#sorry i sound crazy ive been feeling RAW lately this shit is EATING at me

[krikidilly]

Still thinking about that Akaza deviating with Rengoku what if its still haunting me im not gonna let that be a one time doodle because I've got soo many ideas swirling in my brain.. just the idea of Akaza struggling with everything and following Rengoku like a shadow because there is something all too familiar gnawing at him that so desperately wants to embody what Rengoku does. A guilt so all encompassing it brings him to his knees at Rengokus feet. He is reduced to a groveling mess because this voice over his shoulder is lovingly whispering that he can be better and he can't understand why he wants to listen! And all the while Rengokus own heart is torn between inciting justice and sparing a bit of mercy to a situation thats so disgustingly fascinating that he can't look away..

[bitchassbucky]

.zip

Word Count: 2k

Warning/s: toxic/abusive relationship dynamics, gaslighting and manipulation, abduction, injuries were mentioned, stalking, dark!bucky x dark!reader, emotionally/mentally unstable!reader, dismemberment (not gore-y but still), three very special character mentions, shady corporate stuff, career sabotage?, food mention, sedation/drugging, f-words.

A/N: oh my god, this is the final chapter of CTRL. to all who read from the start, thank y'all so fucking much - from the bottom of my big-ass heart, thank you so much for coming along with this journey. this is my first FINISHED series, oh my god. to @babyboibucky (CTRL's number one fan), @sarge-barnes-sir, and @borikenlove thank you so much for indulging my inner degenerate GHJSDFG and for screaming (affectionately) at me when i first let y'all read the finished draft.

BUT THIS IS NOT THE END (just yet), i will be uploading TWO epilogues very soon: the explicit version and the not-so-explicit version. stay tuned!

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

epilogue:

.eps (explicit)

.eps (cut)

CTRL playlist CTRL moodboard

Your demeanor, character, even tone, changed.

Calculated, cold, unnerving.

But you sat there like a housewife in front of her husband, eating spaghetti and meatballs. Acting all dandy like there isn’t a man strapped onto the chair four feet away from you.

“C’mon, darling, eat! I made your favorite,” your eyes twinkled as Bucky helplessly tugged on his restraints, “oh, sorry, you’re tied up.”

Hm, sick in the head, bad for the heart.

“What do you want?” Oh, wow, even talking hurts for him. His throat is all dried up, he tasted something bitter under his tongue.

You chuckled, moving half a meatball around your mostly empty plate, “for you to stop treating me like I’m stupid.” You spear the meat with your fork, swirling it in the sauce, “I know you’ve been… checking in on me, Bucky.”

Oh, fuck.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I was-- I mean, look at you--” He’s making it worse. You’re mad. You’re angry because he was being a good friend.

He only did that because you were lonely and he’s right: you are lonely.

So lonely that you’re willing to kidnap a grown man to keep you company, “I’m so sad for you.”

“You’re aware you’re the one’s been tied up, right?” You’re curt as you should be, scooting over near Bucky to feed him.

“I can’t eat that—” If he wasn’t sitting down and tied, Bucky would’ve vaulted over you and called the neighbors, she’s fucking crazy!

You giggled, rolling your eyes as if he had the freedom to make a choice right now, “if you’re thinking of screaming… More than half of my neighbors are felons or on parole, I doubt that they’ll call 911.”

Jutting forward the fork, you let the prongs gently touch Bucky’s lips, “now, eat! We have so much to talk about.”

“No. I don’t-- I’m not hungry.” He shakes his head, the fork hitting his chin and clanking down the floor.

“Just eat the fucking food, Steve!”

Bucky flinched at your sudden outburst. The words—the name—seeping in a moment later. Steve? Who the hell is Steve? Was he your husband? Boyfriend? His head throbbed again, his mouth filling with saliva like he’s about to throw up.

You kneel down, pulling a napkin from the table to wipe the meat and the sauce from the floor.

“This better not stain.”

—

He promised thrice.

Once over pasta and meatballs, once over dessert, and once when you were clearing the table.

You relented, of course. Half because you love him and half because it’s getting annoying.

“As long as you don’t leave me, okay?”

“Yes, I promise. I won’t leave you.”

Bucky’s still seating on the dinner chair, slightly slumped without the ropes holding him up, “look, I’m really sorry about the anesthetic, I went overboard with it.” You look over to him—at least he’s regaining his fingers and arms again.

“It’s okay, babe, I wouldn’t trust me either.” If he could stand up, he’d go over and hug you. Helping with the dishes, peppering you with sweet kisses.

A genuine laugh slips out of your lips, “ugh, still… I’m really sorry.”

The last of the plates were neatly stacked, cups and cutleries were placed gently on a drying rack. It was getting late, you could tell.

“I’m not mad, by the way.” You muse, prompting Bucky to lean forward, listening to you.

“What do you mean?” He takes your hand into his, ever so gently.

“You did that,” you squeeze his hand back, gazing into his soulful eyes, “because you love me.”

Did you know that some people could read microexpressions well? Bucky went through a whole lot of them before answering, “of course, I do.”

Contemplating whether you call him out on it or not, you hum, placing a gentle hand on his jaw, “it’s okay, you’ll learn how to love me.”

He has to. He has no other choice.

Bucky clears his throat, “have you seen my phone?” His tone was hopeful, upbeat, maybe he can reach out to someone, anyone, before you can do any more damage.

“Yeah, ‘s on the couch.”

He tried to move, he really did. Bucky’s fairly strong, he can bench an easy 140 on a good day. But even the beefiest motherfuckers have no match for Propofol.

“Don’t worry about your friends, they’re not worried about you, Buck.” The coolness of your tone sends Bucky into a panic—again. “D’you wanna check your messages though? There’s a lot of ‘em.”

Grabbing his phone, you asked Siri to read him his latest notifications.

Urgent: Notice of Immediate Termination

From Joaquin: Where are you, man?

From John W.: Do you have copies?

Urgent: Notice of Immediate Termination

Urgent: Gross Misconduct

From Joaquin: Bucky, what the fuck?

From Samuel Wilson: Pick up the phone, Barnes. You’re fired.

17 missed calls from an unknown number

From John W.: I knew you were a freak but holy shit, dude!

72 text messages from an unknown number

Bucky never really liked horror movies. It made him jumpy and anxious. Too paranoid, even. But now? Now he’s sure that people have never experienced sheer fright before.

His toes cramped inside his boots, his feet were cold, sweating. The little hairs on his legs stood up, goosebumps littering the entirety of his body. If he held his breath, he’s sure he could hear his heart hammering out of his chest. The blood rushes past his ears and onto the base of his skull—he’s gonna be sick.

“What,” he gulped back the saliva pooling in his mouth, “what did you do?”

You’re irritatingly calm, “well, I mean… We’re already together, what do you need those for, right?”

Putting a warm hand over his forehead, you cooed, “poor thing, you look sick.”

—

Bucky thinks it’s well past midnight when the anesthetic wore off.

His limbs were heavy, he had to lean on the wall every couple of steps to regain his balance. Helpless. He’s helpless and you both know it. As if it’s a bear trap, Bucky carefully took his phone from the coffee table.

Why would you leave it unattended?

The screen lights up as soon as he picked up, his lock screen littered with ‘fuck yous’, ‘sicko’, and his personal favorite, ‘motherfucker.’

Ignoring the glaring messages, he went straight for the emergency dialler and—you took out his SIM card, snapping it into two neat pieces, placing it beside the phone.

Bitch.

The golden surface of the card was scratched too, he can’t do anything, use it as a toothpick, maybe? His phone was just as good as a paperweight.

He looks out of the window, limping towards it. Even if he could climb over, it would take him forever to get onto the street. Your neighbors would probably think that he’s just on a bad trip.

“It’s bolted shut. Perks of living alone as a single female.” Your voice made him flinch back, like a kid whose hand was halfway down the cookie jar.

Bucky plays it off with a cough, he can’t be weak now, “no, babe, I was checking out a noise. You ready for bed?”

You smiled softly, taking his hand and draping his arm on your shoulders as you prop him against you, “almost, big guy. Gotta get you settled in bed first. Are you tired?”

Nodding, Bucky kisses your temple, “yeah.” He just needs to play with your sick little games until he regains his strength.

Where would he go? His reputation and his job are besmirched, his apartment is probably crawling with forensics too.

“You fell down and banged your head earlier. Nasty cut on your head too. I told you to not tire yourself much.”

You hit and drugged me but I digress, “Yes, darling. ‘M sorry.”

“You scared me, Buck. I thought you were dead.” Are these tears forming in your eyes?

“I’m not leaving you, not by any chance. I promise.”

He promises a fourth time.

—

Your bedroom was bigger than he thought. But of course, he only saw your desk and your bed through the webcam.

Save from the Ted Bundy-esque corkboard you have in front of your workspace, he feels weirdly at home. You tucked him in, reminding him to wake up every two hours for the painkillers.

“You’re not going to bed?” He muses from behind you, all cocooned in your blankets.

“Just need to take this phone call real quick, babe.” Your back was turned from him as you work on your company laptop. He noticed that the webcam is covered with white tape.

The sound of an incoming call filled the room before you quickly answer it, your voice turning hoarse and raspy as if you’ve been crying.

Hi, Mr. Wilson. I’m so sorry for the late call. Do I- do I need to come in tomorrow? I just... I don’t feel comfortable facing everyone—I used all my home hours this week and—

Miss L/N, I’m glad you reached out to me. Is it okay if I record this call for security purposes? It’s just for you, me, and the HR department.

You turned to Bucky, your face is stone-cold but your voice belonged to someone so utterly helpless.

No, you don’t have to call into work tomorrow… Or any other day.

A dainty gasp and a fucking sob comes out of your mouth, your eyes were telling a different story.

Am I fired?

God, no. Please, Miss L/N, don’t worry about that. We want you with us through this entire debacle. We want you to take some time off—paid. We’ll also grant you… a grievance package.

You could almost hear what he would say next.

As long as you don’t talk to any members of the press or any journalists until our friends in the PR department can clean this up.

A triumphant smile creeps on your bare features, putting a finger in front of your lips, you mimic a ‘shh’ gesture to Bucky.

You round up another mirthless sob as the CEO drones on about the bureaucracy of this whole thing.

He was really nice to me, you know? He took me out on dinners and lunches. He even brought me to his place and I– nothing happened but I can’t stop thinking about it.

I’m really sorry, Miss L/N. I thought he was…

A good guy? I really thought so too.

Please stay offline for a bit, just for the weekend, alright? Someone from the HR department will be in touch with you for the process. We don’t wanna be a hassle more than what Barnes is. On our behalf, please accept our deepest apologies.

Jesus, this guy had the PR department cook up an apology letter.

Thank you—thank you so much, Mr. Wilson. I’ll keep in touch.

You burst out in laughter a second after the call ended. Hearty laughter, the one where you can feel your belly tightening.

“Did you hear how good I was, baby? Oh my god, we had them fooled.”

We? Fuck your ‘we.’

You slide over the covers, propping up yourself with your elbow as you turn to face Bucky, “don’t worry, you don’t need them anymore. You have me, yeah? We have each other.”

—

Out of the most bizarre things that happened to him last week, finding dismembered fingers in the fridge was the least of his concerns.

“Honey!” Bucky calls out, holding the ziplock bag with a pair of tongs.

You bound down the stairs, your laptop in hand as you squint, “what am I looking at?”

Bucky hesitated, maybe he’s going insane too, “fingers. Dismembered fingers—are these yours?”

Setting down the laptop onto the table, you peck him on the cheek, smiling as if him holding a baggie with human remains is just your Sunday normal, “god, I hope not. I need my hands to do things.”

As soon as you look back at him, you dropped the facade: “those are Steve’s. Well, used to be.”

Bucky’s afraid to ask the question where’s the rest of him?

“You know the term pinky promise, right? Well, it has a dark origin.”

Just as fast as a bustling train, Bucky rakes his brain for all the times he promised you something. Hoping that he won’t end up with a stump for a hand.

One vividly bright memory is seared into his brain though, the days blurred together with sharp edges and mismatched colors: we love how we were taught to love.

So, who taught you how to love like this?

[heartofsnark]

Rent-Free (Johnny Silverhand/OC Female V)

Notes; IVE BEEN ENABLED AGAIN!!!!!! AHHHHH BLAME @rosyibby, but uh, yeah basically given how much we talk about Johnny living rent free in V’s head, it made me think of paying rent through other means...*cue the cheesy porn music* Additionally, this does technically go along with my previous Johnny Silverhand fic, but like they’re not so intertwined that you won’t get it. It’s porn, you’ll catch on. Thanks for all the love on my previous nasty Johnny porn. 

Word Count: 2334

Warnings: Oral, Cunnilingus, Unprotected Sex (hologram fucking has perks), Vaginal Sex, Kissing, Johnny being gross, Dirty Talk, I’m lowkey still insecure on writing dirty talk, so hopefully this isn’t bad, also yeah game still isn’t out so he’s prob ooc to some degree

Hot water rushes from the shower head, relaxing Aidan’s aching muscles. Silence around her as she works shampoo into her hair, a welcomed moment of peace in her life, something that’s been so absent since this mess has begun. It’s late, around four in the morning, she just finished a smuggling run with Jackie. Things went south as they often do, her entire body aches from the shootout, but they got out alive and that’s all that matters.  

She works and lather soap into her skin, feeling the roughness of scars gathered contrasting against the soft give of her body. Aidan squeezes her own breast, feeling the heat and tingle of pleasure from her own groping fingers. She starts to move her other hand further down between her thighs, wanting to take advantage of the moment of calm. 

“You pent up again?” 

“God damn it!” She yells out when Johnny’s voice rings through her head, nearly slipping in her own shower. And he laughs at her as he always does, she quickly finishes washing, before stepping out. 

Johnny is leaning against the bathroom wall, arms crossed in front of him as he watched Aidan walk past, no shame in the way his dark brown eyes drag across her naked frame. Weeks have passed since their little…interaction when she tried to find a hookup. The encounter wasn’t brought up again, Aidan refusing to acknowledge it. 

And she still doesn’t acknowledge it, the weird sexual tension that’s been created between her and the ghost in her head. 

“Don’t rush on my account,” Johnny says as she quickly dries off and throws on an overside shirt along with a pair of shorts. She’ll just get to sleep as soon as possible, ignore the dampening heat in her core. 

“You’re the actual worst, you know that?” She grumbles as she leaves the bathroom, making a beeline for her bedroom. Hopefully, none of Johnny’s memories or brain weirdness will come through her dreams, she needs some peace. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve told me a billion times, well, that is when you weren’t screaming my name or thinking about riding my-“ 

“Shut the fuck up!” She yells out, her neighbors must think she’s crazy, but she can’t help but scream at him as she flops back on her bed. 

Aidan can feel his gaze on her, looking up to see Johnny standing at the foot of her bed, looking down at her. The position reminds her of that night, him watching her getting fucked, the heat in her core rises again. There’s a lazy calmness in the way he looks her over , no hurry or fervor, just taking her in. His eyes hovering around the plush of her thighs, moving up to where her shirt has ridden up, revealing an expanse of her soft stomach. 

“Seriously,” she starts to speak again, hoping her words can cool the heat gathering between her thighs, “you’re like the worlds shittiest roommate.” 

“Am I?” 

“Yes, you really fucking are. You have no boundaries, you do nothing but annoy me, I can’t rid of you, hell, at least a roommate might pay rent.” 

“Oh, you need me to pay rent? Sure, just let me get my wallet,” Johnny says, reaching into his pocket just to pull out his middle finger.

“Cute.” She rolls her eyes, of course he’s going to be a shit about it. 

“Cute enough for you to throw your panties at.” 

“Shut up! Just shut up!” 

He lets out a low chuckle, resonating deep in his chest, the sound stoke the flames in her center just that much more. Why is he so fucking attractive? Then she feels it, a hand grabbing at her shin, the rough callouses of his right hand. 

“You really want me to start contributing something?” There’s a teasing tone to his voice. 

“I mean, I know you can’t, but you could at least stop irritating me.” 

“Eh, don’t think I can, but I can think of something I can do that might make you a little less tense,” he says, hand skimming further up her leg. 

“Seriously, offering sex in place of rent, you watch that much porn?” 

“C’mon, Samurai, we’re way past the point of you pretending you don’t wanna fuck me, don’t you think?” 

And he’s probably right. 

“I’m definitely right.” 

“You know reading my mind is not attractive, right?” 

“Yet, you still find me attractive, funny how that works.” 

“Fine, fine,” she covers her face with her arm, cheeks burning red, “I wanna fuck you, happy?” 

“I mean, wasn’t exactly a secret, but it’s nice hearing you admit it.” 

“Shut up and touch me.” 

And then he’s over her, knees on her mattress on either side of her hips, hands grabbing the bottom of her shirt. He’s quick and rough as he yanks it off over her head, throwing it across the room. She barely has a moment to take in the cool air from her chest being exposed before he’s groping and touching her, the contrast between the smooth cold metal of his left hand and the warm calloused fingers on his right makes her whimper, arching her back to meet his touch.  The feeling of his thumbs rubbing over her nipples draws another gasp from her throat and then the heat of his mouth connects to her chest. 

“Fuck,” she curses as he works harsh kisses down her body, his touch is hungry and passionate, but most importantly of all completely unpredictable. 

There’s no patterns to where he kisses; whether it’s her collarbones, the plush of her breasts, her ribs, or her stomach. No way for Aidan to know if it’ll be the press of his lips, the laving of his tongue, or the bite of his teeth. The only constant is the scratch of his beard, rubbing her tender skin raw under his touch. She tries to wrap her fingers in his hair, to wrap the dark strands around her fingers but he moves too quickly, and she only gets a brief touch of them. 

A sharp nip just above the waistband of her shorts is her only warning before he’s yanking them off of her. Rough fingers run through her slit, just a fleeting touch as Johnny gathers her slick on his fingers. 

“You’re soaked.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be keeping my mouth busy,” he tells her before sucking his fingers into his mouth, licking her wet from his own skin. 

Then he’s practically bending her in half, pressing her thighs back to her chest, the force lifting her hips and ass off the bed. The position completely opens her up to him, no way to hide her cunt from his view. Before she can squirm or get embarrassed, his mouth is on her. His tongue licking through her folds, lapping up every drop of slick. He eats her out like he’s desperate for it, like he needs to drink up every gush of wet to survive, licking deep inside of her. His tongue finding every spot that will make her wetter. 

His beard rubs the lips of her sex raw, but she can’t find it in her to mind the edge of pain, when his tongue runs up to her clit. No true pattern, no way to predict how long he’ll go between sucking harshly on the bundle of the nerves to licking around it; back and forth between too much and not enough. The heat inside of her is reaching a boiling point, nearly crashing over the precipice of pleasure, but he pulls back before she can meet her end every time. She buries her fingers in his hair, finally feeling the softness of the locks, but she despite her pressing she can’t control his pace. 

And he stops. 

She whines at the loss of pleasure as he pulls away from her. Slick coats his lips and chin, shining in the moonlight that drifts into her bedroom. His looks are grossly unfair for someone who’s both dead and technically in his eighties. Oh god, she’s fucking an eighty something year old digital ghost-

He presses his lips to her and she can’t help gasp, tasting herself on his tongue. Johnny presses down on her body, so his body weight presses her thighs down against her chest, erection grinding into her pussy and her ankles practically on his shoulders. Her slick on his chin presses wetly against her, as his tongue pushes deeply into her mouth. She meets his lips and the passion of it, trying to taste Johnny through her own wet, taking in where he tastes like cigarettes.  

“Stop thinking,” he tells her as he pulls away, realizing the lip lock was to stop her train of thoughts about all the reasons this is wrong. 

“I really wish I could, sorry, but I mean…can you honestly say this isn’t fuckin’ weird?” 

“Who gives a shit?” 

“Wow, that fixed all my anxiety, thank you for you endless wealth of wisdom.” Aidan rolls her eyes. 

“So, the goal is now to fuck you hard enough your brain shuts off, got it.” 

“I wi-” she pauses when she feels his cock pressing against her thigh, smearing pre-cum on her skin, “when did you get naked?” 

“I’m a hologram, I can just do that.” 

“Wha-so when you only had your dick out last time, that was purely for effect?”  Aidan is grinning and already on the verge of laughing at the idea of Johnny being that committed to pretending he has to undo his pants. 

“I mean, kinda…” 

And she bursts out laughing, it’s just too silly and ridiculous, he’s so fucking dramatic. How could one man be so dramatic? What the fuck? Her stomach hurts with the force of her laughter. 

“Don’t laugh at me when I’m trying to fuck you.” 

She tries to stifle her laughter , biting her lip as she looks up at Johnny, he’s smiling. Not a smirk or some smug expression, just a soft little smile, as he looks down at her. The anxiety and tension that has started to creep back up have mostly subsided, humor settling her nerves. 

He grinds his cock down against her slick cunt, reminding her of what they’ve been building up too. 

“This is like…safe, right?” 

“Don’t worry, can’t knock you up or anything. I’ll just fuck you like I’m trying to.” 

Her face flushes red at his words and then he thrust his hips, sliding into her. She screams out his name, between the position and her own slick, he hits deep inside of her, no resistance as her body takes him in. He doesn’t tease or hold back, his entire length pressing into her, filling her completely. 

“Fuck, I knew you’d be tight, but god damn, feel like I’m break you open.” 

“Ah, uhhh, don’t say weird shit.” 

Johnny’s thrusts are punishing and harsh, brutal in the snap of his hips and she wishes she could hear the wet slap of their bodies connecting over and over again. 

“What, don’t wanna hear about how your cunt is choking my dick.” 

“Mnnnn….” All she can respond with is a whine. 

“Don’t wanna hear about how I’m gonna fill you up, how I’m gonna make you leak my cum.” 

“Johnny…” 

He’s pounding into her, each thrust and stroke of his cock inside of her building up the heat inside of her, tightening the tension in her core. The head of his dick hits deeply, harshly fucking against the sensitive spot deep inside of her. Slick keeps her able to take it all, despite the roughness and the size of him, each slam of him into her making more gush out. She can feel her own wet dripping down her the curve of her ass.

“Gonna rearrange your fuckin’ guts, make sure you fit me and no one else.” His voice is tight with a slight growl, movements speeding up. 

And while a part of her knows it’s dramatic, just bedroom talk if his dick was in her organs, they’d have some issues. But, she swears he’s doing exactly that. Carving out his place inside of her, a place only meant for him, so deep inside of her she can feel it in her throat. Stroking the embers of a fire that only he can turn into an inferno.

When that inferno of pleasure builds too high, the tension within her snaps, the bubble burst, and she’s crying out incomprehensibly as she cums on his cock. Everything whites out, mind empty as her body is overridden with pleasure, cunt clenching around him and body squirming as he keeps fucking her through her orgasm. 

“Holy fuck, you’re gonna milk me dry, fuck!” 

And he cums inside of her, hot and warm, flooding her with it. Heavy thick spurts of white coating her insides until it’s too much for her body to hold in, dripping out where the two connect. Her body is still twitching and squirming as she works through her aftershocks, once she’s a little more in touch with reality, she wonders whether his cum on her sheets will need cleaning. 

He pulls out of her and even more of it spills out, Aidan whimpers between the loss of him inside of her and the mess on her thighs. Johnny rolls over to lay next to her, it still astounds her just how real he feels, his body heat next to her own. 

She wants to lay on him, she realizes, a desire to lay her head on his chest. Aidan isn’t seriously considering cuddling with him, is she losing her mind? 

“Just ask for what you want, dumbass.” 

He wraps an arm around her sweaty shoulder and tugs her in against him, her cheeks reddening as she hides her face in his chest. There’s a lot she could mull over, a lot to think about, but with her eyelids growing heavier…it’s best to leave it alone for the night, to take Johnny’s advice for once and stop thinking so much. 

[knybits]

A Murder of One

Chapter: 

19

Summary: 

Akiko can’t breathe   

Previous Chapter | Origin | Next Chapter

Akiko can’t breathe. 

“Mitsumi, tie the datejime tighter.” 

Akiko winces in pain, her young body constrained by the fabric that her grandmother is ordering the maid to tighten. 

“Mother, I don’t think-” 

Hiratsuka shuts her mouth under her mother’s harsh glare, and she can’t help but send Akiko an apologetic look. 

Akiko hates odd weekend. 

Sure, Tanjirou comes down from the mountains to spend time with her, but they’re confined within Higuchi’s small box. The idea that they must conform to fit her ideals and traditions. 

“Tea at 12-” 

“-and a walk in the gardens at 3 until supper,” Akiko mumbles under her breath. The same schedule since she can remember. 

Higuchi nods her head as the orange kimono is draped over Akiko’s small body. It’s heavy and Akiko doesn’t like how her shoulders ache a little. 

Obigae, obi, obijime, too many ropes and fabrics for Akiko to count. Her ribs trap her lungs and they start to crush under the pressure. So Akiko takes in small breaths, lifting her chin and trying to squeeze her body smaller than it already is. 

Higuchi prides Akiko’s long and straight hair, silk to the touch and smoothly threading through her fingers like water. It shines thanks to the fact that Akiko was bathed not too long ago, but her skin feels raw and her scalp remembers the nails that scrubbed through it. 

She can feel her hair being pulled every which way, clipped and pinned and tied and teased. Hiratsuka sees the pain in Akiko’s face but after a while it vanishes, and she’s used to the tugging. An elaborate hair piece is stuck into Akiko’s wildly arranged hair, but it’s heavy and Akiko’s neck strains under the weight. 

“She’s done, Higuchi-sama,” Mitsumi says softly, taking a few steps back from her work and bowing lowly at Higuchi’s feet. Akiko can hear a satisfied hum from her grandmother as she’s inspected once again like a prized object. 

“Higuchi-sama, the Kamados are here,” Kakera knocks behind the shoji and Akiko cats her head down. She hates the idea of Tanjirou looking at her on these days. 

He says she’s pretty like a princess, and that he’s lucky to be her fiance. Akiko will strain to smile in thanks, but it just feels like Higuchi is playing with dolls. 

Tanjirou is dressed up for these occasions as well. Or, well, as much as he can be dressed up. Akiko knows that she’s dressed far more elaborately than need be just so that Higuchi can remind the Kamados that their surname is ‘Tamura’. 

That their family is rich and they aren’t. 

It’s distasteful to say the least, and Akiko has come far too close to ripping every pin in her hair out or tearing all the ropes constricting her body to shreds. 

Akiko’s steps are light and small, and it feels like forever before she arrives to the entrance of the house. Tanjirou smiles upon seeing how dressed up she always is, and her strained smile returns once again. 

“Be good, alright?” Tanjuro says to his son, who nods his head with excitement. But Tanjuro can see how tired Akiko is, and the most he can do is offer her a gracious smile. Akiko bows her head as low as possible, hands tucked neatly in front of her and her hair ornament dangling in front of her face. 

Akiko doesn’t want to believe that this is supposed to be how her married life will be. 

Tea at 12 and a walk through the gardens from 3 till supper. Asleep by 10 and awake by 6, dressed by the maids by 8 for the day and repeat. 

Sure, Tanjirou is by her side, but if Akiko is already so tired of this routine she worries for her future with her fiance. 

Tanjirou notices that Akiko is far more quiet than usual today. Her movement is stiffer and she can’t keep the conversation going with he. Higuchi isn’t eating with the two for the day, so Tanjirou assumed that Akiko would be a  bit more talkative, but that seems to be the opposite case.  

“Are you alright, Akiko?” Tanjirou asks, watching as she mechanically takes a bite of her fish. Akiko nods her head, but Tanjirou can smell that she’s lying. 

Rather, she’s lying to herself. 

“Tanjirou, I’m not okay,” Akiko bitterly admits by his bedside. 

It’s been a month since the upper six fight, and Tanjirou continues to sleep in the bed. All the IVs stuck into his arm and the wet towel on his forehead is painful to look at. 

Years of lying to herself and she admits it to her coma induced fiance. 

Akiko can’t breathe. 

--- 

“She’s the doctor?” 

Aoi glares at the patient, who points accusingly at Akiko. Akiko is in the midst of tugging some gloves on to clean her patient’s large gash on his right forearm, but judging by his tone the two can only assume that he’s going to refuse treatment. 

“You’re kidding, right? Where’s the real doctor?!” 

“She is the real doctor,” Aoi snaps. 

“A doctor with a patient that hasn’t woken up in a half a month? Give me a break!” He points again at Tanjirou, who doesn’t even look to be breathing. Aoi glances over at Akiko in concern, but Akiko doesn’t even flinch under pressure. 

“Sir, would you like me to treat you or not?” Akiko asks patiently. 

“Where’s. The. Doctor.” 

Akiko leaves the room right after, tossing her unused gloves into a bin with Aoi hot on her trail. 

“Akiko, regardless of his poor attitude, we can’t just let a demon slayer bleed out!” 

“I can’t force a patient to receive treatment. He’s on his own.” 

Occurrences such as these have become much more common over time. And Akiko is far too tired to fight them on their decisions. She keeps her mouth shut and restrains her breathing. 

As harsh as it sounds, Akiko would rather a demon slayer come to her unconscious. Because then, she wouldn’t have to fight them on why she’s a more than capable doctor. 

Akiko doesn’t sound as soothing as Shinobu to convince the male demon slayers. And she’s not as stubborn as Aoi to induce treatment.

She’s tired of being shown off as a prize. Akiko refuses to alter herself in any way to show her worth, and if her services aren’t wanted, she’ll draw back and allow her patient to do as they please. 

Who would have known that a baby would be the one to help Akiko to breath the least bit. 

“Baby! Baby on the way!” Miruna crows right into Akiko’s ear, and she bolts up from her napping spot on the engawa. But with half her body hanging off, Akiko can’t help but to fall over the edge and land roughly on her side. 

She hisses in pain, but there’s another thought in her mind that makes her heart pick up with speed. 

“I’ve never helped deliver a baby.” 

“The baby has a fever,” Aoi explains, hands on her hips as she rolls her eyes, and Akiko scrambles back over the engawa. 

“Oh thank the gods.” 

Regardless, Akiko changes into a fresh set of clothes. Babies are fragile, and their immune systems aren’t fully developed, so Akiko will have to be much more careful than usual when dealing with the baby. 

Akiko walks into the medical ward, eyes barely brushing past Tanjirou as she settles her gaze on two others instead. 

There’s a tall (tall) woman seated on one of the beds, her hair as pure a white and as soft looking as a cloud, with eyes so green they remind Akiko of moss. Her arms rival that of Genya’s and that alone is enough to impress Akiko. 

But cradled within her arms is a bundle of blankets, and a baby red in the face. 

“Oh my god are you the doctor? My baby sister is DYING!” 

Akiko glances at the baby to see that their temperature is at a solid 100 degrees. The woman stuffs the baby into Akiko’s arms, and Akiko blinks in surprise. 

“Here, is she dying?! I kill demons but I swear I dON’T KILL BABIES!”  She’s a hysterical mess now and Akiko is trying her best to rock the baby, the sound of crying coming from both the demon slayer and the baby. 

“Takenaka-san! Please get a hold of yourself!” Aoi scolds before taking the baby from Akiko’s arms, seeing the look of sheer panic in her face. 

“You too Akiko! Don’t freeze up over a baby!” The baby calms down in Aoi’s arms instead, but she still fusses in her blanket. 

Without the most knowledge on babies, Akiko still attempts to create a medicine to help, allowing the tall demon slayer into the lab so that she knows what’s going into the medicine. 

“Your sister isn’t dying, Takenaka-san,” Akiko assures, finishing up with the medicine. 

“She just has a fever.” 

“You can just call me Chiyo. I’m the new forest pillar,” she laughs wearily, twirling around in the swivel chair as she patiently waits. 

Akiko stops with her work to turn back around, “Tamura Akiko.” 

“Oh! Oyakata-sama told me that you’re the official physician! Oh shit, sorry for going crazy. Ayame is super important to me!” 

Akiko cracks a soft smile before Chiyo graciously accepts the bag of medicine. 

“I would hope so, considering she’s your baby sister after all.” 

Chiyo gapes at the medicine in her hands, “You’re done already? That’s so cool!” 

“Please give your baby sister this medicine twice a day, morning and night. Make sure she’s drinking a bunch of fluids and sleeps as much as possible. I know she won’t want to sleep, but it’s important that she does,” Akiko quickly explains, filling out a piece of paper for Chiyo to remember what to do. 

Chiyo nods her head thoughtfully at every word, and Akiko’s heart begins to mend. 

Without needing to alter herself in any way, her services are accepted and she can breathe again.

“If you ever need anything else, let me know, alright?” Akiko folds her hands into her lap, and Chiyo smiles down at a seated Akiko. 

“Me too! Just send a crow and I’ll zoom over to help you out, Doctor Tamura!” 

Doctor. 

Akiko is reminded to write a letter to her father to let him know that she’s a doctor now. 

“There’s no way you’re the doctor!” 

Akiko flinches as the tray of medicine is batted out of her hands, and the shattering of glass rings through her ears. 

“You’re the doctor and you couldn’t save my leg! Are you fucking kidding me?!” The hunter rips the sheets off his body and Akiko looks at his amputated left leg. It’s the best she could do given that he arrived far too late to use it again. 

Sumi rushes forward to collect pieces of the shattered cup, but Akiko holds an arm out to stop her. 

“Your leg was already infected when you got here. I had no choice.” 

“Bullshit! Where’s all your medicine huh?! Doctors know more than to just saw off someone’s goddamn leg!” 

Sumi watches with worry as Akiko picks up the pieces of the cup, listening to every word of hate pouring out of the slayer’s mouth with nothing to say back. Once she’s done picking up the shattered shards, she folds them into a nearby cloth before throwing them out in a bin on her way out of the room. 

“Akiko-san…” Sumi calls out weakly, tugging at her hakama. “Are you okay?” 

“He’s in shock, Sumi. Let’s leave him be.” 

Akiko hates herself for crying by Tanjirou’s bedside the night after the slayer leaves. 

“Tanjirou, I’m not okay,” she cries silently, head buried into her arms near his side as she’s afraid to touch the multiple IVs. 

“You’ve been asleep for a month, Tanjirou. I don’t know how you got through your day with Nezuko asleep for two years… Your heart stops at random times and you break out into a fever every other day.” 

Akiko struggles to remember to breathe, hiccuping through her words with hands that shake when gripping the sheets. 

“This is such a stupid war… Tanjirou, we’re kids and we fight this awful war and I hate it now. I’m so afraid I’ll lose you again. But this time, it’ll be my fault because you’re laying right in front of me and I won’t be able to do anything!” 

Zenitsu returns to the estate later that night, and he hates how he can hear traces of Akiko’s crying. He finds her by Tanjirou’s bedside, her fingers barely wrapped Tanjirou’s own fingers. 

He frowns at her sound, regretting not coming back to the estate for so long and leaving Akiko to fight a mental war by herself for a month. 

So Zenitsu picks her up and carries her to her bed, tucking Akiko in and wiping the residue of tears from her face. 

she’s honestly just a big baby :,( 

thank you to @thunderandrainclouds​ for letting me use chiyo!! ngl i have,,, a fat crush on chiyo,,, let me wife up miyuki and chiyo gdi