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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

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Hi <3 I'm not sure if you're comfortable writing this but I'll try :) Smth where Buckys girlfriend suffers from a lung illness and normally he supports her whenever she feels bad, but one time he's on a long mission where he cant be there when he struggles breathing. Then the other Avengers at the compound take her to the hospital and call Buck who immediately rushes home to be by your side and it's all cute and fluffy in the end? :) Thank you very much <3

Trapped Air

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary | whilst on a mission, you suffer with your breathing problems, leaving all to panic as you have air trapped in your lungs.

Warnings | breathing problems, angst, mentions of death, swearing, mentions of torture

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

There had been no call back from Bucky; he was on a mission far away, and deep undercover, and the fact that you had no response did not surprise you, however, it was impossible not to feel overcome with worry.

From what you knew, he was somewhere in Austria with Steve, and most likely irritated by the company of Sam. The thought of them together, waiting for further intel made you smile, and so you sat up on the sofa; the place where you had fallen into a rural slumber late the previous evening. That thought also made you lightly snicker to yourself, and had you grasping your chest in agony at the action.

You adjusted your seat on the sofa, kicking the blanket under your legs as you tried to relax your entire body. To subdue the worry for your love that you had and were experiencing, you and Nat had watched a movie, your head running with thoughts of the danger that your boyfriend was possibly under.

It was no doubt that James Buchanan Barnes, the White Wolf and former Winter Soldier was a fine fighter; he had endured and survived wars, achieving victory in the vast majority of his battles. But still, he was nothing more than a man, with a veil of serum coursing through his veins, and whilst it made him much stronger, he was still sustainable to injury, and worse.

Countless times had you seen him braised in bruises, and kissed along the seam of his scars, and though he had lived through decades, and still appeared unscathed considering the circumstances, he was a mortal man, able to die and it was far too clear for your scared eyes that he wouldn’t be able to survive every fall.

An emptiness peeled away inside of you as you placed the phone down, resting your head upon the arm of the sofa of where you had done so priorly. Taking a deep breath, you wheezed, feeling nothing more than internal pain, and it was not just for your longing to see Bucky again. It was indeed something else, a condition that you had grown used to over the years.

It had taken everything from you; the job that you had so well partook in was diminished to being unsuitable for your health. Being an avenger had once been your only purpose, but it had been the one thing that had broken you. From all the rubble and other pesticides that you had breathed in, it had tampered with your lungs, and made you to be nothing more than a victim, a fallen hero.

The worse thing about being fallen in such a way was that you had not died on the job, instead, you were being tormented every time you watched your friends leave the compound, carrying a duffel bag that had all the necessities that they could possibly need for the gruelling months ahead on the missions that they had been sent on.

Knowing that if you weren’t so inwardly broken and that if that were the case, you could have easily accompanied Bucky and the others on their uncover op made you feel worthless, and disposable. As your chest raked the air that surpassed its roots, it waded a feeling through every limb that was attached to you.

Large gulps from the air machine that was beside you usually helped, but as your brought the medically introverted oxygen mask to surround the lower half of your face, the torturous sensation failed to fade. It remained, stuck in the collapse of your airways, refusing to allow air into your defined bloodstream.

The factor alone had you panicking, and as you went to stand, there was a pounding fire coursing through your head. Your eyes got dreary, fluttering as you reached out to grasp for the side of the seating area to stabilise your steps. But it wasn’t enough, all of your weight leant to one side, and a loud and colossal smash echoed through the room.

You helplessly laid there, having no ability to get up, as the shards of the glass table that had tried to break your fall, and had ended up breaking instead, stabbed mercilessly into the canvas of your back. It made you feel like a dartboard, free to the attempts of anything that put a bet on to try. This was your final fall from greatness, and if you weren’t to survive this, that would be o-

“Y/n.” A voice rushed out, as footsteps scrambled to come to your side. The silouhette of a blurry man knelt beside you, sickened with their own scheme of panic. “Nat!” He called out towards the kitchen, you hearing the pitter patter of her assumed footsteps that were toed in competent heels.

“Clint, what happened?” She asked, but giving him a break to compose his answer as she called warily out for FRIDAY, relieved when the AI answered her order. “Get one of Stark’s cars ready to go to the hospital, inform who needs to know. Y/n’s just had a nasty fall, and I assume more.”

“She was like this when I got in here.” Was the archer’s delirious response. His hands raised your head out of the cracked pieces, gently picking the sharp crystals out of your hair. He was sick with worry, he knew that you were touring a difficult road, one that no one else on the team could fathom to understand, but despite all that, he was still there for you, as were the numerous others.

Wearing his priceless suit, Tony rushed into the room, his brown eyes blown wide as he scoped the scene. “She’s losing consciousness.” Nat informed the pair, focusing on how your eyes barely had the strength to stay open. Your breathing was laboured, and the choke emitting from it was audible, making all witnesses wince from the threatening sound.

“My car is ready, on our way to the ER, give Barnes a call.” He held the keys to his vehicle, swinging them around his finger, as he watched Clint and Natasha hoist you up, and support you through the journey to the front of the compound. Nat stroked your hair as she bit back her own tears, combing tenderly through the slightly bloody tresses to soothe her own present anxiety.

The mission was turning out to be a bust, they were tracking Zemo after his great escape; hence why their departure was classified. It was unknown why the once Baron of Sokovia had fled to the country, but all prior intel had supported the idea that he was searching for a partner to help finish his work, if he were to ever get caught by the American government again.

Bucky hated being away from the place that had slowly become his home. It made him feel lost, but if he wanted to remain within said area to continue his life, he had to follow Fury’s orders, or else the panel that had granted him freedom for all his past actions, may happen to change his mind.

The gig of being an avenger was more of Steve’s expertise, he was loved by the country, and had never tried to break its order down piece by piece. Before he was cleared to join the team, and the debate that lead to Steve and Tony siding against one another, he was nothing more than a tense ghost story.

All knew he was real, but most were too scared to admit that the Winter Solider was an assassinating figure in existence. To everyone’s dismay now, following rule number two, he was no longer HYDRA’s pet weapon. He, for the first time in his life, had some kind of clarity on who he was.

His identity, was James Bucky Barnes, the White Wolf, the protector of the world and a renounced ally of Wakanda. And he was happy to be known as such, in a way, the new him cleared his red ledger, and that faded away with that damned red book.

No one had the power to control his mind again, all of his actions were now completely up to him. At first, with the reign over himself, he had been unsure on how to start with this new and invented soldier that he had become. He was no longer taking refuge behind the facade of T’Challa’s country anymore, for he was no a wanted man of the state.

But Sam enjoyed prodding at his ‘cyborg brain’, driving him to certain frustration. Though, it did not matter as much, for he found the peace he had been searching for after that little bit of calm that he had experienced on his hideaway.

You. A retired avenger, that had kicked his ass, and continued to brag about it to this day, when he was under Pierce’s demeaning orders. Though, it saddened him, to have the knowledge that you no longer had the ability to pin him down on a training mat, or throw his best friend’s shield in his silent face.

There was no longer an ignition of strength to fight left within you, you were weak from the condition that had and was holding you hostage in its devastating grasp. The debts of your god deeds had wormed their way through your body, destroying it bit by bit.

Whenever he was away, missing the presence that you had once accompanied him with, he was unable but to do anything but worry about your struggling health. He feared that one day, he would get a call claiming that you had experienced a traumatic accident, and as he sat in the small and cluttered motel room, the vibrancy and life that his phone was off putting had him nervously on edge.

“It’s Fury.” He claimed to his rugged partners, putting the man that had regained control of his empire on loud speaker, awaiting for the patch wearing associate to respond to his acceptance of the call. A moment of silence had him standing, the next, caused him to pace. Steve frowned, well aware that Fury only went silent, and did not barking affirmative orders when something had happened.

That man was an absolute whore for the dramatics, he had even faked his own death on multiple accounts. There was nothing the man could fathom not to do, and this sure as hell, in the name of Goose, was not the first instance he had informed his recruits of shocking factors. Steve remembered when the dark clothed man informed him that he was in the 21st century, and to this day, it remained to be the greatest shock that he had experienced.

The second had got to be the reveal of Bucky’s survival, that heart stopping moment had gone in slow motion, as the soldat whipped his unmasked face around to face his opponents, and he was quickly recognised. You had been there to ease the confusion and the humongous shock that wired his brain. And not to mention, to soothe the wave of emotions, you had prompted at jokes at about kicking his best friend’s fine ass.

That had only been the start to a long road ahead, it had all seemed like your quad of rebelling would go on forever. Sam Wilson was your best friend, and the first to be told of your failure to continue your raids on missions, and to say that he was holding back fountains in his eyes, was a casual understatement. The Falcon had felt angry at himself for not realising the increase in coughs that fled from your sassy mouth, or how quickly you would get tired.

He put some of that blame upon himself, claiming that he should have been the first to notice the signs. It was his idea, before your struggles were revealed to anyone else, to refuse your aid on missions, which lead to conspiracies from the team. For a couple of weeks, the members that you had fought alongside for so long had speculated that you were pregnant,and even Bucky had even began to fall for that idea.

In the end, they had all wished for that to be true, a child would be a gift, whereas instead, you were bestowed with a curse. Sam had offered for you to stay with Sarah and the kids, but upon your insistence, you remained in the compound, organising files and watching cinematic classics for the thousandth time.

But anyone could see, that every time they discussed the missions, of left to endure them, your face fell, appeased by the thought that you’d never share that experience again. They all tried to distract you, Thor had even taken you on a vacation to New Asgard so that you could relax and play video games with Korg, yelling frustratedly at Noobmaster69 as the kid tried to spite your friend and his gaming skills.

That though, had not ended well, and instead, the noise had brought you insufferable pain, and you had to be taken home. But what was home anymore? You hardly felt as though you belonged upon the army of your friends, or the guardians that they were aligned with.

And so, it was very understandable why Bucky was inclined to worry. All his dragged our life, he had watched people die, or awakened from cryo to find them gone, and the split moments that he were required on missions, was another moment that he had lost with you.

He gulped as he waited for Fury to say something, anything! And when he did, he wished that he could go back in time, and stop you from ever having been an avenger. “It’s agent Y/L/N, something has happened...”

It had been hours of no news, and Stark tapped his well dressed foot. He had requested, - no, insisted the best doctors to tend to your internal and external injury, claiming that if your condition was made any worse, he would personally make sure that they never tended to another patient again.

He was not usually one to be so aggressive, but he feared loss, it was a great flaw and attribute of his. Possibly, in some people’s judgemental eyes, he cared too much, but he never thought so. To him, the billionaire was human, no matter what the citizens over the world thought of him.

Sure, he wore an iron suit to protect the world, but beneath all the metal, he had a heart. And he’d be damned sure that he used it, and that it beat for a purpose. Natasha and Clint were either side of him, the assassins on her phone as she read the captain’s well written message.

“They’ve entered the country.” She spoke, referring to Sam, Bucky and Steve. It was a relief that they were going to be here soon, then they’d all look sane in comparison to Barnes. It was doubtful that he was holding himself together well, these hours had been torture to all of them, but he had actually been tortured in multiple gruelling occasions, but it was nothing in comparison to this.

One of the country’s best and devoted doctors opened the door to the room that you were being stabilised in, leading to all eyes waiting outside to stare hopefully at him. It was an intimidating thing, to have three avengers leaving him with one of their owns lives in his hands, he was not a hero. But to them, he was to be, they trusted him and the various recommendations that had suggested that he would be best suited to the deed.

The fact that he was the man in charge in this situation was to be great steak in his career, though, he would never be able to anyone, not even family, that he had saved the life of an avenger. Due to doctor patient confidentially, he was bribed into silence by the philanthropist himself, who was certain that he was fine for paying for the entire service himself.

Money had no importance to Tony, not as his friend was the patient that could have died. The man removed his sunglasses, sternly looking up at the kind doctor with pleading and urgent eyes, wanting to scoop every detail that he could from the eccentric medic. “How is she?”

The doctor gulped, well aware that there was a weight apparent on his shoulders, even when delivering any news. But this, was a whole new experience, he knew that you, the woman hoisted up in the hospital bed, had saved his coursing during the battle of New York. He was grateful, for everything that you had done, but simultaneously, felt the need to be careful with any tactic that he used to save your life.

“Well,” he licked his dry lips, watching as the Black Widow herself stared into his soul, “she’s stable, for now. And it would be okay if one of you went in, she’s currently in the midst of waking up. However, she is going to be unable to give much in the verse of a conversation, the oxygen mask that she’s wearing has to stay on, and it will not be a good if she tries to waste the breath she’s being given to talk.”

He was interrupted by the sound of competent running down the hall, it was as though the men dressed in their gear ignored the no running rule. But it was understandable, seeing as Bucky’s eyes were wild and wide, as he came to a stop and asked what was going on. Clint stood, bracing a hand upon his shoulder, before informing him the details they had just been given. “I think you should be the first to see her.”

Bucky didn’t argue with Clint, and instead, walked into the room, ensuring that he shut the door behind himself. He smiled painfully at the sight; there were so many tubes, and all the surrounding machines were lit up with statistics that he did not understand. Nevertheless, he looked towards the vacant seat beside your bed, and claimed it for his ass that you had once kicked.

Your eyes watched as he looked down upon you, your hands reaching to remove the mask, but he placed his hand upon your own, and replaced them to be upon your chest. “Shush darling, no talking, doctor’s orders.” He spoke, rubbing your cheek with his right hand, feeling the corner of the mask against the inside of his palm.

“Had me so worried doll, thought I was gonna lose you.” At the thought, a grimace presented itself of his woeful face, and to comfort him, you placed your fingers around his own, absentmindedly playing with them as you listened to his sincere voice. “On the way here, I spoke to Shuri, we are going to see if she can help you in anyway, as long as you’re okay with that. Does that sound good baby?”

Fluttering your eyelashes as you looked through their webbed curtain to stare lovingly at him, you nodded your head, ignoring the spiteful pains that emitted from where the glass had shallowly penetrated your scalp. “Alright, I’ll let her know. And I was thinking...” he waited for a moment to continue, being encouraged by the crease between his brow line.

“What if we stay in Wakanda, and we leave all this behind? We can still see people when they visit, and we can just, have some calm to ourselves. No missions, no aliens to fight, and no Zemo to chase. Or I was thinking, we go and live by Sarah, you love those kids, they’re basically your nephews, and we could take boat rides during the middle of the night, and help the people who live there, and...”

At his rambling, you smiled beneath the plastic system that was around your mouth, listening to him talk and talk about your future together. Yes, you missed missions, but you would give all that up for a normal and easy life, with Bucky Barnes.

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ghosthunterbuck · 2 years

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2021 fic year in review 🌟

tagged by @zainclaw, thanks!! I high key can't wait to look at my stats, I haven't written as much as I did this year, maybe ever? so this will be fun for me lol!

Total Number Of Completed Works: 26 (!!! this is insane. nothing super long, but the fact that I've written and posted this much is just... unbelievable to me)

Total Word Count: 35k+

Fandoms I’ve Written In: All 911 baybeee

Looking Back, Did You Write More Fic Than You Thought You Would This Year, Less, Or About What You’d Expected?

So much more holy shit. I started watching 911 in February and my brain just absolutely latched onto it. Like I said before, I've never written this consistently in my life. It's been really fun to get back into the creative process, especially given, you know, the world rn

What’s Your Own Favorite Story Of The Year?

Oh man, this is tough. I think it would maybe have to be between like it means something and (wheeze). I love buzzfeed unsolved, so writing that as an AU was super fun. that said, I'm really proud of the character work in like it means something and really happy with the reception it had too. it's also one of the first fics I ever started, stopped and then actually finished, which gave me a lot more confidence to write longer fics and commit to things like 911christmasweek

Did You Take Any Writing Risks This Year?

I resolved a long time ago never to post unfinished WIPs, because I'm liable not to finish them. It was with that in mind that I posted the first part of balancing on breaking branches, which was intended to be a one shot. a ton of people asked for more, though, so I ended up writing and sharing three additional parts, all without a final product in mind. It worked out, and I'm really glad I did it!

Do You Have Any Fanfic Or Profic Goals For The New Year?

Nah, just to keep doing what I'm doing!

Most Popular Story Of The Year?

it's got to be HIPAA versus the Heart, outsider POV my beloved. that one was a ton of fun to write, so I'm glad people liked it!

Story Of Mine Most Under-Appreciated By The Universe, In My Opinion:

honestly, I feel so incredibly lucky to have gotten the reception I have in this fandom. I feel like everything I post gets 10x the interaction I expect, and I'm so very grateful for it. if I absolutely had to give an answer, though, I'd say toothpaste, which is stupid and fluffy and extremely short but I love it

Most Fun Story To Write:

(wheeze), definitely. I'm actually considering a sequel, just because I had so much fun writing that one. the ghost files announcement gave me some inspiration 👀

Most Unintentionally Telling Story:

mmmmm, probably not then, not now. honestly I didn't like that one when I posted it, mostly because I felt like I was projecting way too many of my own insecurities on buck. I still don't love it, but it seemed to resonate with a few people, so I'm glad it exists

Biggest Disappointment:

There's a 10k fic sitting in my wips, most of which I wrote before 4x08. if you know my work you know that's wayyyy longer than the vast majority of what I post, so I'd love to share it. it really just doesn't work with where the characters are now anymore, though, so if I am ever going to share it, it's going to need significant rewrites

Biggest Surprise:

like honestly the fact that I've been writing at all, and even more than that, the fact that people like it. also, I thought it was very funny when someone brought first kisses back around like 4 months after I posted it

My Favorite Part Of Fandom This Year:

Just being here and meeting so many amazing people! I've never really made fandom friends prior to 911, so feeling so involved in this community has been amazing. To all of my mutuals, please know that I love you

Tagging: @onelonelytortillachip @evanbucxley @hattalove @mistletoemay @elvensorceress @oatflatwhite @queerpanikkar and anyone else who wants to do it!

#tag game #Abbie writes

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kumeko · 3 years

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A/N: For the Bound by Blood zine! I’ve always wanted to look at the darker side of Nezuko’s transformation, the blood lust and hunger barely controlled.

…

Nezuko knew of death, knew of the ways it could linger like a bad cough. She had watched as her father wasted away over the years, his body growing thinner and weaker until it was a kindness that he didn’t wake up one day. Her mother faded away from heartbreak, more a ghost than a person until the end. When death came for her, Nezuko had hoped it would be quick and painless.

Instead, it seemed death had a sense of humour. The attack was quick, her body falling to the ground before she could put everything together. It was only as she lay on the wooden floor, her blood pooling around her, that she’d even realized she’d been injured. Nezuko felt disconnected from her body, unable to scream as her mother and siblings fell around her, their bodies dropping one after another like broken dolls. Something, someonedarted between her family, killing them faster than she could blink. At the edges of her vision, flames licked the walls, turning her home into a pyre.

Something sharp pierced her skin and suddenly she felt everything: every cut, every bruise, every broken limb. A sharp, metallic smell flooded her nose and she could taste the blood on her lips. Her body burned as though poison ran through her veins and she screamed.

With what little of her consciousness was left, Nezuko prayed that Tanjirou wouldn’t return until long after the slaughter was over.

Nezuko knew nothing. Her eyes blinked open in a wooden structure, her brain slowly supplying her with the words to describe her surroundings. Every part of her body ached, but that sensation as quickly fading as she sniffed the air. An utterly delicious scent tickled her nose, a rusty, iron-filled smell that permeated on every surface of the house. Drool dripped off her lips as she realized she was surrounded by a feast.

A rotten feast. She didn’t have to touch the torn bodies strewn around her to notice that they weren’t fresh, that they were the remnants of another hunter. Even the blood beneath her hands was cold and thick to the touch. Instinctively, she knew it was a bad idea to drink that. Her stomach gurgled, starving, and she licked her lips as she stared at the body of a young boy.

She should go. A meal could be found elsewhere. Flames engulfed the vast majority of the house and even if she wanted to stay, she couldn’t. Still, it was a waste. An utter waste.

Her nose twitched and Nezuko turned toward the entrance to catch a new scent. It smelled faintly of charcoal and soap, an oddly familiar combination. Something about it, about this house and the bodies, jogged her memory. She knew the boy (and it was a boy, not yet a man) approaching the building.

Part of her wanted to reassure his panicked cries. A greater part of her inhaled the thick, iron-rich smell beneath his skin. His blood was still warm, still pumping, still sweet. Nezuko’s thoughts scattered as her hunger burned, and she attacked her first meal.

The boy’s hands were gentle. Nezuko learned that first, before she even learned his name. The boy’s hands were especially gentle now, as she rested on his lap, his fingers combing through her hair. She’d felt this sensation long ago, somewhere in the fogs of her memory, but if she lingered on the thought any further than that, her head would split in pain.

Instead, she leaned into his touch, grunting slightly.

“You always liked this,” the boy said, chuckling softly. Sadly. Seated on a tatami mat, he continued to stroke her hair.

“What sort of self-respecting demon does that?” Another boy said—a demon. With her right eye, she looked up, over the table where the demon boy shot her a disgusted look. “Especially a brute like her.”

“Nezuko is not a brute!” The boy—Tanjirou, his name was Tanjirou she remembered—growled back. Despite his tone, his hands remained gentle. “She is beautiful and kind and—”

“Right, right, got it.” The demon boy rolled his eyes.

“Yushiro.” The final occupant of the living room sighed. If the demon boy smelled faintly of blood, the woman was thick with it. “What did I say?”

“I didn’t—”

She cut him off. “Don’t insult our guests either, alright?”

“Nezuko is beautiful,” Tanjirou asserted a final time, his brow furrowed. When Nezuko returned her gaze to him, he beamed down at her. “Don’t listen to his lies.”

His words and actions always had a strange weight to them, a familiarity that she couldn’t understand. She wasn’t even sure if he was talking to her sometimes. The only thing she knew was that his hands were gentle, just as his voice was kind, just as his eyes were welcoming. Despite the steel in his posture whenever they faced danger, he did not look like a man who could fight. There was a streak of kindness to him, a streak that would kill him one day.

It could have killed him earlier, if she hadn’t stopped attacking him. Nezuko still didn’t know what had held her hand, only that it was a memory of similar tenderness.

“She is lovely,” the woman agreed. The aroma of blood intermingled with her scent throughout the house, just enough to keep Nezuko’s hunger at bay.

“Not as lovely as you,” the demon boy immediately replied, his chest puffed with pride. Turning his attention to Nezuko, he frowned. “So, she really doesn’t eat anyone?”

“Of course not.” Tanjirou resumed his ministrations. His movements were as steady as a stream. He looked from the demon boy to a demon woman, his gaze utterly confident. “Nezuko would never do that.”

She closed her eyes. That wasn’t right. She didn’t know why, but that wasn’t right. While his body was littered with wounds, the ones branded on his arm were from her claws. They were a warning, a reminder of what losing control meant.

Tanjirou didn’t realize that. Or maybe he didn’t understand that despite how much stronger he’d gotten, he was still quite weak. As he stroked her hair, she could feel the muscles in his hand, the delicate bones of his wrist. His skin was paper-thin and his muscles were nothing compared to hers.

It would be easy to reach up and snap his arm, to break it in two and devour his life-sustaining flesh. To sink her fangs into his neck and lap his warm, sugary-sweet blood.

As though reading her mind, the demon boy snorted. “That brute of a girl—”

“Yushiro!” the woman warned, an edge to her voice. “What did I just say?”

“I was—”

“One more and you will be kicked out.” She sighed, her shoulders sinking. “Anyway, that is really impressive. I have never heard of a demon doing that before. Even us—it might be a little blood, but we need it all the same.”

“That’s cause she’s Nezuko.” Tanjirou’s hand stilled and she opened her eyes to find him beaming down at her. “She’s a good girl.”

I’m not. Nezuko opened her mouth, but her broken vocal cords couldn’t do more than groan at the weight of her words.

(Months later, when she stood in the sun, Tanjirou scared that she’d disappear, Nezuko wasn’t afraid in the least. She’d already been burned. These rays were nothing compared to his warmth.)

The wind whistled, an oddly sharp sound that tugged on Nezuko’s consciousness. It ran through her hair and clothes, and dazed, she wondered if she had fallen asleep outside. Not only was it chilly, the cool night air hitting her skin painfully, it also wasn’t very respectable. What would the villagers think? Her bro—

Nezuko’s eyes opened before she could finish the thought, before she could grasp her identity. Dangling upside down in the treetops, her eyes widened as she remembered her predicament. They were in the mountains, surrounded by demons and desperate humans. One of the demons had trussed her up, his wires binding her limbs so tightly that she couldn’t move. Straining her muscles only made the wires dig in tighter, cutting into her skin until she bled.

The wires reverberated with each movement, giving off sharp twangs as they alerted the demon below her. Like a moth trapped in a web, she couldn’t escape, her movements only ensnaring her further.

“Oh, you’re awake,” the demon said. His hair and skin were as pale as the moon, his words as cold as the distant starlight. There was an idle curiosity in his eyes, but even that emotion was fleeting. “Just in time.”

“Nezuko!” Tanjirou grunted, his breathing strained as he struggled to get to his feet. Blood soaked his haori, red blooming on his chest like spider lilies. Rips and tears in his clothing revealed numerous cuts on his body, his injuries far more serious than he let on. “I’ll save you!”

He was injured. Nezuko’s eyes widened as she took in her boy, her prey. The rich, thick scent of his blood filled the air even as it pooled at his feet, yet it didn’t tempt her. For once her stomach roiled with anger, not hunger.

Tanjirou was wounded. She could hear how many bones were broken with every wheeze he took, hear just how many cuts he’d sustained with every grunt he made. Her blood burned and Nezuko growled as she struggled against the spider’s web, ignoring how the threads cut into her flesh. Her blood dripped down the wires, coating them a bright red.

“Don’t cut yourself too much,” the demon grumbled, clicking his tongue. It was the closest thing to an emotion he’d shown so far. “It’s too annoying putting you back together.”

“Leave her alone!” Tanjirou shouted, climbing to his feet only to fall once more. Nezuko heard his muscles strain, his heart trying to pump more and more blood to compensate for the loss.

“No.” The demon stalked forward, as silent as a predator. Lifting Tanjirou up by his mop of hair, the demon smirked. “She’ll be part of my family now. I need to replace the one you killed.”

“That’ll never happen,” Tanjirou swore through clenched teeth, his hands curling into a fist. A rare anger course through his voice. “That’s not what family is.”

Family.

Nezuko couldn’t follow the conversation. Just thinking about the word made her head hurt. She couldn’t understand the demon’s quiet insistence anymore that she could understand Tanjirou’s harsh rebuke. What she did understand, however, was that these overly complicated sounds they tossed at one another only meant one thing: the demon was going to separate Nezuko from Tanjirou.

No, the demon was going to remove Tanjirou from her. He was going to kill him.

Nezuko ground her teeth. Tanjirou was hers.

Like oil on flames, the fire within her burned even hotter at this. She couldn’t say what happened next, only that it felt like every part of her burned. Unable to bottle her rage, it exploded out of her, running down the wires before reaching her target.

The box was dark. Nezuko kept her eyes closed as she curled up inside it. Whether they were open or closed, she saw the same void. The only thing connecting her to the world was how the box moved, how Tanjirou jostled it as he moved from one place to another. There were other, muffled sounds outside, the sounds of strangers and of a pond. Nezuko never knew how to take these signs of the outside, of this world she almost never saw.

But the box had come to a stop now, and she opened her eyes, anticipating a release.

“NEZUKO!”

Tanjirou’s desperate scream was the only warning she got before a sword stabbed through the box, piercing her belly. Nezuko gasped, the restraint in her mouth muting her scream. Paralyzed in pain, she couldn’t react before the sword withdrew and speared her once more, plunging into her chest now. Blood invaded her lungs, and though she didn’t need to breathe, she choked on it all the same.

“Nezuko!” Tanjirou yelled once more.

His kind hands were nowhere to be found. Instead, all Nezuko could feel were the firm, wooden panels of her prison, and above it all, the piercing pain of her injuries. She wanted to call out his name, to bury her head in his arms. Nezuko needed comfort.

Instead, she was hit with drops of warm blood, dripping in through the holes in the box.

“Taste this!” challenged a stranger, a man who smelled like a gale and sounded like a hurricane. He shook the box, knocking her side to side before dripping more blood in. “I know you want to!”

With a soft plop, the blood hit her forehead before slowly sliding down her face. Nezuko shivered at the warm sensation. Her skin was cold. Always so cold. She craned her head up slightly, allowing the droplets better access as they hit her skin like pebbles, painting her skin as red as a woman’s lips. No matter how much she shifted, though, the droplets never slid into her mouth. No, they dripped past, splattering her clothes.

Unceremoniously, the box was tossed to the ground, the impact jolting her injuries. Nezuko curled tighter into herself, not sure when another sword would sink into her skin.

“Get out!” the stranger ordered, kicking the box for good measure.

For a long moment, she stayed still. Muffled as it was, she could faintly hear Tanjirou struggling to reach her. His breathing was strained again, his heart beating all too fast, and she could smell the sickly-sweet scent of sweat as he struggled to reach her. Nezuko remembered the white demon and pushed the box open, not caring if there was sunlight or moonlight on the other side.

She found neither when she poked her head out, only the cool shade of yet another house. This one was filled with people, and her hackles raised at their hostile stares. Under the sun, just out of reach, was Tanjirou, his face pressed to the ground.

A growl escaped her lips automatically.

“Hungry yet?” the stranger asked as he stood before her. Despite his tense stance, his eyes were full of anticipation as he flicked blood at her. He dangled his arm in front of her, red rivulets running down his skin and splashing on the floor. “Come on, take a bite.”

He wanted her to attack. He was downright eager for it. The others were too, Nezuko dimly realized, as their scents warped, hostility changing into something darker.

“Nezuko, don’t!” Tanjirou cried, but it was hard to hear his voice.

It was hard to pay attention to anything but the red dripping down her skin, to the wounds on her body aching for healing. His scent was entirely unlike Tanjirou’s—bitter instead of sweet, sharp instead of soft. Saliva dripped down her mouth either way. There was a hunger within her she hadn’t filled, a hunger that she had ignored for years now.

A single taste could fix that.

A single taste would fix that.

Her tongue ran over her teeth in anticipation. The man’s lips tugged into a sharp smile.

With as much force as she could muster, Nezuko turned away, rejecting the scent before her. She had waited this long, she could wait a little longer.

There was no way this man’s blood could be nearly as delicious or tempting as Tanjirou’s.

The world was burning.

No, that wasn’t quite right. Despite the fires roaring around her, the smoke and ash lying on her tongue, the world wasn’t burning. Just this small town, this small district. Just a few dozen people who couldn’t escape the wreckage. People trapped just as she was, stuck under the rubble of a broken inn.

Nezuko clawed at the earth, trying to drag herself out of the rubble. Her head rattled from her injuries, her body aching from the fight. It seemed the only reason she left her box these days was to fight. The house, the mountain, this town—wherever she woke up, there were demons.

And the boy, Tanjirou, had dedicated himself to fighting them.

One day, he would die that way. But that day wasn’t today. Nezuko grunted as she pulled herself forward, ignoring the blazing pain where her leg and arms used to be. She couldn’t, wouldn’t lose him. Unfortunately, she couldn’t see him, couldn’t smell him—his charcoal scent was hidden in the ash,

“You should just give up, you don’t have the energy to regenerate,” her enemy stated confidently, her perfume coiling around her like a snake. Despite their fight, her make-up remained unsmudged, her painted lips as bright as blood. No matter how many floral scents she hid under, the stench of death clung to her like a second skin.

Nezuko gritted her teeth as she stared at the demon. This woman had injured Tanjirou. She had wounded this whole town, burning it to the ground with a smile. Her mind flashed to a different, kinder woman, to a gaggle of kids who tugged on her hands. To Tanjirou, who smiled despite the spectre of death lingering over him.

She thought of all of that and her limbs began to burn.

Unaware of this, the demon winked at her, her lips curled into a sly smirk. “If only you’d drunk some blood. Come back in a hundred years.”

The fire within her grew into an inferno, and Nezuko only had to think and her limbs regrew near instantly. Forcing herself to stand, she spit out her wooden restraint.

The demon stepped back, shocked. “How? That’s impossible!”

Nezuko growled, her blood boiling as she attacked.

Nezuko knew one thing: Tanjirou loved her. Her brother had moved the sun and moon to save her, to transform her from monster to human. Whether it was watching out for her, protecting her, or simply giving her a hug, Tanjirou had done more than any person should have.

That was the only reason he was standing in front of her now, his eyes almost glowing as he took her in. Saliva dripped down his chin and Nezuko had a feeling of deja vu at the sight. She’d had that same look years ago, when she’d first turned into a demon. Had that blinding madness run through her mind, making it hard for her to be reasoned with until Tanjirou had pulled her out of the darkness.

And now, he’d fallen into that darkness. Her sight grew blurry as she took in her demonic brother. This wasn’t how their reunion was supposed to go at all. “Tanjirou…”

He snarled, though she couldn’t say if that was a reaction to the name or her movement.

“You love me,” she reminded him, swallowing hard. She didn’t know if she was talking to him or herself, only that it was true. Her brother, however deep he slept inside, loved her. He just had to remember that.

It was hard to break out of a demon’s spell, but he could do it.

“Tanjirou—” Before Nezuko could finish, his fangs were buried in her neck, his claws digging into her arms. Dimly, she recalled being in the opposite position years go, His arms were still littered with scars. She wondered if hers would remain too. Her blood smeared her neck, hot and thick, and she wondered if she tasted as sweet as she’d imagined Tanjirou had.

Reaching up, she wrapped an arm around his back. “Don’t!”

He was possessed, she reminded herself. That didn’t make the betrayal heart any less when his teeth dug in deeper.

But she could endure. If there was one thing Nezuko knew, it was how to endure. How to survive. And how to make sure her brother made it with her. He was kind, after all, too kind, otherwise, his eyes wouldn’t be filling with tears right now.

One day, that kindness would kill him.

But that day wasn’t today. Nezuko would make sure of it.

#kimetsu no yaiba #kny #nezuko kamado #kamado tanjirō #demon slayer #yushiro #fanfic

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