hope in his eyes and the pure delight at seeing his friend. Jessamy frantically pecked against the glass, desperately trying to break it and set her master free.
As the glass began to crack, you heard a loud gunshot ring out and the beautiful bird fell to the floor, bloody and broken.
You felt Dream's pain and your heart broke for him, and for his sweet raven. When your eyes fell on the man--no, boy--who had committed this heinous act, you felt a venomous rage build up within you.
As the boy's father yelled at him and demanded he clean up the mess he'd made, you sat silent beside the dream lord, like two statues refusing to show emotion.
When the boy and his father left, leaving the two of you alone with your guards, you turned to Dream, expression soft and sad. "Dream?" you asked gently.
He turned to look at you, eyes haunted and filled with unshed tears.
You did not ask for his permission, you simply wrapped him in a hug and held him close. He would not cry, you knew, but you would not let him mourn alone.
After several minutes, the dream lord laid down beside you and placed his head in your lap. Your fingers ran through his soft hair, soothing him as he closed his eyes and tried to rid himself of the painful image forever burned in his mind.
**********
It had been 50 years since the two of you had been imprisoned when things began to change between you both. Your companionship had long-since turned to friendship, but now was blossoming into something more. Every time you spoke or looked his way, Dream felt a warmth in his chest he hadn't felt in centuries. And you relished in the sound of his voice resonating in your mind, and in the way his eyes held your gaze, unspoken emotions swimming deep within them.
You had told him of your life, the good and the bad, and you had spent most of the last 50 years wide awake, whether you wanted to or not. Dream had noticed this several years prior and asked you if you wished to sleep. At the time, your answer had been no, you had not wished to relive your life's worst moments, but now, after the passage of so much time, you were exhausted. Your mind had been foggy for ages, a fog Dream was painfully aware of every time he spoke words into your mind.
"Perhaps I can gift you a peaceful sleep? One lacking in any dreams at all," he spoke softly in your mind.
His words barely registered at all and you said nothing. Dream felt a deep worry in his heart and he reached out again. When you still did not reply, he reached a hand out and placed it against your arm, rousing you from your trance-like state.
You turned your head to look at him and he once again asked you if you would like to sleep. This time, you nodded your head and he closed his eyes, taking a moment to gather what little strength he had. He could not do much in his current state, but he was determined to give you this.
You slowly closed your eyes and drifted off into a silent, dreamless sleep, a gift from the lord of dreams himself. Your body went limp and you slumped against his shoulder, breath deepening as you relaxed into a peaceful slumber.
Dream's body tensed at first at the feeling of your head against his shoulder, but he soon relaxed, enjoying the feeling of your body so close to his.
You slept for days, a deep, restful sleep you had not realized you were so desperately in need of. When you finally awoke, you found yourself cradled against Dream's chest, the gentle beating of his heart soothing your worried mind.
You did not wish to alert him to your waking, but he felt it all the same. He was, after all, the god of sleep. "Did you sleep well?" he asked in your mind, a mind that was much sharper and clearer than it had been in years.
"I did, yes," you lifted your head and looked up into his eyes, surprised at the deep emotion you saw within them. If you had not known better, you would have described those beautiful pools as affectionate, even loving. "Thank you," you whispered.
"It was my pleasure."
**********
Another 50 years passed and by this point, you were starting to lose hope that you would ever escape. Your only pleasure was the companionship you had gained over the last century. The dream lord was unlike any being you had ever met and you'd found yourself falling in love with him, despite the terrible situation you were in.
You had not said a word to him, nor would you, at least not while in captivity. You did not want him to think you cared for him only because he was all there was. Now that you knew him, truly knew him, you knew that was exactly the way he would think.
On this particular day, Alex and his husband, Paul, had come to visit you one last time. As they left, Paul broke the boundary spell that had held you both for a century. He turned and gave you a look of acknowledgment before leaving the dungeon for the final time.
Your eyes met Dream's in a hopeful glance and he inclined his head slightly to acknowledge you. He knew what you were asking without speaking and he answered without words.
You watched as the scene unfolded before you. You did not know what images Dream had placed into the guard's mind, all you knew was that the glass was broken and you were finally free.
Dream took your hand and you felt the power in his veins that had been missing for a century. He was suddenly clothed, his long cloak returning to him. He turned to you and placed a soft kiss against your forehead as you stood there in the dungeon, bullets flying around you. You felt warm clothes cover your body and your eyes locked onto the dream lord's face. You knew what he was doing, and you did not fault him for it.
When he was finished, his eyes fluttered open and he pulled you in close, holding you tightly before you both disappeared, leaving the waking world entirely.
You landed in what felt like soft sand, but you could not figure out where you were. There was a breeze and the sound of waves, but you could not feel Dream's body any more.
You heard the sound of a voice you did not know and then you heard the warmth of Dream's voice covering you like waves on the beach. "Dream?" you called out.
"I am here," he said softly, reaching down to help you to your feet.
Your eyes adjusted to your new surroundings, seeing light for the first time in a century. You looked around, taking in what really did appear to be a beach, and a giant walled...city? Memories came flooding back to you and you realized this was Dream's home. "The Dreaming," you said in awe.
Dream smiled at you warmly. "Welcome, (Y/N), to my realm."
Your eyes landed on a woman you knew instantly, though you had never met. "You must be Lucienne," you said warmly.
The librarian looked surprised. "You know me?"
You looked up at Dream. "We had some time to talk..."
He winced slightly, but nodded his agreement. He began to walk towards the massive gates, you following behind him, and Lucienne just behind you.
"Sir?" Lucienne called.
Dream turned to her. "What is it, Lucienne?"
"The Dreaming sir, it is not as you left it."
"What do you mean?"
She gestured to the gates. "See for yourself."
The gates opened as if they sensed their master. When you saw what laid beyond them, you gasped in surprise.
Dream turned to Lucienne and whispered, "Who did this?"
Lucienne explained that The Dreaming had simply deteriorated over the century he had been gone...and that most of the dream folk had long since left.
Your heart immediately went out to Dream, the pain on his face evident as he took in the remains of his home. You stepped forward and slipped your hand into his, a gentle reassurance as well as a reminder that you were there for him, whatever he needed.
Although he did not speak, he was incredibly thankful to have you by his side, to give him strength when all seemed hopeless. But to you, the outside observer, all you could see was cold sorrow, none of the warmth that he had shown you over the years.
"I must gather my tools and rebuild," he said simply, a fierce determination lacing his voice. He pulled away from you and began to walk towards what remained of his palace, a king on his way to a broken throne.
You turned to look at Lucienne, seeking some sort of guidance, or perhaps comfort, in her eyes. What you saw was a piercing sadness, not just for The Dreaming, or for Dream himself, but for you. In her eyes, you saw her view of Dream, the cold, distant ruler of a dying realm.
You looked at Dream's retreating form and you saw it too, for the first time in a century, you saw the coldness that Dream showed the rest of the world. You had hoped that your years together in captivity, and the love that had seemingly grown between you, would form an everlasting bond between the two of you. It seemed, at least from your view, that perhaps you had misjudged the dream lord, and a deep sadness settled into your soul, unlike any you had yet faced.
**********
Dream seemed to forget about you as he went about trying to collect his tools so he could return to his former strength and rebuild his realm.
The more effort he put into his search, the more distant he became. Until a time in which you decided that you could not live this way, a mere shadow of the past living in a cold, unwelcoming present. So you left The Dreaming, returning once again to the waking world, in search of the hope you had once found in the lord of dreams.
Dream noticed your absence immediately and sought Lucienne for explanation. "Where is she?" he asked when he found the librarian conducting her census.
"Where is who, my lord?"
"(Y/N)."
Lucienne was surprised at the tone of hurt in her master's voice as he spoke your name. "Well, my lord, I believe she returned to the waking world."
"Why? Is The Dreaming not to her liking? I am doing my best to restore it, but I do not have my ruby as of yet and I feel I cannot complete my tasks until I have it."
"No, my lord, it is not The Dreaming she took issue with."
Dream looked confused and he shook his head passionately. "Then what could have possibly driven her away?"
Lucienne was quiet, afraid to upset her master further.
"Please, Lucienne, if you know something, speak."
"Sir, you have been very busy, both with the rebuilding of the kingdom and the search for your tools." She paused. "Perhaps you have been a bit too busy."
His look was pure annoyance...the audacity of her to think that he would have ever forgotten about you... Realization dawned on his face and his expression softened tremendously. "I have neglected her in my haste to repair the damage caused by my absence."
Lucienne nodded slowly, allowing Dream to come to his own conclusions.
"She was by my side through every moment of the last century, every painful part of it, she was there like a guiding light, the brightest soul I have ever encountered. How could I have let her feel this way? As if she is unimportant to me."
Lucienne knew better than to answer his question. It was not really meant for her anyway. "Perhaps, my lord, you should seek her out in the waking world?"
He knew the search for his ruby should take priority, but his heart ached at your absence. He did not wish to return to a realm without you in it, regardless of the presence of all his tools. "I believe you are right, Lucienne. I must find her."
Lucienne was slightly surprised that he admitted she was right, but she could not help but feel joy that he wished to seek you out.
"Can you, I mean, in my absence will you--?" Dream could not seem to find the words he wanted.
Lucienne smiled. "Of course, my lord."
He knew she would understand, as she always did. He pulled a small handful of sand from his pouch and disappeared into the waking world, desperate to find the hope he had lost.
**********
It felt good to be in the waking world, to be free to do whatever you wished. You loved the way the sunlight felt against your skin, the breeze in your hair...all the things you had missed in your century of captivity. None of it, however, could fill the emptiness in your heart, emptiness only a certain Endless could fill.
You were sitting on a park bench, enjoying the beautiful summer day, when you noticed someone sit down beside you. You did not need to turn your head to know who it was. "Teleute," you said warmly. "It has been far too long."
"Indeed it has. How are you, (Y/N)?"
You turned to look at your friend, her expression telling you she knew exactly how you were doing. "I spent the last century in captivity, Death. How do you think I am?"
Death winced at your tone and you sighed, feeling bad for snapping at her. She did not deserve such venom...she was not the Endless you were upset with. "My apologies, Teleute."
Death waved off your apology. "Unnecessary. I understand why you would be upset. You have every right to be."
"In all honesty, it is not the captivity that has me in this mood."
"Ahh," Death said as she sat back against the bench. "The moodiest of all the Endless got to you too?"
Your head whipped towards her, surprise evident in your expression. "Excuse me?"
Death smiled. "My dear brother, Dream. I assume he is the cause of your mood?"
"How do you know...?"
"Oh, please, (Y/N). You should know by now...I know everything."
You shook your head. "I think that is unlikely, Teleute, even for you. You know, Burgess was looking for you when he captured us."
Death nodded, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "I know."
"I will not ask you why you did not help us. I think that is something I already know. I also understand why Burgess was able to capture Dream, but why me? What did I have to do with it? I'm not an Endless."
"It is nothing more than a theory, but I believe that is entirely my fault. When I saved your life, granted you immortality, I left a piece of my soul with you. That small piece of me lives within you, and I believe is what caused you to be snared by his spell."
You allowed yourself a moment to absorb her words. Her theory made sense, but it did not provide you much comfort. "100 years is a long time, even for an immortal," you began softly. "I cannot even begin to imagine how terrible it would have been to spend those years alone. While I would give anything for Dream to have never experienced such agony, I am glad to have been there with him."
Death laid her hand on yours. "I am sure he feels the same way."
You gave her a look that clearly voiced your disagreement. "If he felt the same way, do you think I would be moping on this park bench in the middle of London?"
Death chuckled. "My brother is moody at the best of times, and downright sullen at the worst. It may take him a moment or two to realize he cannot be that way with you, but I do think he will come to that realization. You are good for him, and I think, perhaps, he could be good for you." As if sensing something, Death stood suddenly. "I must go, (Y/N)."
You stood and gave her a hug. "Do not be a stranger, Teleute."
"Never," she said with a smile. "Do not give up on him. He is a pain in the behind, but his love is worth it. I promise." With that, Death disappeared as if she had never been there at all.
You sat back down on the bench, mulling over your friend's words. You desperately wanted to believe her, but if she was right, then where was Dream now?
As if you had personally summoned him, the dream lord himself appeared on the bench beside you, jolting you out of your thoughts. "Good lord!" you yelped.
He winced. "My apologies, I did not intend to startle you."
"Well then do not magically appear beside people without warning, Dream." You placed a hand over your heart and slowly calmed your breathing. "If I were a mortal, you could have given me a heart attack."
"Thankfully, you are not."
You turned to look at him and were surprised to find a sadness in his eyes. A sadness that mimicked your own. "How did you find me?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Do you truly think there is anywhere you could go where I would not feel you?"
Your lips parted in surprise and words failed you. "I--uh--well, I--"
He turned his body to face you, tentatively reaching out to take your hand in his. "I wish to know why you left."
"You were a bit preoccupied with more important things than me, Dream."
"Nothing is more important than you. Not me, nor my tools, nor even my realm. You are the part of me I have always sought, without even realizing it. You are the light to my darkness, the other half of my soul that I have yearned for throughout all of space and time. You are the hope that saved me in the darkest moments of my life, and for that I will treasure you always."
If you had a hard time speaking before, you were completely mute now, as if words were utterly foreign to you. You simply stared at the man in front of you in stunned silence. A silence so long, he began to worry.
"(Y/N)?" he asked softly. "Have I upset you?"
"Gods, no," you said quickly, recovering from your moment of muteness. You took both of his hands in yours and gave them a loving squeeze. "You simply took me by surprise, Dream."
"Will you call me by my name?" he asked softly, eyes filled with hope.
You looked confused. "Is Dream not your name?"
"It is, but much in the way you know Death as Teleute, I wish you to know me by my name."
"What name would that be?"
"Morpheus," he replied.
"I should have known that," you said with a chuckle. "Morpheus. Hmm, I quite like it."
He blushed slightly. "Thank you. I enjoy hearing you say it."
"Then I will have to remember to say it often," you paused dramatically before leaning forward and whispering, "Morpheus."
His body shuddered involuntarily and you grinned. He gave you a warning look, but you were much too happy to care.
"May I ask you something?" he asked suddenly.
"Of course."
"Is there any way, any world, any universe, in which you might feel the same?"
If Morpheus did not know you, you would worry he might think you were a bumbling idiot. You were once again stunned to silence by the dream lord's words...as if there was a universe in which you did not feel the same.
"First, stop saying things that render me speechless," you insisted. "Second, do you really need to ask? I would walk through Hellfire for you, Morpheus. There is not a battle I would not fight, nor a danger I would not face, if it meant protecting you. You are my heart, in every meaning of the word."
Now it was his turn to be speechless. Though he was much quicker to recover than you. "I am undeserving of such adoration, beloved, but I shall do everything in my power to earn it."
You smiled and gently touched his cheek. "You already have, my love. You already have."
#morpheus x reader#dream x reader#sandman x reader#dream of the endless x reader#the sandman#morpheus x reader fluff#fluff#angst#dream of the endless#morpheus
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crying eyes | shen ricky
⇢ pairing: insecure!ricky x reader
⇢ warning: angst, fluff, mentions of poor self-esteem but nothing major
⇢ word count: 955
prompt(s): #3 "hey, it's okay to cry" + #5 "you don't have to be so brave with me" + #6 "how long did you think you could hide this?" + #19 "oh sweetheart, come here"
⇢ note: hello to the anon who requested this! i took a bit of a different spin on this one, so i hope it's everything you wanted! i wrote this so quickly and i genuinely don't know how, but i'm pretty proud of it! enjoy~
ricky stared at himself in the mirror as he danced, eyes trained on every single move and every single mistake he kept making despite his efforts. he had stayed well after practice, trying his best to perfect every part of his routine for his upcoming show, but just could seem to get the ending right no matter how many times he redid it.
nearing the end, he spun, but instead of landing how he was meant to, he lost his balance. he cursed at himself under his breath, angrily shutting off the music and standing there for a moment in disbelief. he wasn’t quite sure what to do from here, but his frustration was beginning to get the best of him as he worked.
he took a swig of his water before turning the music back on, but skipping to the ending to try and perfect one of his final spins. much to his dismay, he was off-balance again, this time tumbling down to the floor with a thud. he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, hair messy and sweat dripping down his temples, and all he could say was, “this is so fucking pathetic.”
he quickly rose to his feet, beginning to mutter things under his breath about how horrible he was and how he didn't think he deserved to have this dance solo. unbeknownst to him, you'd been watching him the past few minutes, feeling your heart break each time he beat himself up over making a mistake.
unable to handle seeing him like that anymore, you walked into the room, snagging the boy's attention with your presence almost immediately. he looked tired, the bags underneath of his eyes evident of his hard work over the past few days. you gave him a sad smile, softly telling him, “i thought i might find you here.”
“i was just finishing up,” ricky attempted to lie, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, but it was no use. he knew you'd caught him in the midst of him beginning to break down.
“i know better.”
upon hearing your words, something shifted within the boy’s head and tears began dripping down his cheeks, though he angry wiped them away as soon as they fell, “sorry, i didn’t think this would happen.”
“hey, it’s okay to cry,” you reassured him, stepping forward to get closer to him. ricky hung his head, finding a new interest in his shoe laces the more you approached his figure. more tears fell, but this time, he didn’t bother to wipe them away.
“i just don’t understand what i’m doing wrong, y/n,” he managed to sputter out in between his cries, “no matter how hard i word, not matter how many times i try to fix it, i just can't. and i feel like all i’m going to do is let my team down,” by now, his shoulders were shaking with with sobs, and before you knew it, the barrier he had built up was slowly beginning to break down right in front of you.
you were finally in close enough proximity to grab onto one of his trembling hands, “oh sweetheart, come here.”
upon hearing your words, the blonde practically melted into your touch, allowing you to hold him as he let out a noise you'd never heard him make the entire time you'd been dating. he buried his face in your shoulder, balling his fists up into the fabric of your jacket, almost as if he believed you would disappear from his grasp if you didn’t.
you stood like that for a while, allowing your boyfriend to cry as much as he needed to. you sighed, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. you almost felt bad you hadn't detected this sooner, but you knew ricky was capable of putting on a front that was believable, even to you.
“do you want to talk about it? would that help?” you offered, rubbing small circles on his back as a way of comfort, “you don’t have to be so brave with me, you know.”
he nodded, voice muffled against your skin as he spoke, “i know i don’t. it’s just a lot of things bottled up that picked now to explode. the pressure of getting my routine right, of not letting the other members down, and not burdening everyone around me.”
you pulled ricky away momentarily, surveying his face intently. you forced him to meet your gaze, questioning, “how long did you think you could hide this? it’s not healthy to keep all of those emotions to yourself.”
“i don’t- i don’t know, truthfully. i just didn't want anyone to worry about me.”
“you listen to me right now,” your voice was stern, but gentle, “you will never, ever burden me with talking about how you feel.”
“y/n-”
you stuck a hand up to shush him, “i’m not done, mister. you can always come to me, no matter what. and for what it's worth, you are extremely talented and you're severely underestimating that. you put everything into your practice, so just because you keep making mistakes doesn't mean you're bad. got it?”
you could see him fighting off a smile, “yeah, i think so.”
“good. i���m never going anywhere if i have any say in it,” you stood on your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his lips, “no let's get you home so you can rest.”
he nodded, pulling you in for another hug, his chin rested on your shoulder and eyes fluttering closed upon feeling you squeeze him back. he sighed, “thank you for reassuring me. it means more than you know.”
“anything for you, my love.”
#seokmthw#zerobaseone#zerobaseonefics#boys planet#boys planet fics#boys planet imagines#boys planet reactions#zb1#zb1 drabbles#zb1 scenarios#zb1 x reader#zb1fics#zb1 zhang hao#zb1 sung hanbin#zb1 seok matthew#zb1 ricky#zb1 park gunwook#zb1 kim gyuvin#zb1 kim taerae#zb1 kim jiwoong#zb1 han yujin#zb1 imagines#zb1 icons#kpop
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Could I request a comfort fic for König x fem reader (she/her pronounce)
Reader can't sleep and has nightmares but she's new and shy so she just wonders to the kitchen only to find könig there too, they talk and he offers to cuddle her back to sleep
LARGE FONT VER.
.! 𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔢 !.
— “ It's quite deceiving, “
— “ As I'm feeling the flesh make me bad! “
The pounding in your ears finally started to go away as your heart calmed down. Waking up from yet another nightmare tonight. It had only been an hour since you last fell asleep! Tossing and turning in your blankets for a few more minutes, you finally decided to get up.
All of your water was gone, so you decided it was best to head to the kitchen. Maybe grab a snack too, as long as you weren’t in your bed. Some fresh air would be nice. You put on your slippers and made sure you were at least decent, then left your room.
Thankfully the kitchen isn’t too far away from your room. Walking over to the fridge, you grabbed a new bottle of water and began looking for a snack.
While you were snooping in the cabinets for food, a loud thud was heard, scaring the shit out of you. Turning around at lightning speed your eyes landed on König. He was sitting on the floor, frozen in fear as he stared back at you. It’s not like the two of you were strangers. But you weren’t close either, you have only known König for a few weeks since you joined the team. “I.. uh! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.”
König apologized profusely, regathering himself and getting off the floor. Springing back up to tower over you, still sputtering apologies. “I was just, um, coming in here to get a snack. And then I… slipped.” The German man hung his head in embarrassment as you began to giggle quietly.
You placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “It’s okay, König. I'm not upset or anything, you just startled me.” A small smile formed on your lips as you watched him physically relax.
“That’s good… I’m still sorry though.” You giggled and rolled your eyes, turning back to the cabinet you were searching in before. Grabbing two small packets of cookies, you handed one to König. He thanked you, but asked something else. “Why are you up this late?”
You knew he would probably ask that at some point. Looking away from him you stayed silent for a few moments. “Um… It's a bit embarrassing but I was having nightmares..” You waited for him to laugh at you, or comment how it was childish. But he didn’t. Instead, König took a step forward, and hugged you. Right then and there, you felt safe.
It was comfortable being wrapped in his arms and you wouldn’t have minded staying there forever. “It shouldn’t be embarrassing, it’s normal. I had one too.” König spoke up through the silence. Your eyes widened, but you didn’t pull away from the hug.
“Really? Are you okay though?” You asked. König straightened up, but kept you cuddled up to him. He nodded his head, eyes squinting behind the black veil from his smile. “I’m perfectly fine, it wasn’t too bad. That’s why I came to get a snack.”
You nodded your head and finished off your cookies. “I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to go back to sleep.” You laughed nervously, trying to not worry that you’ve only gotten a couple hours of sleep just because of some stupid nightmare.
“Would you prefer some company?” König asked, it caught you a bit off guard.
“Really?”
König nodded, throwing the wrapper of his snack away. “Of course, I can comfort you until you fall back asleep. Maybe it’ll help with the nightmares.” You took a moment to think it over. It would be nice… and you did like having König around. He also seemed genuine in trying to help you.
Nodding your head, you accepted the offer. “Okay. That sounds good. Thank you König.” You flashed him a smile and the two of you started heading back to your room.
When you got there, you invited König in and immediately went to fix your messy bed. “Where would you like me to sit?” König spoke up, standing awkwardly in the center of the room. Shit. You didn’t think it would be a nice idea to just make König sit on the chair by your desk or literally anywhere else.
It’s late and König was probably just as tired as you were. You didn’t mind, so you brought up an offer. “You can lay down on my bed if you want. I’m pretty sure it’s big enough for the both of us.” König’s eyes widened slightly, but he nodded his head.
You laid down first, scooting over and patting the spot next to you for the German to sit. König came over and laid next to you. The bed was just barely big enough for the two of you. Pressed side to side with each other, you both moved to get comfortable. You turned over on your side, facing away from König.
“König I’m not gonna bite if you touch me.” A small laugh left your lips, König’s tense body paused before finally relaxing. But you could feel a strong arm wrap around your abdomen, pulling you closer into the man behind you. König was warm, it was nice.
You could already feel the drowsiness creep up as the two of you snuggled with each other. No words were shared as you both got comfortable. Both of you knew the physical touch was much needed. There isn’t much of it in your line of work, and definitely none if you have a nightmare. But here you were, comforting each other.
Noticing you’ve finally fallen asleep, König let out a deep sigh. He’s liked you for a while, admiring all of your work on the field and laughing at the crazy shit you do with Soap. He doesn’t think he has any chance with you, but honestly, he would take this over nothing. Taking off his veil finally, he set it on the bedside table. Getting comfortable once again, König fell asleep shortly after.
REQUESTS:: CLOSED
»» make me bad … korn
#mw2#mw2 x reader#call of duty#cod#call of duty x reader#cod könig#könig#mw2 könig x reader#mw2 könig#könig mw2#cod x reader#könig x reader#könig cod
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Can you do dave mustaine too (safe words)
I wrote this pretty fast but I hope it's still up to your standards of tumblr smut <3 If you want to see another artist for this prompt or any other's I'd be happy to write it (I'm very bored :'3) just let me know :3
Warnings: Smut, slight angst, use of a safe word, if you think there's something I missed please let me know :3
You and Dave had been dating for a few months now and decided that you would have date nights every Friday night. It didn’t have to be something big every week and you would take turns planning the dates in question, but there was always something.
The both of you had had a very long week and now just needed some time to relax so a movie marathon night was the best option in your minds.
Dave got snacks, drinks and a pizza for an actual meal on his way home while you set up a comfy place on the couch and got a set of DVDs stacked up in the order you planned to watch them. The genre’s ranged from cheesy romance to get you started and then psychological horror for later in the night. You also had a few comedies sprinkled in so you’d be able to sleep tonight, either way it gave you an excuse to cuddle up tight to Dave and that’s all that really concerned you.
Dave got home and you started on your night, watching and snacking and cuddling all the while. About halfway through one of the romance movies there was sex scene that you didn’t realise would pop up. It was probably one of the first filmed movies you’d seen ever and this scene was no exception to that.
You watched in discomfort as it went on, the dramatic noises and odd movements making you shift in your seat. Dave looked to you, chuckling softly. “What? This movie got you feeling something?” He teased. You shook your head, cringing.
“Can you fast-forward or something?” You asked, searching around for the remote. It was just on the edge of the coffee table, when you went to reach for it Dave kicked it off the corner and it landed with a soft thud on the carpet. “Oops.” He smirked and pulled you in for a kiss.
The kiss was a nice distraction from the film in the background. Dave obviously wanted to take it further and didn’t even ask before tearing your clothes off. To be fair, they didn’t break. Though you’re sure you heard a rip at some point everything did seem fine.
Dave was all over you, kissing up and down your neck, licking and sucking on your chest. Whatever he could reach he had his mouth on.
Soon he had you standing in front of him between the couch and the coffee table, facing the TV. Dave was standing right behind you, cock buried deep inside you and quick thrusts pumping it in and out of you at a pace that would normally have you seeing stars. Instead, everything just felt off. He wasn’t hitting the right spots, his harsh words just hurt you and if he tried being nice you felt awkward.
The movie seemed to keep getting louder and louder and you just wanted everything to stop around you. “Davie-Davie, I don’t-”
“Shut the fuck you, slut.” Dave interrupted you, continuing to rut into you. He seemed perfectly content with the scene, you felt as if you were recreating the scene in the movie.
“Davie, can we just-” You were cut off by a yelp when he slapped your ass.
“I said shut up!” He said in a much more commanding tone. That along with the slap, not to mention the embarrassment you felt at this moment, brought tears to your eyes.
“Davie, please...” You tried again. His hand raised and came down harder on your ass, leaving a bright red mark. That stretch he forced that always had your mind in a fog hurt, his harsh words that made you want to beg hurt, the slaps you loved counting hurt. The tears trickled down your cheeks and hit the floor. For a moment Dave’s hips sputtered and you took it as your chance. “Pumpkin.” You said, it came out no louder than a whisper.
Dave stopped completely. “What-what was that?” He asked, now just holding you close, strong arms wrapped around your waist.
“Please, stop, I-I don’t like it.” You stumbled out. Dave pulled out and reached back for a blanket to wrap around you. You got your shorts back on, Dave offered you his shirt and you happily accepted.
Dave sat you back down on the couch, holding you in his lap. A little cocoon of blankets and comfy things. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He said, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks and forehead. “I thought it would be a fun end to the week.” He explained. You nodded, resting your head on his shoulder.
“Next time do something romantic, not fake Elvis fucking Marilyn Manson.” You said with a soft chuckle. You aren’t even sure what movie it was. Hell you didn’t even know how you got it in your hands but it was never going to be played again.
“You wanna keep watching movies? Or-or I could get you a bubble bath, light some candles, give you a massage?” You knew he would do anything to make it up to you. It sounded like a good end to the week for you.
“Can we cuddle in the bath?” You asked, looking up at him, your eyes still slightly glassy. He chuckled and nodded
“Of course we can, you thought I’d let you get princess treatment alone?” He kissed the tip of your nose. “I am just as deserving of being a princess.” He stated as he lifted you up to carry you to the bathroom so he could set everything up with you.
#megadeth#megadeth smut#megadeth x reader#megadeth fanfiction#megadeth angst#megadeth imagines#Dave mustaine#Dave mustaine smut#Dave mustaine angst#dave mustaine x reader#dave mustaine fluff
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Darkness Declares Glory | Chapter 19 | S.R
Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
Chapter Summary - Luke Alvez wakes in the middle of the night to find his worst fears materialised on his doorstep. While Spencer fights for his life, Luke takes a trip to PIW.
Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader
Category - dark angst | smut | eventual happy ending.
Warnings - drug use, overdose, relapse, hospitalisation, comas, attempted suicide, suicide note, heavy angst, seizures, tears, scared Luke, swearing.
WC - 4.9k
Chapter 19 - Away From the Sun
Luke Alvez rubbed his eyes with his palms, trying to shush Roxy’s barking as he padded out of the bedroom half asleep.
“It’s ok, girl.” He croaked, patting her head. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
The nothing he referred to had been a loud crashing sound coming from directly outside his front door. It was nearly two am and the sound had woken him up, he’d always been a light sleeper. Roxy was spinning in circles, running back and forth from Luke to the door while Luke slowly ambled across the room.
He reached the door but had been too tired to think to grab his weapon so instead of opening it he peeked through the peephole. The fisheye lens made it hard to distinguish what he was seeing and his foggy, sleepy brain didn’t help. There was what appeared to be a human shaped something on the floor in front of his door, slumped back against the wood.
But as he blinked a few times it was the mess of curls that really caused him alarm.
He suddenly threw open the door, heart racing heavily against his chest. The body that had been using the door to sit up, flopped to the floor in his doorway.
“Spencer?” He scrambled to grab the man’s arms and helped him to his feet.
Spencer was somewhat of a dead weight but Luke managed to get him up right. The younger man blinked at him, an eerie smile on his lips.
“Luke.” He breathed.
Roxy tried to nuzzle against Spencer as Luke got him inside and closed the door so he shooed her away.
“Bed girl.” He told her sternly and she huffed but did as she was told. “What are you doing here?”
Spencer blinked a few more times, leaning his body against the now closed door as though he physically could hold himself up.
“Didn’t know where else to go. Didn’t wanna go home.” He slurred his words.
“Why aren’t you at PIW?”
Spencer shrugged, the effort of which caused him to wobble.
“Assholes wouldn’t let me and Y/N be together. They begrudged us for having sex.” He giggled, a sound Luke had never heard from Spencer’s lips. “Left. Just left. Assholes pissed me off.”
The fear that consumed Luke at that moment was like nothing he’d ever felt before. He’d been in war zones, he’d chased down some of the worst criminals this world had ever seen but it was nothing compared to the terror he felt now.
Spencer’s pupils were non-existent, his shirt was undone half way down his chest and stained with dirt. His left sleeve was rolled up to his bicep and Luke’s stomach turned at the fresh, pulsing needle mark on the crook of his arm.
“Spencer, what have you taken?” It was a stupid question, but he still needed to check.
Spencer fished in his pants pocket and pulled out a glass vial. He handed it to Luke without a fight. As he handed it over, Luke noticed his fingernails had a blue tint to them. When he looked back at his face, he realised now that Spencer’s lips were the same blue shade. A sheen of sweat coated his skin and suddenly his breathing started to become shallow.
He was overdosing. He was overdosing right in front of Luke’s eyes. And if he thought he was scared before it had nothing on how he felt now. His heart beat so hard against his chest it made him feel sick, but he had to focus on Spencer, had to keep himself centred on the younger man.
“Spence, I need to know how much you’ve taken.”
Spencer shrugged again, a dreamy smile gracing his lips as he slid down the door and landed on the floor with a thud. He fell to his side, nuzzling his face into the carpet. Luke dropped to his knees next to him.
Spencer looked at him, eyes glazed over so Luke wasn’t even sure he was looking at him really. He reached out and pressed two fingers to the back of Luke’s hand. Spencer’s skin was frozen.
“Didn’t want to die alone.” He croaked, breathing getting even shallower. “Don’t let me die alone.”
And then suddenly he started convulsing, his muscles spasming and his eyes rolling back in his head. Luke gasped loudly, rolling him onto his back.
“Jesus Christ.” He started to panic watching the man seizing on his floor. “Fuck!”
He leapt to his feet and ran as fast as he could back through to his bedroom where he found his cellphone and speedily dialled nine-one-one. Whilst on the phone to the operator he grabbed something from his bathroom cabinet and quickly hurried back to Spencer’s side.
“You have to hurry, please. He’s going to die if you don’t hurry!” Was the last thing Luke said before he hung up and tossed the phone aside.
Dropping back to his knees next to Spencer he ripped open the packet of the item he’d grabbed from the bathroom. After the night Luke had seen Spencer in the hospital with the self-inflicted stab wound, and explaining it all to Lisa, she’d written the whole team scripts for naloxone.
Naloxone was known specifically for its use to reduce and potentially reverse the effects of opioid overdose. She’d insisted they all carried a shot just in case they should ever need it. He’d hoped he never would.
He gripped Spencer’s wrist and held his left arm as still as possible while Spencer still writhed on the floor. He uncapped the needle with his teeth, spitting the cap out somewhere across the room. Spencer’s veins weren’t hard to miss given his previous activities and it allowed Luke to quickly pierce the skin and inject the possibly life saving drug into his vein.
The effects of naloxone, Lisa had told him, can begin within two minutes when administered intravenously. It can block the effects of opioids for thirty to ninety minutes. He may just have enough time. He couldn’t let Spencer die here like this, not on his watch.
He sat back on his haunches while Spencer’s limbs slowly stopped flying around. His breathing had all but stopped and he had to hope the naloxone would kick in soon. But regardless, he couldn’t sit back and do nothing.
He knelt over Spencer’s body and started chest compressions, hopefully enough to keep the younger man alive until the drug kicked in. He knew more about heroin overdoses than he cared to, he’d read countless articles online after he’d found Spencer at the hospital that night.
Heroin prevents the medulla in the brain from making you breathe when oxygen levels fall and carbon dioxide levels rise in your blood, causing respiratory depression. Overdoses occur more easily in people who have relapsed because they’ve lost their tolerance.
He continued the chest compressions, counting in his head as he did so. Everything after that was a blur.
The paramedics arrived and had to physically pull Luke off of Spencer so they could get to him. He vaguely remembered telling them about the naloxone, following them downstairs and jumping in the back of the ambulance.
The drive to the hospital seemed to simultaneously last a lifetime and only a few minutes all at once. It was only when he jumped out of the back into the cold night outside the hospital emergency department that it occurred to Luke he was only wearing his boxers and a t-shirt.
Roxy is home alone. Need to call the sitter. Need some clothes. Someone needs to bring me clothes.
Need to call Emily.
He barely remembered the conversation that took place when he called his unit chief, and had no concept of how much time passed before she arrived at the hospital. He must have mentioned his lack of clothes as she brought some for him. By the time he dressed the rest of the team had now joined them to await their friend's fate, to see if Luke had done enough to save Spencer’s life.
Luke didn’t speak again for several hours, despite his team's attempts to get him to talk. He just kept playing everything over in his head on a loop, trying to make sense of it. Emily sat vigil at his side and when he finally did speak, his voice was haggard and croaky.
“Didn’t want to die alone. Don’t let me die alone.” He mumbled, not looking at her but staring at a spot on the far wall.
“What?” Emily questioned softly.
“That's what he said to me.” A tear crept from Luke’s eye. “He knew he was dying and he chose to be with me at the end.”
“He’s not going to die.” Tara, who was apparently on his other side, spoke. “He will not die.”
Luke hoped that was true, he needed it to be true. But he had a sinking feeling in his gut that this time Spencer had gone too far, that there was no coming back from it this time.
And if he died, Luke would spend the rest of his life blaming himself.
***
It was the longest night of any of their lives. The minutes stretched into hours, hours felt like they encompassed days. Not knowing was the hardest part, being kept in the dark about Spencer’s condition. The team got pulled away on a case, much to all of their frustrations but Luke, understandably, refused to leave. Emily allowed him to stay behind while the rest of them flew out to Ohio.
Garcia left to get her laptop before rejoining Luke at the hospital but he barely noticed her presence. He was lost in his own little world that started and ended with the possibility of Spencer dying.
Hours later a doctor finally approached them and Luke instantly snapped out of his state and jumped to his feet, heart racing erratically. Garcia had stepped out to speak to the team about something she’d found pertaining to the case so Luke was alone again.
“How is he? Is he ok?” Luke spoke frantically, trying to read the doctor's expression and failing.
“He’s stable for now. But he’s yet to regain consciousness. He’s fallen into a coma but we have no way to know when he will wake up, if he ever does. The naloxone you administered might have saved his life, Mister Alvez. If he doesn’t wake up, it’s not your fault. You did everything you could, but with his history of drug abuse, there really is no telling if he’ll make it through this or if his body has simply had too much.”
“Can I see him?” Luke asked, not particularly wanting to dwell on the doctor's words.
“Of course, follow me.” The doctor motioned towards the door and Luke followed silently.
He tried not to let himself think about what awaited him in Spencer’s hospital room, he’d seen him in that state not so long ago and he dreaded having to witness it again. So he pushed it down and didn’t let himself consider it.
The doctor showed him to Spencer’s room and left him alone soon after. Luke closed his eyes as he gripped the door handle, his stomach turning and lurching as he tried to control his breathing.
When he opened the door, the scene was much the same as it had been a few months ago when Emily had called them to tell them Spencer had overdosed. His eyes were closed, an IV drip was attached to his arm and machines beeped and whirred around him.
His skin was almost matching in colour to the white bedsheets, his hair lay lifelessly across the pillow. He looked peaceful, which was at least something. But Luke had hoped he’d never have to see his friend in this position again.
“Goddammit, Reid.” Luke sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he came closer to the bed.
The horrible reality set in that this man wanted to die more than anything else in the world. The kindest thing to do would be just put him out of his misery, a mercy killing of sorts. At least then he might finally be able to say goodbye to his demons. But of course Luke would rather Spencer wake up and defeat them rather than running from them.
At some point as he stared at Spencer’s still form, tears started to silently roll down his cheeks. Each time he’d had to witness one of his friends in trouble, it chipped a little away from him. And as of late that had happened so much Luke was surprised there was anything left of him.
From seeing Spencer in prison to almost losing Emily at the hands of Mr Scratch, Phil’s death, Lisa leaving him and then Spencer’s multiple attempts on his own life; it weighed heavily on the usually unflappable Luke Alvez. If Spencer died, he knew he wouldn’t recover from that.
He looked away from Spencer, the noise from the machines letting him know that at least for now he was still alive. On the chair sat a clear plastic bag with Spencer clothes and belongings inside and Luke picked it up so he could slide into the chair.
He rested the bag on his lap, drumming his fingers against it for a few moments before curiosity got the better of him and he emptied the contents from the bag. He bypassed his slacks, creased shirt and old converse, discarding them on the floor.
The other items included a couple of hundred dollar bills, an empty vial of dilaudid, his apartment keys, a slightly worn purple and gold woven bracelet and a crinkled envelope.
Luke turned the envelope over in his hands and his heart skipped a beat seeing the one word written on the front in Spencer’s chicken scratch handwriting. One word. One name.
Luke.
He looked up from the envelope to Spencer and back again before he hurriedly ripped the seal on the envelope and pulled out the sheet of legal paper inside. His mouth was bone dry, his hands trembling a little as he tried to unfold the paper. More tears escaped his eyes as he read the letter in his head.
Luke,
I’m sorry I failed you, I've failed all of you. I really wanted to get clean, for a time I did anyway. For a small window I really wanted to sort my life out. But as Gideon once told me, some people are beyond saving. And I fear I became one of them.
If you’re reading this letter, you’re probably being handed it by a hospital worker and I am probably already dead. I’m sorry I put this on you, I’m sorry you had to be the one. But truthfully even though we’ve not known each other all that long, you’re the one person I wanted to be with at the end.
I’m sorry for that, I’m sorry that you’ll have to live with that. But if it helps at all, I’m sure having you there as I take my final breaths will comfort me even if it doesn’t do the same to you.
I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough for this world.
Luke paused to wipe his eyes as his tears started to hinder his vision. He rubbed them heavily with his palms, a stifled sob leaving his throat before he forced himself to continue.
If by some stroke of luck I survive this, Luke I need you to do something for me. I need you to have me committed. Like really committed, padded cell committed. I can’t do it myself, I’ll back out. I need you to do that for me, to save me from myself. Please. I need your help.
I will fight you on it, I’m sure of it, but I need you to do this. No matter what I say, it’s the best place for me right now. I know you’ll help me, I know you’ll do this for me without getting overly invested like JJ or Penelope or even Emily. You’re the only one I can trust to help me.
I apologise in advance how much I will try to fight you on it but deep down I know it’s where I need to be. The only way I’m ever likely to finally beat this is if I’m locked away from temptation and out of harm's way.
If I survive this. But truthfully I hope that I don’t. I’m sick of it all, you know? I’m just sick and I’m tired. Death has to offer some kind of relief. I don’t believe in the afterlife as you know, but honestly I’m just looking forward to the peace and quiet that death will bring. I can’t go on like this anymore, and I think somewhere inside of you, you’ll understand that.
Tell my mom I love her and that I always will, even in death that doesn’t change. Give Y/N her bracelet back for me, but I think it would be best if she doesn’t know the truth. She’s struggling with her own sobriety and I don’t want to be the reason behind her downfall.
Give Henry and Michael a hug goodbye from me and tell the team not to blame themselves. Don’t blame yourself either, whatever you do, don’t blame yourself.
My death is not on your head. I just wasn’t strong enough to handle all the blows that have been dealt to me. I’m sorry it had to be you. I think we grew close pretty quickly and you became one of my best friends, Luke. There wasn’t anyone else I wanted by my side at the end.
I’m really not sure how to end this and in truth I still have so much more to say. But I don’t want to take up anymore of anyone’s time, I’ve already burdened you all so much.
Oscar Wilde wrote - “Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grass waving above one’s head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forget life, to be at peace.”
I so want to be at peace,
Spencer W. Reid
The smudges on the page indicated Spencer had been crying as he’d written it and fresh tears from Luke’s eyes joined the dried ones. Luke read and reread the letter several times, soaking in each word and committing them to memory.
His heart ached for his friend. His heart shattered at the evidence before him of Spencer’s fractured state of mind. Maybe death would be the better option for him, to finally be at peace.
Garcia found him soon after and he quickly tucked the letter away in his pocket, not quite ready to share it with anyone else just yet. It wouldn’t help anyone else to read it, it would only upset them. For now they all just needed to focus on Spencer and pray he would make it through this.
And if he didn’t, then maybe Luke would rethink sharing his last words with the team.
***
It was over a week since Spencer had abruptly left PIW and you’d missed him for every single second of that time. It was strange how you’d found yourself so bound to a man you barely knew, how much his absence had affected you.
You carried his chip around in your pocket and now you sat in your bed twirling it over in your palm. You’d spent one night together in a drug fuelled sexual frenzy in which you’d imprinted on him. Clearly he’d also had the same impression on you.
When he approached you for the first time in the rose garden there was something hauntingly familiar about him, as though you’d met in some kind of past life and your souls had been entwined ever since.
You’d carried a hazy memory of the night you spent together somewhere deep in your subconscious and it was only when he’d made love to you in the garden that it dislodged itself and floated to the surface. You must have left a piece of your heart tangled between his bedsheets that night without your knowledge.
But you had to stick by your convictions. No matter how much your heart yearned for him, your rehabilitation had to be your focus. Being with a man who was tied to that time of your life would do you no good. He was an addict just like you and addicts would only facilitate the addictive behaviour in each other. But you couldn’t stop thinking about him which couldn’t be good for you either. It really was a catch twenty two.
Although the chances were you’d never see him again, he’d left the institute and you had no way to track him down once you finished your stay here. All you had left of him was his one year sober chip. And in turn he still had your bracelet.
You were still toying with the chip when there was a soft knock at your door. You closed your palm around it just as it opened and your doctor, Doctor Yang strolled in.
“You have a visitor. I told them to leave seeing as you don’t have an approved visitor list but they are being incredibly stubborn, flashing an FBI badge and refusing to leave.” She sighed a little as she spoke. “You don’t have to see them but I’m not sure they’re going to leave if you don’t.”
Your eyebrows knitted together. FBI badge? No, it couldn’t be Spencer, surely he wouldn’t have actively come back? But what if he had? What if he’d come back for you?
You suddenly jumped up from the bed, pocketing the chip and nodded at Doctor Yang.
“I’ll see them.” You insisted, subtly trying to smooth down your hair.
“Thank you.” Yang gave you a relieved smile. “He's in the day room.”
You followed her hurriedly from the room, heart racing with anticipation. If Spencer had come back for you, you had no doubt that you would throw yourself into his arms and tell him to never leave you again. You’d tell him you loved him, despite yourself you really did. You’d beg him to hold you forever.
You rounded the corner and stepped into the day room, eyes flitting around the room in desperation to find his face. But none of the people in the room resembled Spencer.
A man with dark hair and kind eyes was smiling at you from the table by the window, motioning you over. You frowned at him as you took a few tentative steps across the room towards him.
When you reached him, he stood up and held out a hand for you to shake. You took a few seconds of caution before complying and shaking his hand. It was large and strong, albeit slightly calloused.
“Y/N?” He said your name and you nodded as you both slid into chairs either side of the table. “I’m SSA Luke Alvez. I’m a friend of Spencer Reid.”
Your heart immediately plummeted into your stomach, sure there could only be one reason a friend of Spencer would visit you. You stuffed your hand into your pocket and clutched the chip for dear life. You averted your gaze to the table, unable to look at this man when you spoke.
“He’s dead isn’t he?” You croaked, feeling the tears already working their way to your eyes. You heard SSA Luke Alvez sigh.
“He, uh, overdosed. But he’s not dead. He’s in a coma, but he’s still alive.”
Your eyes shot up and met his. They were a deep, soothing brown and you felt comforted just looking into them.
“He’s alive.” You swallowed.
“Yeah, I mean he’s in pretty bad shape, doctors don’t know exactly if he will wake up or not. But yeah.” Luke nodded slowly. “He wrote me a letter, I think it was supposed to be a, uh, suicide note.”
You closed your eyes and grinded your teeth furiously, gripping the chip so tightly your nails dug into your palm.
“Is it my fault?” You whispered, keeping your eyes screwed tightly shut.
“No.” Luke mumbled and then you felt his hand on your arm. You opened your eyes and looked at him again. “No one is to blame, Y/N. He's a manic depressive with a drug problem. He specifically asked me in the letter not to tell you, he was worried it would impede your recovery.”
“Yet, here you are.” You narrowed your eyes on him, removing your arm from beneath his hand.
“Here I am.” He smiled sadly. “I thought you’d want to know, I guess. If it were me I’d want to know.”
“What did he tell you about me?” You surprised Luke with your words, you could tell by the way his eyebrows furrowed.
“I uh, I’m not sure how to answer that.”
“Did he tell you he’d manufactured a whole relationship with me in his head? He thought I was his ex-girlfriend and that I worked for the FBI.”
“Yeah.” Luke rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. “When he woke up here he kept asking us about you and we had no idea who you were. When he figured out it had all been in his head, he was a complete wreck. I think coming to terms with that was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. I don’t exactly know what the real story was.”
“I’m still piecing everything together myself.” You removed your hand from your pocket and brought the chip out with it. “At some point we met while we were both high. I guess we hooked up and then went our separate ways. It wasn’t unusual for either of us I don’t think, it certainly wasn’t for me. But what was strange is the way I held onto that memory even without realising it. He stuck with me. I think he always will.”
“I think his false recollections of you were the only thing keeping him going. And when he realised they weren’t real, he found you again. I think in some kind of weird way you’re like his guardian angel.” Luke shrugged.
“I’m a drug addict who slept around with a bunch of guys while I was high.” Your lip twitched at the corner.
“I did say it was in a weird way.” Luke laughed lightly.
“You’re not here to get me to come see him are you? Because if you asked me to, I would without hesitation. But I know that if I do see him it will do me more harm than good right now.” You rolled the chip in your hand.
“No, I wouldn't ask you to do that.” Luke glanced at the chip, instantly knowing what it was, before looking back into your eyes. “I just thought you’d want to know.”
“Thanks.” You quickly pocketed the chip again. “I did want to know and I also didn’t want to know. But thanks.”
“You’re welcome I guess.” Luke gave you a tight lipped smile.
“I love him, you know?” You whispered, averting your gaze back to the table top. “Which is such a fucking weird thing to admit seeing as I barely know him. But I do. I love him with my entire being and I think in some kind of twisted way we’re kindred spirits. But two addicts would only ever pull each other down.”
Luke sighed, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet. He didn’t want to stay away from the hospital for too long in case something happened to Spencer. You looked up at him as he stood and he saw the tears behind your eyes.
“I know for certain that he feels the same way about you. And I think deep down he would probably agree with you.”
You stood up and smiled sadly at Luke. There was something about him that relaxed you, that made you feel safe.
“I uh, don’t get many visitors.” You wrapped your arms around yourself. “I mean, any really. So uh, if you ever wanted to come back to tell me how Spencer is doing or whatever…I wouldn’t hate it.”
“Any friend of Spencer’s is a friend of mine.” Luke smiled at you and held his hand out to shake yours again.
It was hard to say who was more surprised when you bypassed his hand shake and threw yourself into his arms.
Luke hesitated for a moment before cautiously wrapping his arms around you as you nuzzled against his chest. He felt your tears seeping into the fabric of his shirt. You held him so tightly as though you were afraid he might disappear. His heart ached for you, being in here with no kind of support system.
But Luke decided he would take on the responsibility. You clearly meant the world to Spencer and maybe by comforting you it would help ease Spencer’s troubles too.
The hug lasted several minutes and Luke allowed you to cry all your tears against his chest. When you finally pulled back you wiped your eyes on the back of your hand.
“Sorry,” you swallowed. “That was embarrassing.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Luke shot you a smile. “What are friends for?”
You couldn’t help but smile at the sentiment as Luke offered you a wave before turning on his heels and heading towards the door. You watched him go, snaking your arms back around your waist. Luke seemed like a good guy, and you so sorely needed people in your corner right now.
And who knows, maybe one day you’d be strong enough to see Spencer again. If he didn’t kill himself by then.
@tiredmilky @thatsonezesty13 @1mechanicalalligator @elle-28 @academiareid @andiebeaword @dreatine @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @thebloomingeagle
#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x fem! reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction
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The Gremlin and His Pocket Protector
Photo by Sean Bernstein via Unsplash
[ AO3 ] - Rated: G - WC: - CW: mild language - written for @ashtonisvibing in the Seasons Skirmish
Remus asks his brother's best friend to be his date at his roller rink birthday party.
“Hey, Pocket Protector! Wait up!” Remus called from the top step. Logan looked up just in time to catch him sliding down the banister separating them. He landed with a thud inches from Logan's feet, chains adorning his jacket clanking against the battered collection of buttons and patches that covered most of the worn leather.
“You are aware I do not even wear a pocket protector, correct?” Logan bit back a more acerbic reply as he glared at his best friend’s strange brother.
“Yeah,” he said, smirking back as though nothing could matter less than reality. “Your point?” Remus leaned in, one hand pressed against the wall just over his shoulder. The stream of students leaving that floor’s lecture halls flowed around them, parted like the sea by Remus’ shock of bright green hair topping his 6’4” frame.
“What do you want, Remus?” he inched toward his left, eyes searching for a break in the traffic for his chance to escape this conversation. He’d long ago gone through all the stages of Remus Avoidance: ignoring, shouting, even tattling when they’d all been back in grade school together.
Unfortunately, the endless tenacity that had somehow gotten Remus into the same university as his inarguably superior twin was just as easily directed to his apparent favorite pastime: annoying the hell out of Logan.
“I want you to come as my date to my birthday party, of course!” Remus said, shoving a crumpled version of the invitation he’d helped Roman design into his hand.
Logan blinked up his’ manic smile before staring down at the gold foil invitation. “Your…”
“My date, yeah,” Remus nodded, squeezing in a little closer as a gaggle of freshmen moved behind him, nattering away about an upcoming final. “You’re going, aren’t you?”
“Yes, of course I’m going!” A flash of irritation, too strong to hide, sharpened his tone. Remus didn’t seem to notice. Or care. “I am co-hosting the event.” The green-haired gremlin just nodded, smiling with too much teeth. “For your brother.”
“Oh, I know that,” he cackled, half-heartedly punching his shoulder. “But he’s got his own date already. I want you to be my date.”
“I am not attracted to your—” The lie died on his lips. Well, it wasn’t a complete lie. He wasn’t attracted to Roman.
Thankfully, Remus was too distracted, staring up at a commotion on the landing above them. He briefly imagined he’d heard Roman’s voice, but his wish for an easy escape from this conversation he was in no way ready—would never be ready—to have was just that. A wish.
“So is that a ‘yes?’” Remus asked, smiling back at him.
“No, that is a ‘no.’” Logan said firmly, holding his books close to his chest as he worked his way into the crown leaving the building.
“But I’ll see you there!” Remus called after him, giddy with whatever scheme he’d devised to harass Logan further.
Logan didn’t bother to answer and instead moved with the crowd out to the Quad and off to his next class. He barely noticed the invitation still gripped tightly in his hand.
~
Remus grinned as he watched Logan maneuver his way through the throngs of slow-moving students. “It’s never going to work,” Roman said from the landing above, leaning over the railing to be heard over the midday tumult.
“Of course it is,” Remus countered, hoisting himself up and over the railing before taking the stairs up, three steps at a time. He shrugged, still smiling, at his brother. “He’s gonna be there, isn’t he?”
“He’s throwing the party!” Roman cried, eyes wide. “And since when do you actually like my friends?”
“Ew, I don’t,” he laughed, heading down the stairs and toward the door where Logan had just escaped. Roman followed, too much of a nosy bitch to let him get far. When the door swung open to release a squad of jostling frat boys, Remus caught just a glimpse of Logan’s raven hair out on the quad, shining in the sun. “Just that one.”
~
Heavy bass pounded inside the roller rink, muffled but not silenced by the door Logan let close behind him. He leaned against it, the June night air cooler than he’d feared. Or maybe it was just cooler outside compared to the muggy heat of fifty of Roman and Remus’ closest friends bouncing off of one another inside the crowded venue.
At least Logan had been able to convince Roman to limit the guest list with a Pairs Event theme. Even if it meant he would sit out most of the skating. But that was satisfactory. Logan had had his fill at actual skate competitions back in high school.
All things considered, the party wasn’t bad and there were parts Logan genuinely found enjoyable. It seemed Remus’ big plan had been to stand him up—Roman’s chaotic twin hadn’t bothered to show up for his own birthday party. Logan sighed and leaned a little heavier against the door. All the more reason to ignore the little spark that danced through his mind whenever he spotted that tuft of neon green.
A giggling couple approached, side-walking up the steps toward the entrance. Their mocked-up ‘competitor’ bibs half-hanging from their backs, the taller of the pair carried a large bottle partially hidden in a brown paper bag. They paused as they drew nearer, the large ‘Emergency Exit Only’ sign above Logan’s head making for a nice deterrent. He’d chosen his spot carefully, deactivating the alarm for a guaranteed space for air when he needed breaks from the party.
“Couples figure skating begins in fifteen minutes, if you’re ‘competing,’” Logan told them, tapping his watch. Roman’s muted voice buzzed through the gap under the door, his words unintelligible but his excitement palpable. More than likely, he was making the same announcement inside. “Roman’s crafted a secret prize for the winner.”
“Oh, thanks, Lo!” they cheered as they clomped past, taking the long way back to the main entrance. They stumbled slightly, leaning on each other until they turned just out of Logan’s sight.
“Thanks, Lo Lo,” Remus purred, too close to his other side.
Logan jolted, pivoting away too fast for Remus’ outstretched hand. His toe stop squeaked against the floorboards and he glared up at the wayward brother. He'd shed his usual motorcycle jacket and tight ripped jeans and was dressed instead in a long-sleeved green shirt under a deep blue denim vest and matching pants. A bit of sparkle flashed in the denim. It reminded Logan of his old skating competition clothes. What the hell is he playing at? “Where have you been? The party— your— party started over an hour ago!”
“Aw, that’s sweet,” he cooed but didn’t move closer. One hand was tucked behind his back, the other hand the railing next to them in a death grip. “Did you miss me?” he asked with a grin, eyebrows dancing in a spot-on imitation of Andrew Scott’s Moriarty.
“Of course not.” Of course he didn’t miss his vaguely derogative nicknames or how he stood too close or stared into his eyes when he spoke. “Roman was looking for you.”
“Eh,” Remus shrugged, his smile falling into a smirk. “So why are you out here? Looking for me, too?”
“No.” Logan looked out over the side parking lot. This vantage point specifically wouldn’t allow him to watch for the approach of Remus’ car or the entrance to see him slither in late to his own birthday party. He couldn’t look for Remus here. “But you are correct,” he muttered. “I should return.”
He turned and side-stepped upstairs. He was half-way up the flight when he noticed the lack of Remus’ skates tromping behind him. Logan looked over his shoulder and Remus had barely moved. “Are you not going inside?”
“Afraid you’ll miss the chance to skate with me?” Remus smirked back. Logan crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes. He was certainly not going to entertain the idea just to have Remus play some trick in front of everyone. “Don’t get your pencils twisted. I’m coming.” He inched forward, one hand still gripping the railing. “Well, not yet, anyway. That would be rude without my date.”
“I’m not your date,” Logan reminded him, frowning at his remark. He waited another long moment and listened as the music shifted and Roman’s voice again filtered through the cracks between the exit doors. “If you wish to see at least some of your birthday party, we should return.”
“Oooh, ‘we…’” Remus laughed, sharp and bright. His smile had gone a little brittle and though he’d slid a little closer, he’d still not joined Logan on the stairs. He would have to let go of the side railing to get any closer, and he seemed… intent on keeping hold of it. Almost as though…
“Remus?” Logan asked, stepping closer. “Remus do you not know how to roller skate?”
“I can skate,” he insisted, hand still wrapped around the rail. “I’m just… just a little rusty.” Remus’ smile finally cracked and he looked up. Logan remained silent. “Fine!” he said, letting go of the railing. Remus slid closer to the first step, perhaps a little wobbly. He reached for the bannister and stepped up to the first stair. “I’ll show you. I’ll just—”
His words cut out when his front wheels spun out, toe stop catching on the edge of the step. His back leg shot out and he slammed to his knees, arms spread and revealing the small wrapped package he’d been hiding behind his back. The box skidded across the floor, a corner of the silver-starred paper tearing.
“Remus?” Logan hop-skipped down the stairs two at a time. He landed near him just as Remus was pushing himself up to sit, back propped against the railing to which he’d been clinging to. “Remus, are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, Pocket Protector,” Remus muttered, looking away and brushing the dust off his knees. “Just go in. I’ll…”
Logan had sat beside him and stretched to reach for the small box. “You dropped your present for Roman.”
“Not for Roman,” Remus said, barely audible. “”S for you. If you don’t want it…” He shrugged, the bravado, the teasing, the confidence in his voice evaporated into the night.
“For me?” Logan turned the small package around in his hands. Remus had wrapped it in deep indigo paper and had apparently stamped a star pattern over the finished gift.
Remus shrugged. “You didn’t hafta get me anything this year.”
“Your gift is inside at the party,” Logan said, setting aside the gift and his curiosity. “I wouldn’t bring Roman a gift without one for you, as well.”
“Why?”
Logan didn’t have an answer for that so instead he shifted to face him. “Why did Roman ask for a birthday party at a roller rink if you can’t roller skate?”
“Brotherly love?” Remus’ laugh was hollow. Roman’s voice boomed through the building again, even louder this time. “Dick move, yeah.” He waved Logan on. “You should go in. He is your best friend.”
Logan pushed himself up to one knee and waited for another laugh, another smirk, another ‘Nerd!’
Remus was quiet and still wouldn‘t look at him. Logan pushed to his feet and turned his foot, bracing himself. He reached for Remus’ hands with both of his. “Not without my date,” he said.
Remus’ head shot up, eyes narrowed. “Getting me back for the time I put isotropic polymers in your chem lab final?”
Logan dropped his hands. “I thought that was you!” The music inside the rink shifted into a fanfare and Logan let out a slow breath. “No. I will not exact my revenge for that event tonight.” He crouched and took Remus’ hands, then stood, skates braced against each other as he helped him to his feet.
“Tonight,” he said, his own smile matching Remus’ tentative grin. “Tonight let’s show your brother how much of a dick move that was.”
“You really are my Pocket Protector, aren’t you?” Remus laughed.
Hands still wrapped around Remus’, Logan pushed his right hand back as he pulled the left closer, spinning the taller man until he faced the wall. “Tomorrow, you should watch your back.”
Still laughing, Remus nodded. “You got it, nerd.”
-----
Full gift exchange series
#sanders sides#ts logan#ts remus#intrulogical#eventually#college au#logan sanders#remus sanders#ts roman#roman sanders#briefly
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Let me take care of you - 11th doctor x fem! reader
Request: “Could you write a fic with reader x 11th doctor. The prompts being 9 and 30. The reader is like a mother hen, always putting their needs after everyone else’s. after an adventure shakes reader up they begin to struggle with anxiety attacks and nightmares. The doctor notices and tries to help. The reader tries to deny help, to not be a burden or appear weak” I absolutely loved this idea!!. I hope this is okay!! I got slightly carried away so i am sorry it's so long!!
Prompts: 9 “I’ve got you. Nothings going to happen to you. You’re safe now." 30 “you take care of me all the time, for once – let me return the favour.”
Warnings: Anxiety, Nightmares
*** = time skip
Word Count: 2658 (once again i'm sorry its so long!)
Requests Prompts
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Doctor when I said I wanted to see the stars, getting lost INSIDE OF ONE was not exactly what I had in mind.” You yelled, running your fingers through your hair as you weaved your way through the intricate tunnel system you’d found yourself in.
Amy and Rory chuckled from behind you. The doctor had told the three of you about a cluster of stars the formed only once every 25 years in some tiny corner of the universe, and of course, you couldn’t say no. I mean how many other people would get the chance to witness something so real and beautiful? However, what the doctor had failed to mention is that these stars were not like the normal balls of gas that you could see from earth. Instead, they were – drum roll please – alien stars!!! Honestly you shouldn’t have expected anything less when traveling with a mad man in a blue box, but you didn’t think the alien stars would quite literally swallow you whole.
So now here you were, in the centre of a star, trying to find your way back to the Tardis which had somehow been separated from the four of you.
“Look I know this isn’t ideal, but how amazing is this! We are literally standing in a star I mean this is just extraordinary.” The doctor beamed back at you, clapping his hands together.
You smiled slightly at his boyish antics, but something didn’t sit right with you. You tried so hard to be immersed in the shining colours and ornate patterns dancing on the icy walls around you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling deep inside of you that something was wrong. Something bad was going to happen. The doctor had assured you many times that these stars were not known for having lifeforms living inside of them, but it did nothing to soothe your worry.
“Are you doing okay back there y/n, you seem rather quiet- AHH” The doctor yelled before disappearing out of sight.
Your heart pounded as you began to run forward, the ponds following.
“Wait stop don’t move” You heard him yell. Your eyes searched frantically but you couldn’t see him anywhere.
“I’m down here.” He groaned.
Confused, the three of you looked down. Just in front of where you had stopped, there was a hole in the ground. Well actually, it looked more like a slide. You couldn’t see the doctor, but you could hear him which calmed your still racing heart. You knelt onto the floor shouting down to him.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“I’m okay, little bit bruised though.” He huffed.
“You or your ego?” Amy joked.
You heard the doctor grumble something along the lines of “Shut up” before chuckling at Amy’s comment.
“Right come on you lot, get down here.” The doctor yelled. You swapped an unsure look with the others.
“Do we have to? I mean it doesn’t exactly sound like fun.” Rory replied.
“If you want to stay up there to try and find your way out of the star by yourself then, by all means Rory go ahead.” The doctor said.
“Oh come on, what’s the worst that can happen” Amy said, smiling at her husband before lowering herself down into the hole.
You and Rory listened as she landed with a thud. You looked at him cautiously.
“Did you wanna go next or?” He asked. You smiled at him.
“What and leave you up here by yourself? What if something happens to you? No, you go and I’ll follow you down.”
“Okay but then I’d be leaving you up here by yourself. What if something happens to you instead?” He countered.
“Oh come on Rory you know me, I’m indestructible.” You joked, trying to ease his worry. “I’ll be okay. Just go”
Rory lingered for a few more moments, before sighing and lowering himself down.
You listened for his thud, before calling out to them. “All good to come down? Not going to squash anyone am i?” But the only response you got was your voice echoing off the walls. “Guys?” You tried again.
Once again your heart rate picked up, racing in your chest. “They’re okay. You’re okay. Nothings happened to them” You muttered to yourself, trying to calm down.
But the longer the silence continued, the more worried you got. Were they hurt? Had they been attacked by something? But surely you would have heard them. Had they left you? As you sat there trying to figure of what to do, you heard what sounded like glass cracking from behind you.
Turning to see if you could locate the noise, you saw what looked like a long sharp tentacle attaching itself to the wall. The longer you looked, the more appeared, dragging the body of a creature you hadn’t seen before closer to you. You froze in spot, terrified. It wasn’t until the creature let out the most revolting, blood chilling noise you’d heard that you were snapped back into reality. You turned and threw yourself into the hole. You didn’t know where the others were or what was waiting for you at the bottom, but anything had to be better than letting that creature catch up to you.
************************************************************************A lot goes wrong when you travel with the doctor. Nearly every adventure you’d been on with him ends up with you running for your lives. But this had to have been the worst you’d been on in a while.
Turns out the creature that you had come across, there was an entire colony of them living right in the heart of the star. And that’s exactly where you had been chucked out. They were descending from every angle – the walls, the ceilings (if you could even call it that) – everywhere.
They were holding Amy and Rory suspended high in the air, while the doctor was being restrained where he stood. His eyes looked desperate at he tried to call out to you, but before he could, you felt the tentacles wrapping around you dragging you backwards.
You fought, you screamed. You needed to get back to your friends. You need to help them. You didn’t care what happened to yourself as long as they were safe. Somehow, and you don’t have a clue how, you were able to break their hold on you. They screeched as you ran forward, trying to get back to Amy and Rory. Something sharp whipped across your legs, momentarily causing you to stumble. Another, hitting you across the face. You don’t know what it was or where it was coming from, but you kept running. You could see the sonic on the floor, just out of reach of the doctor. You didn’t know if it could help or what it would do to the creatures, but at this point you didn’t care. Your lungs were on fire, the fear of the creatures closing in you pushing you forward. You grabbed the sonic, kicking it over to the doctor before being swarmed by the creatures.
They were all over you. There was no escape. You covered your head as best you could, falling to the ground. All you could hear was there screeching burning your ears, their tentacles hitting every part of you. And then suddenly, it stopped.
There was no more screeching, no bodies pressing against you. Nothing. Even though fear was seeping through your bones, you peeled your hands away from your face taking in your surroundings. Some way in front of you stood a very dishevelled looking doctor, his chest rising and falling at an alarming rate. In his hand, the sonic. You let out a small sigh of relief. Looking around your own body, you could see what looked like ash. No, no not ash. It was glass. Tiny fragments of glass. So fine it was like sand. A lot of it covered your own body. The more you looked around, the more you saw clumps of it scattered around the place. You glanced back over at the doctor. His eyes were dark, a look you hadn’t seem on a regular basis, but enough to know what it meant. Your heart hurt for him.
“It had to be done.” His voice was rough. “They weren’t going to stop.”
************************************************************************
When you all got back into the Tardis, the atmosphere was tense. No one had said a word on the way back. Your thoughts were running wild, bouncing around inside of you. But you didn’t want to focus on that, you couldn’t. Not when the others were in such a state.
“Right.” You said after the doctor had flown the Tardis safely away from the cluster. “All of you sit down. I’ll be right back.” You said with a forced smile.
Quickly you disappeared off into another room leaving the others confused.
“Where do you think she’s going?” Rory asked, holding Amy close to him.
“You know what she’s like. Always patching us up.” She said with a stiff chuckle.
The doctor watched as you re-entered with a first aid kid, as well as 3 or four blankets.
“I figured we all needed a little pick me up. So, once I’ve made sure that no ones going to bleed out on me, grab a blanket and follow me.” You instructed, beaming at them.
“Where are we going exactly?” Amy said, already looking happier.
“We’re having a movie night. I figured none of us would want to be alone right now, and a movie will take our mind of things.” The ponds smiled at you nodding in agreement.
The doctor however, just watched you silently. You went about cleaning up any wounds the ponds may have endured before sending them on their way, each with a blanket in hand.
“Come on doctor, you may be a time lord, but you’re not indestructible” You joked, gesturing for him to sit down.
“Why are you doing this?” The doctor replied, eyes fixed on yours.
His tone threw you off a little. He didn’t sound angry as such, but he definitely didn’t sound happy.
“What do you mean?” You replied, turning your back to him and busying yourself with the items in front of you.
“This. All this. The movie night, the blankets, looking after everyone.” He spoke. “You know me, it’s what I do. I just wanted to make everyone feel a bit better.”
“But what about you?” The doctor said, taking your hand in his and turning you to face him.
You stared at his hand in yours, knowing if you met his gaze you would break.
“I’ll be okay doctor. Knowing everyone else is safe, that’s what makes me okay.” You replied.
He didn’t believe you; you knew he didn’t. But thankfully he didn’t question it any further.
“Come on, let’s go watch a film then.” He responded, pulling you towards the film room.
************************************************************************
Shouting. Crying. Pain. Everything was moving so fast. “Run y/n run.” You could hear the doctor yelling out to you, but you couldn’t see him. He sounded scared. You needed to find him. You tried to look behind you, only to be greeted by one of the creatures from within the star. You screamed. It was close to you. So close. Something wrapped around your ankles. You were falling. The creature was falling with you. Your back hit the ground with a thud, all the breath leaving your lungs. You cried out, tears staining your face. You had to get up. You had to find the doctor. You had to move. But you couldn’t. The creature was above you, descending. Move. MOVE. Please for the love of god move. You willed for your body to do something. To the right of you, you saw Amy and Rory. They weren’t moving. Your heart shattered. You were too late. You couldn’t save them. To your left, the doctor watched as you lay there helpless. He was trying to reach you. You couldn’t let him watch you die. The creature was closing in, you could feel the tentacles wrapping around you. It was getting closer. And closer. You could feel the weight of its body. You cried out, calling the doctors name. It was getting closer still.
“Y/N” You bolted up right.
Your heart was pounding, your breathing was rapid. You couldn’t focus. Your mind felt like it was spinning.
“Y/n, y/n look at me. I’ve got you. Nothing's going to happen to you. You’re safe now.” The doctor’s voice came from beside you.
You turned to look at him, your eyes frantic, tears still falling. His heart broke for you.
“T-the creature. It got me. It killed Amy and Rory. You were going to watch me die. I- I couldn’t save them.” You sobbed desperately.
“Y/n, please I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?” The doctor placed his hands on your shoulder, trying to ground you.
You looked at him, nodding slightly.
“Take a deep breathe with me okay. Ready? Breathe in”
You followed his instructions, trying to focus on just him.
“Breathe out.”
It slowed your racing heart but did very little to calm your thoughts. Images of your friends’ lifeless bodies kept flashing through your mind. The doctor, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking, took your shaking hands in his.
“Amy and Rory are fine. They just got tired and went to their room to sleep. They are safe. I promise you; everyone is safe.” He spoke calmly, tracing small patterns across your hand.
You nodded, unable to speak just yet. You looked around you, only now realising you were still in the movie room. In the Tardis. The doctor was right. You were safe. You could feel the anxiety beginning to slip away as you let out a sigh, collapsing back against your chair.
“Feeling better?” The doctor asked still holding your hand.
“Yes. I’m sorry for causing such a scene. I was just being dramatic. I’m fine honestly I-“
“Stop.” The doctor cut you off.
You looked at him, confused.
“Stop pretending everything is okay. You’re not fine y/n. You went through a lot today, just like the rest of us. You are allowed too not be okay.” He said softly, his hand moving to caress your cheek.
“You take on so much for the rest of us. All the time. There have been countless times where you’ve held me when I’ve cried or calmed me when I’m hurting. But do you ever actually stop to check on yourself?” He let his words hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “You take care of me all the time, for once – let me return the favour.”
You lifted your hand to hold his, still resting against your cheek.
“Okay.” You whispered, smiling at him.
He smiled back at you, before pulling you to lie against him. Your head rested on his chest as his arms wrapped around you protectively. One of his hands threaded its way into your hair, stroking it softly.
You sighed in happily, melting against the time lord’s frame.
“I’m not going to let anything hurt you darling. Go to sleep.” He whispered softly before placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head.
Before long you felt yourself drift off into a comfortable sleep, protected by the warmth of your timelord.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Do we prefer long or short fics? Let me know:)
#11th doctor x you#11th doctor x reader#11th doctor#fluff#anxitey#the doctor#eleventh doctor#doctor who#matt smith x reader#matt smith#amy pond#rory pond#bbc dr who#bbc doctor who
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Hi, your memes are really funny and made me laugh and you sound pretty cool
anyway, based on something that happened to me today, I'd like to submit a request for Bae. (They sound cute to b e honest)
A crack one shot of Bae and whatever member(s) of your choosing having to endure the awkwardness of hearing other people fucking in the next room/upstairs.(I don't really want to violate your guidelines of no smut, so that's why I thought of crack)
Personally I think it would be a really funny atmosphere to work with, what with the cringe/smirk/blank faces and the squeaking of bed springs
word count: ~950
warnings: none, the boys are all just mortified and laughing at the other
genre: crack
a/n: Hey-ho! Thank you for being the first brave one to send a non-anon ask to my humble blog, and thank you for your kind words! I'm glad my memes made you laugh, that was my goal, and I will definitely make some more every chance I get. I'm also sorry you had to experience that, hopefully you didn't have to hear it again between you requesting and me replying. It's always awful to hear it, especially with friends over. But I finally wrote this (sadly based on my own experiences, so I feel you), and I hope it is what you wanted.
Please let me know if I left a warning or anything out, I will add it in! Reblogs, likes and feedback are greatly appreciated!
!I don't condone anyone stealing my work and posting it anywhere without my permission, or feeding it to AI!
!This is just fiction, my interpretation of Stray Kids. By no means is this how they are and how they behave in real life!
‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹
‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹
Bae was tired.
Their band was on a tour, performing on the bright stage for hours, day after day. The atmosphere was always high, as if the air itself was filled with electricity, further amplified by the fans' shouting. But every member shared that same enthusiasm, shouting back and pouring their soul into their performances.
Of course, Bae was the same.
He always gave his best, no matter what. He lived and breathed for his fans, and in return, he got their support. They were what made him, well, him, the idol they all saw.
But he was so tired.
For once, he just wanted to sleep for a whole day, instead of rehearsing between every performance, even if it was just for a short minute.
That was why he immediately made a beeline for his hotel room the moment they arrived back, only a tired, lazy wave of his hand seen before he disappeared. No one stopped him, they all just mumbled out an equally exhausted goodbye to him in return.
As his feet reached the inside of the room, Bae took off his jumper -getting his arm stuck inside and huffing as a result- and shoes, just haphazardly throwing them onto the floor. He would put them away tomorrow, but he was just done with today.
Just as he was about to finally sit down on the bed after changing into some light nightwear, his lips pulled into a line as he remembered he had to do his nightly skin care routine. How he hated being an idol at that moment. Stupid needing to look good. Stupid jumper. Stupid cream that almost got into his eye. Agh!
With a final huff, he put the lid back on the tube, the last step of his routine finally done. After carding his hand through his hair in frustration, he sighed and dragged his tired body to the bed.
Even though he missed his own bed, this one looked just as inviting at that moment, if not even more.
The moment his head hit the pillow, it was empty, finally free from the endlessly circling questions inside. He was at peace, his exhausted body winding down and relaxing. It didn't take long for his consciousness to start slipping, going towards the land of dreams.
Until he heard a thud from above.
Well, whoever was above may have fallen down, who knew. So he let it go and went back to his journey to dreamland.
Until he heard another thud. Louder than the previous, followed by more questionable sounds.
'Maybe... maybe the person fell over again?' - Bae thought, his eyes having popped open and his brows furrowed in confusion.
He laid there, his ears honed onto any sound that came from above, even though a part of him didn't want to know what was happening there. But he didn't listen to that part, no, he was waiting in silence.
And then it happened. The thing he feared the most.
He heard a moan.
No matter how much he wanted to live his life in denial, he couldn't ignore the loud sounds coming from above. He tried shutting his eyes again, to try and sleep, even with a pillow tightly clutched to his ears, but nothing worked! So he just sat up, deep disgust and annoyance etched into his frail features, not knowing what to do. He might have brought his noise-cancelling headphones with him, but he wasn't sure where it was and he was too tired to search for it at that moment.
Bae didn't know how long he sat there for before light poured into his room, his door being opened by someone.
"Oh yea, Bae hyung can hear it too alright." - Felix commented, both amusement and pity on his face.
"Oh my god, Hyung, your face!" - that was all the little squirrel could get out, before he doubled over in laughter, followed by Jeongin and Felix.
Bae simply stared at them, the lines on his face merely becoming more prominent. The three just laughed for a few minutes, Felix being the one who recovered the fastest and going to Bae's side. The other two soon followed, piling on top of Bae's bed and leaning on the male.
They were all quiet, which, in itself was a miracle, because if Bae knew anything about his band members, he knew they weren't quiet. Ever.
With a quick glance at them all, he could tell they felt just as awkward as him. Based on what Lix had said, all of them'd heard the sounds of the tango from above, preventing them from sleeping. That was why they seeked the other out, but it was still... awkward, to be in the other's presence, in the current situation.
Nobody said much, besides a few sentences of basic small talk.
So they sat there, in their own silence, grimacing -it would have been hilarious, had it not been for the squeaking and moaning-, until a particularly loud sound could be heard and something in Bae snapped. He took in a big breath and quietly cleared his throat.
"How about we go and take a walk around the hotel? We can check their buffet, like you wanted in the morning, Lixie." - at his gentle, deep voice, everyone startled a bit, used to the silence.
But soon their expressions brightened, an excited sunshine incarnate dragging Jisung -who was the closest to him- along out the door with frightening speed.
"Dal hyung, your favouritism is showing." - Jeongin cheekily commented, running away before Bae could even process what just happened.
"Yah, Innie, you lying little menace, stop running so fast!"
#maybe a bit short#but i wanted to get it out to you finally#Bae is not biased#not always anyway haha#no#Felix just latched onto him pretty early on because he can speak english well#stray kids#skz#stray kids 9th member#skz 9th member#stray kids oc#skz oc#glacial prince#lee felix#han jisung#yang jeongin#request#stray kids fanfiction#stray kids fanfic#skz fanfiction#skz fanfic
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self insert .✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* school bus graveyard
words: 2.21k
next part: a rescue mission
note: hot minute, hey guys, this is my first time writing for school bus graveyard! currently, it's probably my favorite webtoon (that being said, all my other favorites are on hiatus, so, yk. that's that.) if you followed me for genshin one shots, I just wanna let you know I'm NOT gonna stop writing them, permanently at least. I haven't been able to fixate on genshin for a bit because the app is too big for my phone and trying to play on my computer kills me inside. hope you enjoy, also things prooobably aren't gonna be perfect, lol, I'm going off memory of the first chapter/s
content: self insert for sbc, uh, go read that first, I don't think I'll end up including anything (at least, not here) that needs extra trigger warnings. long term, it's a tyler x reader, maybe, idk, but regardless I don't plan on starting that for a bit.
i. a demon inside of my skin
you hadn't been in "the room where it happened", so to speak. actually, you didn't know what everyone else was dealing with for about a week after savannah, because you thought you were having batshit crazy nightmares! your hotel room was a good bit further away from everyone else's that first night, and after making a run for it into a room and barricading yourself in, you thought that would be the end of it. everyone did, didn't they?
and then, you went home. warm bed, soft blanket, box fan running in the background while you scrolled through various social media apps. it was nearing midnight, but that wasn't new for you. the early morning hours were your friend, the moon a sibling by your teenage years. not unique, sure, but that was the reality of that situation. a small shiver tickles your spine as you remember the night mare last night brought you, your fingertips ghosting the spot on your knuckle where you had banged it and broken your finger in that dream. it was even sore when you woke up. sometimes, nightmares were like that though. sometimes people woke up gasping for air after drowning in their sleep, or craving cigars after being a smoker in their dreams. sore knuckles weren't that far off.
it was like a flash; one moment, you were watching a college aged blonde talk about the type of oils she used for her long, silky, soft hair, and the next, the sky from out your window was a bleeding carmine. there was a loud silence, no wind, no rain, no box fan or phone.
then, again, you heard it. click, click, click. chatter, chatter, chatter. okay. cool. another nightmare. fun and fantastic.
shooting out of your sheets, your index finger throbbed, sparing a second and glancing at it revealed purple spots upon green bruises splotched along your hand. curling your finger inward hurt, but was possible. making a fist around your blanket, you threw it as hard as possible off of you, hoping to distract whatever was making the noise. it did not have the desired affect, and flew a couple feet before expanding and landing softly on the floor. that didn't matter, you were already on your feet and they were thudding to your door before you were aware of what was going on, scrambling on the carpet of your bedroom as you heard skitter like movements from where your eyes couldn't catch the gray, uncanny human-like figure making its way toward you on all fours. it was fast. way, way too fast. the undignified squeal you released as you yanked open your door turned into a gravelly scream of both terror and agony when you slid through, slamming the door shut before you, a blackened finger along with it. it didn't fall to the floor, but instead was hanging painfully out of your back, right under your shoulder blade. like a when a plank of wood splinters, but has enough fibers to hang off and out of the main piece and bobs back and forth. except you're not a piece of wood, and you have to not scream right now.
you feel nausea drinking its way into your chest, but adrenaline pushes it to a back burner as a need to survive pulses in your brain. grabbing a random shoe, a picture frame from off the wall, and a small ball which were left on the floor earlier, you throw them in another direction and hope it sounds enough like footsteps that when you get into the bathroom, whatever that thing is doesn't try to follow you in there.
the balls of your feet aren't much quieter than your whole foot, but they'll have to do as you nearly slam the bathroom door, stop yourself in the knick of time to edge it closed instead, and lock it. for the first time in your entire life, you internally thank your parents that you didn't get that house with the skylight in the bathroom.
now, you hold your breath. the creaking of the floors beneath your cheap carpet tells you that that thing, that monster, that whatever-it-is, is passing by. your fingers shake as you cover your mouth with one hand, the other cupping your nose as you try desperately to slow and quiet your breathing. unfortunately, the racing of your heart isn't helping, and neither is the recognition of that wound that craved up your back so nicely. again, your stomach turns. you don't have time to deal with that right now, even if you can feel blood dripping down your back and throbbing which matches your heartbeat.
click, click, thump, thump. the shadow from the light outside darkens, two fuzzy shadows before the door. silence. praying.
click, click. click. it slowly, slowly, drags its hideous feet away from the door.
you can't breathe for another minute, and the instant you do, it comes out as a heave. your eyes go wide as you scramble toward the bathtub, making it just in time to spill your guts. after emptying your stomach, you pull away with watery eyes and a raw throat, coughing a couple times. you feel a little bit better, as you usually do after throwing up, but that won't last. also, you need water, and that means looking in the mirror if you don't wanna be loud. but for right now, you just need to lay down for a moment. just breathe. you're so, so light headed. you had only just woken up, and this all felt so real. the pain in your hand and in your back. the scratchy stinging you feel up your esophagus. the exhaustion pawing under your eyes as you start to lean backward;
except, you can't, and when you try that, you only shoot straight up and nearly puke all over again. thankfully, this time, the finger actually falls out of your back.
"𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯."
you can reach the majority of the wound if you really reach. it won't be perfect, but you should be able to get it properly clean and bandaged with the first aid kit your family keeps in the bathroom. you don't really know how to clean a wound this big, though. will you need stitches? the only real way to know is to look at it, even if you aren't really ready to do so.
"𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘮 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴? 𝘪𝘧 𝘐'𝘮 𝘢𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘭."
the thought came to you before you even moved from your spot on the floor. oh, yeah. that's right. you're asleep.
...
huh. most dreams feel a little more, don't know. dreamy?? if this is a dream, candy is going to start raining from the sky right now.
right now. here.
𝘯𝘰𝘸, you think, looking up at the ceiling half heartedly. alright, if this was a nightmare, it was a really weird horrible one. and also, you'd rather not push your luck at this point. so, mirror it is. ignoring the pit of panic welling in your chest, you push yourself to your feet, and tip toe to the kitchen sink. you stare at the faucet, and then force your eyes upward. your hair is frazzled, and there are white specks along the corners of your mouth. and then, you turn around. your jaw tightens when you see the open wound, your nightshirt torn open and revealing tattered, aggressive flesh beneath it. that thing probably cut you to the bone. hopefully, because there is in fact a bone there, it didn't hit any organs. you can breathe fine, so your lung didn't seem all too punctured. it's just ugly. ugly and painful.
cleaning it is the first step, and you're just thankful that despite the fact that you stupidly, stupidly, stupidly dumped isopropyl alcohol onto it in hopes of doing so (for a second, before the burning, you felt a little uncomfortable. and then it hit, you nearly cracked your tooth from biting down so hard), it's over with.
a week later, you find yourself in class, rubbing sleepiness from your eyes. so, long story short, that wasn't a dream, and something is horribly wrong. you waking up to a long scab running down your shoulder blade told you that much. and things were about to get a lot worse. in the real world, that is.
"sir, please. they do literally nothing. they just sit there all spaced out, rubbing their eyes. it's like they aren't even trying for this project!" brandy, your classmate begs in a hushed tone. as annoying as the brunette could be at times, she wasn't wrong. a pang in your chest as you think of possibly making it so that the other members of your group protect fail because you are too tired to do your part. god, sorry brenda, you're too busy trying to huddle up in a bathroom all night and take care of a wound that isn't healing for some reason, all while praying that the thing that chased you in there and will probably kill you, doesn't murder you. but she's still not wrong. and it isn't like she knows that, because you have something seriously wrong with you. it's not her fault, and she shouldn't have to pay for you being crazy.
"mr. thomas," you quietly call, rubbing your elbow uncomfortably as you stare at the floor. you can see brandy pause from the corner of your eye, and you think there's even a sorry expression on her face. even if she was annoying, she clearly hadn't thought you heard that. and she had a right to be upset.
"I would like to change groups, if, um, possible."
there's a pause, and from your peripheral view, you can see your teacher and classmate motioning at each other, her probably trying to convince him to let you do so. a small thump, and then a sigh. "alright. I'm going to put you with ashlyn's group. "
as a redhead from across the room pops up and looks around, mr. thomas looks through a few pieces of paper, crossing something off with his pen. he didn't say it out loud, and frankly, he didn't have to. that was the group in the class that was also failing, so, you being in it wouldn't have much of an impact anyway. at least you wouldn't sink the whole ship all by yourself. was it smart, as a teacher? no. he probably should have put you with a tutor or something. looking up at mr. thomas as you nod and collect your things from your desk reveals an, in fact, apologetic eyed brandy. she mouths a "thank you", and you nod in return. you would drag your chair to their little group later, first, you should go introduce yourself, and hope they don't kick you out.
the bright blonde of the group catches you with his eyes before anyone else. you can hear him say something, and the rest of them stop talking and turn to look at you as you awkwardly walk over. their eyes are so piercing, it's making you uncomfortable.
"can we help you?" a brunette asks, tilting her head up to look at you. her tone carries no malice, just curiosity. makes you feel a little bit better.
"I'm so sorry to ask this, if you guys don't want me in your project I'll go ask if I can be alone or join another group or something, it's not a big deal. I'm having issues with my part of the project, and it's affecting everyone else's work in my group. so they were wondering if I could join in with you guys."
they all share a really weird look with each other, like they're talking telepathically or something. a tense moment passes, and two members speak up at the same time.
"yeah sure lol."
"fuck no."
"tyler! be nice! besides, we probably need someone who actually knows what's going on in this class!"
"didn't she just say she was having issues with her work? it's not like she's going to add much."
"to be fair, I don't think any of us are doing all too great on the work anyway."
you feel the need to clarify, mainly to get this over with. "I'm not really having trouble with the work. I'm just not doing it. I'm having sleeping issues, again, not a big deal if you don't want me to join."
they all stop, and look at you again. the redheaded one narrows her eyes, letting the braid she was messing with fall to her lap. her and the boy next to the brunette girl who asked you a question - actually, now that you're up close and looking at him, that looks like one of the boys on the baseball team. didn't she call him tyler? like tyler hernandez? huh. you didn't even realize you guys shared this class.
"what kind of nightmares have you been having?" the blonde asks, looking at who you're starting to assume is ashlyn. they have a staring contest of sorts while you start to answer. "oh, just weird ones. like, ones with monsters... and stuff..."
you didn't say anything about nightmares.
he looks at you again, a cat like grin on his face. "I think you should sit down. "
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
next part: a rescue mission
#sbg#school bus graveyard#tyler sbg#tyler#tyler hernandez school bus graveyard#x reader#xreader#x y/n#xy/n#dummie-writes#oneshot#self insert#self-insert#sbc self onsert#ash#ashlyn#ashlyn sbg#ashlyn school bus graveyard#ben#ben sbg#ben school bus graveyard#aiden#aiden sbg#aiden school bus graveyard#taylor#taylor sbg#taylor school bus graveyard#logan#logan sbg#logan school bus graveyard
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Stitched up love
If someone had asked Aemond what his least favorite thing about having an older brother was, he’d say having to trudge through the shit of Kingslanding just to find his waste of a brother passed out, either from wine or a night of debauchery.
Then having to drag him back to the Red Keep and help wash him, once Aegon had drunkenly slapped him. Something that he did remember doing and apologized for the next morning, Aemond accepted it.
It didn’t take long to find him, thought worse considering the wintertime was nearing. Hence making his covered eye throb to the point of wishing to gouge the sapphire replacement out of his socket.
When he helped Aegon to his chambers, his sister appeared out of seemingly nowhere and helped him get him to bed, she was already in a night robe that she wore to sleep. Her hair neatly braided.
“Laena?” Aegon slurred saying her name, as soon as Aemond and Helaena put him to the bed where he instantly landed with a small thud.
“Will you be alright with him here,”
“He’s usually asleep when he’s here…don’t bother, little brother.” She gave a small smile and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek.
“Goodnight…” Another wave of pain came to his sapphire eye and he forced a smile to hide the fact that he wished to rip the sapphire out.
“Goodnight, sweet sister.” He moved away before his sister realized his pain.
He started walking to his own chambers, usually he’d just grit his teeth till it went away. Sometimes even biting his tongue to the point of blood.
Just when he was near his chambers he bumped into someone, he heard a clutter fall to the floor and something hit his boot.
“Sorry!” The voice sounded familiar as he grabbed the object on the floor which felt like fabric, picking it up and giving it to the person. She looked around his age, her hair was chestnut brown and her eyes were blue. She looked a bit like the last seamstress girl. Dyanna, though her features were more sharp and her hair wasn’t blonde.
He vaguely remembered his mother saying that she hired another seamstress after Dyanna left, maybe this is the new seamstress.
“Who are you?” He looked at the girl who put the fabric back in the small basket she carried, she looked at him back. Looking at his covered eye then back to him.
“Isla, my prince.” She looked at his eyes again, more curious than disgusted. He expected her to look away but instead she said;
"Whoever had stitched your eye is a bloody fool and a shame on the name of the mother."
She looked at the scar then back at his face.
He laughed a small bit when she said that; Quite strange to say to a prince. He turned around to hide his laughter.
“You are the new seamstress mother mentioned?” The woman nodded and looked behind her back, as if someone was there.
“The Queen was kind to offer me work here,” Isla offered him a smile before giving him a polite curtsy.
“I wish you a good rest.” And just like that; the chestnut haired beauty walked pass him without another word.
The prince walked back to his chamber and changed into something more comfortable for sleep, braiding his hair before he slept, finally taking off his eyepatch so as to not have leather digging into his skin.
Finally going to bed and expecting the same tomorrow; His brother to leave the castle and drink his wine or play with his whores, and he’d have to go to find his brother again.
Maybe the only difference is the new seamstress, he wondered how she was sleeping.
‘I wish you a good rest,’ her words echoed through his head as he closed his eyes.
‘You too, Isla.’
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A short chapter but it is what it is.
Thank you so much @myladyinthetower for making the lovely moodboard you see and for sorta helping me with the story idea💚💚💚💚💚💚💚
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Where There's Smoke, Pt. 2
Story Summary and Content - 6,121 words. Mitchell succumbs to a heart attack amidst a house fire. Heart attack, asthma, smoke inhalation, on-site resuscitation, Stryker LUCAS 3. Male and female victims.
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Part One
Larissa
“Alright,” she said, pushing back her chair. Mark and Samuel both waggled their eyebrows at her, but she shook her head. “You can all keep playing, but that was my last round. I need to get some sleep or l will be useless tomorrow. We’ve been playing this forever.”
Samuel groaned.
“Don’t start in on her, Sam,” Angie said, wagging her finger at him. “The rest of us don’t have Peter Pan Syndrome.”
“I am a grown ass man with a marriage and a Fortune 500 company,” Samuel said, sticking his tongue out at Angie.
“Thanks for mentioning me first, babe,” Mark said, grinning.
“Tomorrow’s gonna come early,” Booker interjected, winking at Larissa.
Larissa sniffed, wondering why the air seemed a lot smokier than it had just moments before. She didn’t think the breeze had changed direction. The smoke smell burned down her throat and into her lungs, making her chest tight.
“Larissa?” Angie asked, sounding uncertain. Booker tipped his head back, raising his eyebrows.
Larissa blinked, and laughed. The laugh turned into a short series of coughs. “Ugh. I need to go to bed. I’m zoning out.”
“Does one of us need to haul you up the stairs?” Samuel asked, winking at her.
Larissa rolled her eyes. “No, I’ve got it, thanks.”
Mark looked a little more serious. Sometimes, he seemed to worry almost as much as Mitchell. “You’re okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m just going to get ready for bed and try not to wake Mitchell.”
“Alright,” he said. “Sleep well!”
Larissa limped toward the house, clearing her throat and thinking she should probably use her inhaler before she tried to sleep. Mitchell certainly wouldn’t get any rest if he woke up and heard her wheezing.
To Larissa’s surprise, when she entered the house, she felt like she’d walked into the fire pit. It was hot, smelling strongly of smoke. In fact…
Larissa started coughing, her throat and lungs spasming as she drew in the smoky air. She took several steps back toward the door, and flipped on a light.
The first thing she saw was smoke billowing from downstairs, drawing up one staircase and wrapping around and up to the next as though the stairs were a chimney. Even on the middle floor, the air was thick with smoke. The far end of the open floor plan was completely blocked from view.
While she stood there, coughing and staring in shock, she heard a thud from upstairs.
“Mitchell!” she wheezed.
She didn’t think to exit the house and call for help. Instead, she forced herself toward the stairs, hauling herself up. By the time she reached the top, her head spun, and she coughed so hard she thought she might vomit.
Larissa dropped to her hands and knees on the landing, wincing in pain as her sore knee dug into the hardwood floor. Her head ached, and she hadn’t been able to draw a proper breath since she’d come inside.
Worse still was the pace of her heart, racing dangerously in her chest.
Have to check on Mitchell…
She dragged herself down the hall and into their room. It took her thirty seconds to find him. His eyes were open, flicking across her face as she leaned over him. He clutched at his chest, his red eyes going unfocused in the seconds since she’d found him.
Larissa grabbed his shoulders, wheezing, trying to shift his weight.
Mitchell went limp and his eyes emptied of life, staring blankly into the smoke. Larissa pressed her fingers into his neck, searching for a pulse.
Searching.
No, no, no…
Larissa felt a hard kick to her chest, and tried to suck in a breath. Her airway spasmed, and her mind whirled, her vision blurring.
What…
Mitchell…
Another kick to the chest, and she fell across Mitchell’s prone body, her lips numb.
Can’t breathe… ICD can’t fix… that…
Mark
“One more round?” he asked, looking around the table. “We all have to get up early tomorrow.”
“I’ll be feeling like an old man tomorrow if we stay up much later,” Booker said.
“Maybe we should just call it a night?” Angie asked. “Larissa had the right idea, I think.”
Mark looked over at his husband. Samuel had become distracted, a slight frown on his face.
“What is it?” Mark asked, reaching over to rub his arm. “You good?”
“It’s… very smoky by the house,” Samuel said. The group turned to look, peering into the dark.
Mark squinted. “What is—”
Booker gasped, pushing his chair back from the table. “Shit! The house is on fire!”
Booker was right. Mark could see an orange glow from the basement windows, and a heavy cloud of smoke rising around the house.
“I’m calling 9-1-1,” Angie said, jumping to her feet, her phone already to her ear. “Maybe they can still save it—”
“MITCHELL!” Samuel shouted, his chair overturning as he scrambled to his feet. “Fuck—Mitchell and Larissa are in there!”
Then he took off toward the far end of the house. Mark chased after him, his heart sinking as they came around the back.
He hadn’t been able to tell when they were by the fire pit, but as they got closer, he could see black smoke boiling up the side of the house, obscuring the exterior lighting and the stars above.
“The French doors!” he shouted, coughing as he got a face full of smoke. “Sam, we can get into their room that way!”
The small group rounded the end of the house, taking the steps to the deck two at a time. The light on the side of the house flickered, but Mark could see smoke roiling against the inside of the glass doors.
Samuel jerked on the handle, cursed. Before Mark could react, his husband kicked the center of the doors hard, right where the latch and locking mechanism were installed.
After the fourth kick, the wood splintered and one of the panes cracked, and Samuel jerked the door open. Smoke boiled out and into their faces. Mark pulled his shirt over his nose and mouth, took a deep breath, and ran into the smoke.
His eyes started streaming. He staggered about briefly, unable to spot them in the chaos. A few long seconds passed in terror and silence.
The silence confused him. Why can’t I hear the smoke detectors?
Mark found them on the other side of the bed. The lamplight was dimmed by the smoke, but he spotted them curled up together on the floor. Mitchell lay on his back, eyes open, unmoving. Larissa sprawled across him, limp and unresponsive when Mark shook her shoulder. He reached over and patted Mitchell hard on the cheek, but neither stirred.
Mark scooped Larissa up in his arms and pivoted, his lungs burning, his shoulder and Larissa’s legs clipping Samuel on their way out of the door. Larissa was limp, her head tipped back over his arm.
Angie met him on the deck, hovering as he coughed and spat. “Do you need help on the steps? 9-1-1 says fire and medical will be here soon!”
“I’ve got her, she—” Larissa’s torso gave a strange little jerk. He glanced down at her, still moving toward the steps. “Larissa?”
She didn’t respond to his voice. Mark cleared his throat and made his way down the steps. He could hear Booker and Samuel behind him, coughing and hacking as they hauled Mitchell out of the burning house.
Mark carried Larissa several feet past the end of the steps and then laid her carefully in the grass, cradling her head. The night was dark, but he could just see her wan face in the moonlight. He leaned over her, his ear close to her lips. His own lungs were burning, eyes weeping.
Samuel and Booker spilled down the stairs, quickly lowering Mitchell to the ground a few feet away from Larissa.
“How are they?” Angie called. “The operator is asking if they’re breathing!”
Mark didn’t feel any puff of breath from Larissa’s lips. He adjusted the angle of her airway, waiting a few more seconds.
“She’s not breathing!” Mark called back. He had a brief moment where he considered starting chest compressions, but he decided to give her breaths first. He pinched Larissa’s nose closed. “I think her ICD fired a couple of minutes ago!”
As Mark sealed his mouth over Larissa’s, he heard Samuel say: “Oh, God! He doesn’t have a pulse! Booker, can you start CPR? I’m going to get the AED!”
Mark forced a breath into Larissa, noting as he did so that there was a fair amount of resistance, her chest slow to rise. He broke the seal and shouted: “Samuel, be careful!”
“—going into the house to get the AED,” Angie said into the phone, sounding agitated. “I know that’s not safe, but neither one of them is breathing, and—”
Mark gave Larissa another breath, then traced the line of her ribcage through her shirt, searching for his landmark. As he forced his hands down between her full breasts, he looked up to see Booker performing compressions on Mitchell.
The muscles in Booker’s arms bulged as he thrust his hands into Mitchell’s sternum, the force tipping Mitchell’s head to the side. Moonlight glinted off his staring eyes. His shoulders and hands twitched, his feet rocking, stomach distending with each forceful chest compression.
“…ten! One, two, three…” The same effects were happening to Larissa’s lifeless form underneath him. He could hear a light wheezing sound from between Larissa’s lips, watched her stomach bulging through her shirt.
“The operator says to just do compressions,” Angie said. “Not to worry about rescue breathing!”
Mark counted quietly, aware of Booker doing the same a few feet away. Larissa and Mitchell remained unresponsive, their skin ashen even in the moonlight.
Mark’s own heart was pounding from exertion and fear. He was afraid for Mitchell and Larissa, possibly dead from smoke inhalation. And he was worried about Samuel, who was apparently planning to run back into the burning house to retrieve the AED.
“…three, four, five…”
“…will be coming back with an AED,” he heard Angie say. “But we only have one… Yes, one of them has an ICD… put the AED on the one who doesn’t?”
Fuck. Mark briefly closed his eyes. He hoped Larissa’s ICD was working, and would help her. He imagined trying to explain that to Mitchell if they got him back and not her.
“…nine, ten! One, two, three…”
“Shit, I think I just broke his rib, Angie!” Booker called out. “Fuck!”
“It happens!” Mark called out. “Don’t stop! One, two, three…”
He heard Samuel coughing before he saw him, and then Samuel slid in between Mitchell and Larissa, a red case in hand. “Got it!” he croaked.
Booker’s shoulders bobbed relentlessly as Samuel unzipped the case.
The AED powered on automatically. Mark tried to keep his focus on Larissa, but he couldn’t help but watch as Samuel cut Mitchell’s shirt up the center, exposing his chest to the night air. Then he found the kit’s razor and shaved a patch of hair from Mitchell’s right pectoral, just below his clavicle.
“Apply pads!” the device called out.
“I’m going to put you on speaker,” Angie said. “I’m going to spell my brother!”
She laid the phone in the grass, and Mark heard the operator say: “EMS is two minutes out!”
“Let me take over for a couple of minutes,” Angie said, kneeling at Larissa’s other side, hands clasping together.
Mark lifted his hands and leaned back, watching as his sister’s hands fell in the same spot and she rocked her shoulders over her wrists. Then she started pumping the lifeless chest, making Larissa’s breasts wobble beneath her clothing. “One, two, three….”
Mark stood, wanting to be able to monitor them both. Samuel smoothed the second pad on Mitchell’s chest, and then the device called out: “Analyzing heart rhythm! Do not touch patient!”
Booker and Samuel both leaned back from Mitchell, hands raised.
“…three, four—What the hell was that?!” Angie shouted. Mark looked down; his sister was still performing forceful chest compressions on Larissa. “Was that her ICD? I gather it can’t hurt us or I would be on my ass!”
“Analyzing rhythm, do not touch patient! Shock advised. Charging!”
“Did her chest jerk?” Mark asked.
“If the patient with the implanted cardioverter-defibrillator is still unresponsive and not breathing,” the operator’s tinny voice said, “continue compression-only CPR.”
“Shock ready. Do not touch patient. Do not touch patient. Shock administered in three, two, one.” Mark darted his eyes back over to Mitchell, watching as his friend’s torso flinched. “Shock delivered. Continue CPR for two minutes!”
“I’ll go another round,” Booker said, forcing his hands down into Mitchell’s sternum. “You’re still coughing up a lung! Come on, Mitchell! One, two, three…”
Mark suddenly heard a gasp from below him, and a series of weak coughs. Angie leaned back and Mark dropped back to his knees by Larissa, reaching for her as she let out a sputtering wheeze.
“Larissa! Hey, take another breath for us, okay? Open your eyes!” Mark tipped her head back, holding her airway open and watching with a mixture of relief and concern as her throat worked and her mouth gaped.
“Can she breathe?” Angie asked.
Mark watched Larissa’s weakening struggle for a few seconds before he leaned over her, pinched her nose, and gave her a series of five rescue breaths. He watched her chest rise and fall, and then released her nose, pulling back several inches.
Larissa’s chest rose again of her own accord.
She was breathing, though the breaths were shallow and noisy, with a pronounced wheeze on the exhale. Her eyes remained closed.
Mark patted her cheek. “Come on, Larissa, you’re doing a great job. I need you to open your eyes, though.”
His own eyes drifted a few feet away. Mitchell’s eyes were still open, empty as they gazed toward Mark and Larissa. His chin bobbed as the force of Booker’s compressions rocked his body.
“I hear the sirens!” Angie shouted, scrambling to her feet. “I’m going down to the drive so they can find us!”
“Analyzing rhythm! Do not touch patient!” Booker and Samuel raised their hands. “Analyzing rhythm, do not touch patient!”
“Huh…” Larissa made a small noise and Mark looked down in time to see her reddened eyes open. She gazed up at him blankly, slow-witted and disoriented.
“Shock advised! Charging! Do not touch patient!”
Larissa frowned. She was barely breathing, and he could see fear rising through the confusion in her eyes.
Mark grasped her shoulder. “Help is coming. You’re going to be okay!”
“Shock ready. Do not touch patient. Do not touch patient. Shock administered in three, two, one.”
Larissa wheezed, and then her head tipped to the side, her face turning toward Mitchell as his torso spasmed.
“Shock delivered. Continue CPR for two minutes.” Samuel, his back to Mark, started compressions. Mitchell was still staring lifeless back at them.
Larissa made a strangled sound, her back bowing, hands tearing at the grass. Mark took her face in his hands, tried to pull her gaze up and away from Mitchell’s dead eyes. He loved them both, but he couldn’t do anything for Mitchell. Mitchell would want him to take care of Larissa.
“Larissa. Look at me. Hey, I need you to focus on breathing…” Mark felt her shudder, saw tears stream from her eyes. “I know. I know. I’m so sorry! Samuel and Booker are helping Mitchell, okay? And the ambulance is almost here—”
Larissa’s chest jerked again, and she was quiet and still for several seconds, an odd look passing over her face. To Mark’s relief, she gulped in another breath.
The night filled with lights and sirens. Mark willed them to hurry, keenly aware both of his husband pumping Mitchell’s chest and of his sister-in-law on the ground, barely moving air.
Then Angie was back, and they were surrounded by medics and firefighters.
“You’re going to be okay!” Mark told Larissa as a medic shuffled him to the side.
Someone set up a construction light, and medics took over for Booker and Samuel. Samuel found Mark immediately, grasping his hands, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Everything moved faster and faster.
Mark saw a tall paramedic with burly arms take over chest compressions on Mitchell. His compressions were even more forceful than Booker’s had been, forcing Mitchell’s stomach out and popping his shoulders.
Larissa’s team of medics were undressing and bagging her. He didn’t know if she’d stopped breathing again, or if they were trying to supplement her efforts.
“They’re going to intubate him,” Samuel said, his voice hoarse. The sound of a screaming monitor suddenly filled the air, and Mark heard one of the medics call for epinephrine.
“…losing her airway! I want you to—”
Mark didn’t know where to look. The medic with burly arms was still forcing his hands hard into Mitchell’s sternum. He could see the other medics moving around him, administering medication and sliding a laryngoscope blade down his throat.
On the other side, a crew swarmed around Larissa, watching the monitor, administering meds. Mark saw a medic kneeled by her head, carefully open her airway, and snap open a laryngoscope.
“…losing her pressure, now, need a bolus of—”
“He’s in v-fib, charging to three-sixty!”
“I’m in!”
“She’s bradycardic, uncertain what kind of device she has. Administering atropine —”
“Pause compressions, everyone clear! Administering shock!” Mitchell’s body jerked, and an athletic female paramedic leaned in, taking over compressions. The alarm had changed, and Mark heard someone say: “He’s asystolic. Administering another—”
“Sir?” A woman with a clipboard stepped in front of him. “Next of kin?”
“I’m Mitchell’s brother,” Samuel said. “Larissa is my sister-in-law.”
“We’re going to transport both of them soon.”
“To West Allen General?” Samuel sounded hoarse and wheezy, and he coughed after he spoke.
“Yes, sir. What’s your name?”
“Samuel. That’s my brother and his wife. Are… are they continuing efforts, or—” Samuel clung to Mark’s hands, squeezing them hard.
“Yes, sir. I do have to tell you that they are both very sick—”
“I understand that!” Samuel snapped, and then Mark felt him sway.
“Woah, Sam, sit down!” Mark urged his husband to sit down on the grass, bracing him with his arms. In front of them, the medics lowered a gurney next to Larissa and prepared to move her onto it. Mitchell continued to receive forceful compressions and breaths from the bag.
The woman with the clipboard kneeled in front of them, setting the clipboard in the grass and reaching out to grasp Samuel’s arm, pressing her fingers into the inside of his wrist.
“Take a few slow breaths for me, Samuel,” she said. “I know you’re under a lot of stress.”
Larissa’s crew of medics lifted her together, moving her from the ground to the gurney. Then they raised the gurney, locking it into place.
Samuel took a deep breath and started coughing, prompting the medic to reach for the stethoscope around her neck. She slipped the buds into her ears.
“I’m just going to take a quick listen.” She moved to his side and slipped the bell underneath Samuel’s shirt, pressing it to his back and instructing him to take a series of deep breaths.
“Still asystolic, administering vasopressin. Kelly, switch with Tina!”
“Gary!” The medic checking out Samuel called out over her shoulder. “Take this one with you. His name is Samuel. Next of kin to our other patients. Wheezing, possible inflammation; he needs O2 and a breathing treatment. Sir, I’m sorry to make you walk, but—”
“Mark…” Samuel started coughing and shook his head. The paramedic was helping him to his feet, and Samuel looked distressed.
“I’ll stay with Mitchell, Sam,” Mark said, reaching over to press his hand to Samuel’s chest. “Take care of yourself. And Larissa.”
“Booker and I will head on to the hospital,” Angie said. “Do you have your keys?”
“I do—Samuel!” The medics were already leading him after Larissa’s gurney, so Mark jogged a few steps closer and gave him a quick kiss. “I love you!”
“Love you…”
And then Mark was alone with his dying friend and the yard full of strangers trying to revive him. Samuel would be okay, but it was strange to know he was headed to the hospital in an ambulance while Mark stayed behind. And he had no idea what was happening with Larissa, now.
Mark crouched on the periphery, elbows on his knees and his hands pressed to his mouth. While he’d been with Samuel, the medics had unpacked a mechanical chest compression device. Mark knew what it was from an older news clip, but he’d never seen one used before.
Oh, Mitchell…
The medics paused compressions long enough to lift Mitchell’s torso off the ground, one of them holding his head upright as another slid a small backboard beneath him. Then they lowered him back to the ground, the backboard pushing his chest an inch higher. An arched piece clipped into the backboard.
The medic holding an ambu bag fastened it to the end of Mitchell’s endotracheal tube while the burly medic lowered what looked like a plunger to Mitchell’s sternum. Mark heard the whooshing sound of the bag.
The burly medic pushed a button, and the machine kicked on, loud as it slammed the cup into Mitchell’s chest, his sternum sinking in response.
Nn-hit, nn-hit, nn-hit…
Mark shuddered, feeling like someone had just doused him with ice water. The machine was efficient, and with the monitor screaming an asystole alarm, they evidently didn’t need to pause it. The sound of the device ricocheted off the side of the house.
“Sir?”
Mitchell glanced up, saw the same medic with the clipboard. She reached out with her gloved hand and helped him to his feet, holding onto his arm until she was sure he’d remain upright.
“We’re going to transport him now. I understand that the rest of your family has already left?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The medics lowered the gurney beside Mitchell, and he watched while they clipped him into a harness attached to the CPR device. Two of the medics raised Mitchell’s arms, strapping his wrists to the motor.
Nn-hit, nn-hit, nn-hit…
“Administering one milligram epinephrine, and then let’s get him on the gurney. Good ventilation rate, Kelly…”
“Sir?”
Mark blinked, focusing on the woman. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, sir. I understand. What I wanted to tell you is that I called in and got approval for you to ride in the front of the ambulance.”
Mark felt relieved; he hadn’t been looking forward to driving himself behind the ambulance, left in silence with his thoughts. “Thank you, I… thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sir. I’m going to help them load Mitchell on the gurney, and then you can follow me to the ambulance.”
She jogged over to Mitchell, and he watched as the medics lifted him about a foot in the air, device and all, and slid him onto the gurney. The medic named Kelly continued squeezing the bag as they strapped him in, and of course the machine continued its regular thumping compressions into his best friend’s bruised chest.
Mark followed the gurney through the grass and down to the drive. He’d barely noticed the fire engines this entire time, but now he found himself splashing through puddles of water and listening to someone discuss the structural integrity of the house.
He tuned them out, following the woman to the side of the ambulance.
“Go ahead and get buckled in,” she said. “They’re loading him in the back but they’ll do a pulse and rhythm check before we start moving, in case he needs another shock. We cannot use the defibrillator while we’re moving.”
“Thank you,” Mark said, unsure what else to say. He climbed into the ambulance, fastening the belt as she closed the door for him.
After about thirty seconds, he fished his phone out of his pocket and texted Angie: Riding in the front of Mitchell’s ambulance. About to leave. Not looking good.
Then he texted Samuel: See you soon, love. Leaving the house now.
Mark did hear the sound of the compression device briefly stop, but before long it had resumed. He heard some radio chatter, but he was too keyed up to try to make out what was being said. The woman with the clipboard opened the driver’s side of the ambulance and climbed in.
“We’ll be there in four minutes,” she said.
The trip was fast and uneventful, and Mark watched as the medic backed them into the ambulance bay. He waited until they came to a complete stop before he unbuckled and hopped out, watching as a team of people in scrubs ran out to meet the paramedics.
To his surprise, they didn’t immediately wheel Mitchell’s gurney out of the back of the ambulance. He heard talking, and then realized the sound of the automated compression device had stopped.
Mark walked forward to the end of the ambulance, far enough that he could look back and see what was going on.
“Clear!” he heard a medic call out, and Mitchell’s body flinched. A second passed, and one of the medics reseated the plunger before pressing a button to resume automated compressions.
“Administer another round of epinephrine, we have two minutes to get him inside before we shock again!”
They lowered the gurney from the ambulance and started running. Mark got a solid look at his friend as the gurney passed him: Mitchell was mostly naked, the color of sour milk. His abdomen rippled with the force of the mechanical compressions, the device swaying above him as it pounded his bruised sternum. They’d secured Mitchell’s endotracheal tube with a plastic tube holder, the tube itself protruding between his teeth. His eyes were still partially open, glazed over and staring at nothing as one of the medics bagged him.
Then they were gone, leaving Mark behind with the nurse charged with dealing with him.
Larissa, two days later
Larissa drifted reluctantly to the surface. She knew she was sedated; nothing else explained that sleepy calm that held her down despite her distant, logical brain telling her that Hey, something’s wrong…
That same logical thinking informed her that she was in a hospital, on a ventilator.
She wasn’t in any pain, not physically, at least.
Something’s wrong.
Someone’s missing.
How would I know that? she thought. I have no idea who’s here.
Someone was holding her hand.
Mitchell?
“Your parents are on a plane right now.”
Not Mitchell.
Mark.
Where’s Mitchell? An inexplicable wave of sadness rolled over her.
“She’s crying,” Mark said. “Is she in pain?”
“That’s probably the sedative,” an unfamiliar woman’s voice said.
“Have you decided if she needs surgery?”
Surgery?
“We will have to replace her device. The model that was installed is supposed to provide cardioversion, defibrillation, and pacing. The on-site information and the data from the device itself tells us it worked properly until the pacemaker function was required. The cardiologist determined that it behaved inappropriately during her bradycardic episode. At this point, it’s safer to replace it than make adjustments. The current plan is to use the same model.”
Why is Mark having this conversation?
Where’s Mitchell?
“Larissa?” Mark asked, squeezing her hand. “She’s still crying. When is the surgery?”
Larissa drifted, missing the answer.
Mitchell, days later
“Mitchell.”
His name was like a light switch coming on in the darkness.
“Mitchell, I know you’re in there.”
Accurate, but…
“You aren’t sedated anymore, so wake your ass up.”
Samuel. Mitchell sighed internally. Only Samuel would talk to me like that on my death bed, if that’s what this is.
“Hey, buddy, come on.”
Mitchell’s body was slowly coming back to him. His toes, his hands, one of which was being held in a vice grip. His face, where a nasal cannula fed him oxygen.
Samuel sighed and squeezed his hand.
“I miss you. We all miss you.”
Alright. What actually happened? I should start there.
“What’s new since last night?” Samuel sounded resigned now, like he was just talking and not expecting a response. “Well. The cafeteria had quiche.”
Hey…
Samuel? Where’s Larissa?
He felt uneasy.
Why am I here, and why isn’t Larissa?
“It was okay, the quiche.”
Samuel, I don’t give a shit about what you had for breakfast.
His thighs and shoulders woke up. He felt stiff, even without moving, and wondered how long he’d been in the hospital.
“Wish I knew how to read these machines,” Samuel said. “That one looks spiky, but there aren’t any alarms going off and no one is running in here, so I guess it’s okay… You look alright, anyway. And you’re breathing.”
Samuel’s hand clenched hard on Mitchell’s, making the bones shift and sending pain up his arm. Mitchell drew a sharp breath, which hurt almost as much as Samuel’s grip on his hand.
“Mitchell? Mitchell! Can you hear me? Or…” Samuel’s grip on his hand relaxed. “Was I hurting you? I’m sorry, buddy.”
That’s better, but why does my chest hurt?
Did I have a heart attack?
WHERE IS LARISSA?
“Hey, I’m sorry, but if anything will wake you up it’ll be this. About Larissa…”
Mitchell felt his heart rate pick up.
“She’s okay, don’t go having another heart attack, now.”
Samuel!
Wait… Another? Shit. I did have a heart attack.
“That wasn’t funny. Please, wake up and tell me off…”
Samuel, I’m going to wake up and punch you in the nose if you don’t—
“So, Larissa’s having her ICD replaced. I guess that extra part? The pacemaker part? It didn’t work the way it was supposed to, so they’re replacing it now. She’s going to be okay, but I thought you’d want to know.”
Larissa’s in surgery?
“It would be really good if we could tell her you’re awake when she comes off the anesthesia. She’s been sedated most of the time you’ve been out, so I don’t really know what she knows. They wanted to give her lungs a chance to rest after all that smoke. With her asthma, of course. Yours are getting better faster, which is why you’re off the ventilator.”
God damnit, now I’m just confused. What smoke? I thought I had a heart attack. How’d we get smoke in our lungs?
“That shit was no joke. I’m still having coughing fits if I try to take the stairs. Mark told me I’m forbidden from using the stairs for a while…”
Did everyone breathe in smoke? What…
He suddenly had a memory of himself, winded and exhausted, climbing the stairs in the vacation house. The interior smelled strongly of smoke, and he’d been worried about Larissa. And his left jaw had hurt.
Well, that should have been a hint, dumbass.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up!
Mitchell squeezed Samuel’s hand. Or tried to. His fingers twitched. It was enough.
“Mitchell? Buddy? Come on, keep it up. Open your eyes.”
Mitchell tried again, and this time his hand squeezed his brother’s fingers hard.
“Mitchell?”
He peeled his eyelids open, squinting as harsh white light stabbed him in the eyes. “Ugh…”
“Mitchell? Oh, Christ, buddy. Oh, hey…”
Mitchell blinked until his brother’s pale, blotchy face swam into focus. “Samuel…” He could barely speak; his voice was faint and cracked with each syllable.
“That’s me,” Samuel said, and then his face crumpled and he covered it with his shaking hand.
“Tell me,” Mitchell whispered.
Mitchell, three days later
“She’s still coming, right?” He tried not to sound anxious; Samuel and Mark both looked like they might pass out if he so much as thought about worrying about something.
“Her dad’s wheeling her down here any minute now,” Mark said. “The doctor was just waiting on you to be released to cardiac step down. Technically, you were sicker, so that’s why she had to come to you.”
“She knows I’m okay?” Mitchell glanced at his heart monitor, unable to hide the uptick in beats. Fortunately, neither Mark nor Samuel thought to look. He’d already asked this question multiple times a day for each day that he hadn’t gotten to see her.
“I don’t think she’s going to believe it until she sees you,” Samuel admitted. “But it’s okay, Mitchell. Don’t worry.”
“Here she comes,” Mark said from the doorway. “I see them now. Mrs. Colton just waved at me from down the hall, though it looks like she’s not coming down here. Mr. Colton’s steering her chair.”
Mitchell pushed himself off the pillow, adjusted his nasal cannula, and reached up to smooth his hair. His IV line was in the way, and he swatted at it in irritation.
“You’re making the bedhead worse, buddy,” Samuel said, reaching over to pat the back of Mitchell’s hair flat. “She won’t care about your hair. It’s cute that you’re primping, though…”
Mitchell flipped him off, knowing Samuel would find that comforting.
He barely got his hand down before Mark stepped out of the way to admit Larissa and her father.
Mitchell relaxed as soon as he laid eyes on her, even though she looked rough enough to concern him.
She looked like she’d lost weight over the past week; her cheeks were gaunt and her skin sallow. She wore a nasal cannula like his own, and her hair was in a long, fuzzy braid over her shoulder. He could see a bandage peeking out from under the neckline of her gown.
She was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, and she burst into tears as soon as their eyes met. Mitchell felt his own eyes water in response, and would have climbed out of bed if Samuel hadn’t put a restraining hand on his arm.
“Larissa, honey,” her father said, as he wheeled her over to the bed, her shoulders shaking and her breath coming short. “Take a deep breath.”
“Baby,” Mitchell said, leaning over to clasp her hands as she stretched hers toward him. “Shhh, everything’s okay.”
She drew a shuddering breath, coughed, and whispered: “I love you…”
“I love you, too, Larissa. Fuck, it’s so good to see you!” He felt a broad smile spread across his cheeks.
“I’m s-sorry!” she blurted, her tears renewing.
“What could you possibly have to be sorry for?” He glanced up at Samuel and Mark, puzzled, then over at Larissa’s father. “What…?”
“I st-stressed you… out… And then I should have gone for… help… inst-stead of t-trying myself… Oh, Mitchell, you d-died…” She shuddered, coughing again and bending over as though in physical pain. Her father gripped her shoulder, making an alarmed sound. “It’s… my… fault!”
“No!” Mitchell exclaimed. He could see her distress, wished he could relieve it. “No, Larissa! It was a fire, baby. The smoke detectors were broken and no one replaced the batteries. If anything, the staff…”
“You…. were so st-stressed!”
“Larissa, honey, if you don’t calm down, you’re going to make yourself sick.” Larissa’s father rubbed her shoulder. “I should have brought your mother in here…”
Mitchell had never seen her like this. All of the times she’d been sick or frightened, and this was the first time she’d come completely undone.
“I need to get down there or get her up here, sir,” Mitchell said, looking her father in the eye.
Mr. Colton nodded. “I’ll help her up there. I can tell your brother wants you to stay in bed and I agree. No offense, but you still look like you took a long walk in the afterlife.”
Samuel snorted, and Mr. Colton ignored him, continuing: “She’s got plenty of line as long as we don’t kink it. You scoot thataway a bit, and Mark, if you’ll help me get her up there…”
In less than five minutes, Larissa laid next to him, trying to calm herself as she cuddled against his side. Mitchell had his arms around her, and he risked giving her a quick kiss before he settled for pressing his lips into her hair.
“I love you,” she whispered. He felt her trembling cease.
“I love you, baby. None of this was your fault. It’s not mine, either. We’ll be okay.” He took a deep breath. “I think I’ve gotten a little codependent, right? That’s not your fault. And not yours to fix. Please, please don’t blame yourself.”
She sighed, relaxing in his arms. His heart rate slowed, and he ran his fingers down her cheek and over her jaw, letting his fingertips rest on her carotid. Her heartbeat tapped reassuringly against his fingers.
“Mitchell?” she whispered.
“Yes, baby?”
“Let’s not do that again.”
Mitchell laughed, heard the others chuckle. He stroked her cheek, relieved to hear her sounding like herself.
“I agree wholeheartedly.”
The next Larissa and Mitchell Story is Heart-to-Heart.
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