Here’s a childhood favorite with one of the most powerful character arcs in animated kids TV. A story that begins with isolation, rejection, and insecurity that turns into a mad crusade for unstoppable power, and finally a desperate mission for redemption. Impmon/Beelzemon is a tragic antihero seemingly destined to lose.
Digimon season 3 was perhaps the most creative and innovative season the show ever had. Definitely its darkest too, dealing with a lot of more mature material (that was still nevertheless being handled by kids) and featuring a unique Big Bad somewhere between H.P. Lovecraft and Tron. Rather than using clones of previous seasons with different names, they gave almost everything about the show a complete overhaul and started viewers from a fresh beginning. By focusing on three characters (the Digimon Tamers) instead of a whole group, they got to explore each one in much more depth. This also extends to the Digimon, who have much more personality and character than any before them (or since). The roster of Tamers does expand as the series progresses, but the main focus remains on Rika, Henry, and Takato.
You’d be hard-pressed to find a character with a bigger inferiority complex. Impmon acts tough, but it’s meanness, rather than actual threat, that makes others keep their distance from him. Having run away from his Tamers for fighting over him like a toy, he comes to resent humans and especially Digimon that take orders from them. As the Tamers and their Digimon quickly evolve and progress, Impmon is left behind. Pity only adds to his pain and he rejects the Tamers’ attempts to help or get close to him, stubborn to do everything on his own.
For the first part of the season all Impmon wants is power, but even when the universe does grant it he still falls short. Once the Digimon Sovereign bestows his Mega form upon him, he spends every second reveling in his new power, blowing away lesser Digimon like tissue paper. When Takato’s rampaging Mega takes the upper hand, he begins killing and loading others to boost himself further and further. The amount of data absorbed becomes quite visibly painful, but he refuses to stop and wills himself to dominate it. Jeri’s partner attempts to beat some sense into him, warning that power is not what makes a warrior strong, but Beelzemon rejects and impales him. It’s only upon his defeat when Jeri pleads he be spared that the weight of his actions reaches Beelzemon. He departs, feeling empty and worthless. Rika and her partner offer to bring Impmon back home, and he finally accepts their help. Returning to his previous Tamers, he finds they’ve missed him, and knowing that their fighting was what made him leave, have promised to share with each other. Impmon is touched. When he learns that Jeri has been taken captive by an out-of-control cleanup program called the D-Reaper, Impmon departs to save her.
Determination is a big part of Impmon/Beelzemon’s draw. A stubborn refusal to go down is characteristic of many heroic characters, but it’s interesting to see such a strong will in so petty a creature. Mistreated and spurred, Impmon believes it’s him against the world, but he’s hardly a noble soul and thus it’s hard to feel anything for him but pity, which infuriates him. As Beelzemon, he is every inch a menacing threat and his determination manifests as his most devastating weapon. He fights and kills everything he sees, refusing to surrender or retreat, even when finally defeated. Better death than being pitied. When he does see the error of his ways and start to make amends, his determination drives him to put every bit of power he once used to hurt others into rescuing Jeri. He has so much to atone for that nothing else matters to him anymore. All of Jeri’s pain and depression began with his selfish actions and he will never forgive himself if something happens to her. But faced with the overwhelming might of the D-Reaper, Beelzemon finds himself back in the place he was as Impmon; hopelessly challenging a foe he cannot defeat. And again, even when the universe grants him the power he begs for, it falls short. It is only with the help of the Tamers that he breaches the defensive membrane of the D-Reaper, and only with the power of Jeri’s fallen Digimon that he breaks through the shell imprisoning her.
His triumph is cut short however, when the shell begins to repair itself, and Jeri, frozen at seeing a reminder of her partner, can only stare at Beelzemon as he begs to let him rescue her. Faced with the limits of even his strength and determination, he can only plead with Jeri to take his hand before the breach closes back up. It’s a heartbreaking scene, seeing Beelzemon try so hard to save her, only for his cries to reach Jeri too late. Beelzemon is shot out of the sky still screaming Jeri’s name and trying to smash his way back inside. As he falls, he makes one last plea to the universe. Not for power, but for one more chance to save Jeri.
His plea goes unanswered.
How about some design compliments? You would be hard-pressed to find a more fitting depiction of BADASS than Beelzemon. Somewhere between a demon biker and a fallen angel, wearing all black except the white trim of his jacket, a red bandana he wore as Impmon, and a shock of yellow hair, riding a motorcycle and firing double barreled guns from every angle; he looks epic. Even without the guns or bike, his claws alone are terrifying weapons. They are responsible for most of the deaths he causes (besides the swarms of Rookie Digimon he vaporizes for target practice). Add in some great animation with a figure seemingly designed for cool poses and you have yourself one hell of a creation. Oh, plus the wings and gigantic blaster he acquires during the final arc. This is a level of badass most assumed was a myth.
Then there’s his voice actor. Derek Stephen Prince is quite prolific, featured in dozens of series (including several seasons of Digimon). Often playing intellectual or brainy characters, he taps into quite a lot of raw emotion to bring Impmon/Beelzemon’s anguish to life. Voicing both characters, he brings his A game to the younger, more childlike Impmon and the rougher, adult Beelzemon. And few characters besides Vegeta push themselves so hard to attain power. The final arc in particular is like a nonstop shoutfest as Beelzemon throws everything at the D-Reaper and its apendages. You really connect with the physical and emotional struggle as you watch and listen. Yeah, he does kinda sound like someone from Brooklyn, but hey, it sounds mean when he’s supposed to be mean, and it sounds tough when he’s supposed to be tough.
Here’s a childhood favorite with one of the most powerful character arcs in animated kids TV. A story that begins with isolation, rejection, and insecurity that turns into a mad crusade for unstoppable power, and finally a desperate mission for redemption. Impmon/Beelzemon is a tragic antihero seemingly destined to lose.
Digimon season 3 was perhaps the most creative and innovative season the show ever had. Definitely its darkest too, dealing with a lot of more mature material (that was still nevertheless being handled by kids) and featuring a unique Big Bad somewhere between H.P. Lovecraft and Tron. Rather than using clones of previous seasons with different names, they gave almost everything about the show a complete overhaul and started viewers from a fresh beginning. By focusing on three characters (the Digimon Tamers) instead of a whole group, they got to explore each one in much more depth. This also extends to the Digimon, who have much more personality and character than any before them (or since). The roster of Tamers does expand as the series progresses, but the main focus remains on Rika, Henry, and Takato.
You’d be hard-pressed to find a character with a bigger inferiority complex. Impmon acts tough, but it’s meanness, rather than actual threat, that makes others keep their distance from him. Having run away from his Tamers for fighting over him like a toy, he comes to resent humans and especially Digimon that take orders from them. As the Tamers and their Digimon quickly evolve and progress, Impmon is left behind. Pity only adds to his pain and he rejects the Tamers’ attempts to help or get close to him, stubborn to do everything on his own.
For the first part of the season all Impmon wants is power, but even when the universe does grant it he still falls short. Once the Digimon Sovereign bestows his Mega form upon him, he spends every second reveling in his new power, blowing away lesser Digimon like tissue paper. When Takato’s rampaging Mega takes the upper hand, he begins killing and loading others to boost himself further and further. The amount of data absorbed becomes quite visibly painful, but he refuses to stop and wills himself to dominate it. Jeri’s partner attempts to beat some sense into him, warning that power is not what makes a warrior strong, but Beelzemon rejects and impales him. It’s only upon his defeat when Jeri pleads he be spared that the weight of his actions reaches Beelzemon. He departs, feeling empty and worthless. Rika and her partner offer to bring Impmon back home, and he finally accepts their help. Returning to his previous Tamers, he finds they’ve missed him, and knowing that their fighting was what made him leave, have promised to share with each other. Impmon is touched. When he learns that Jeri has been taken captive by an out-of-control cleanup program called the D-Reaper, Impmon departs to save her.
Determination is a big part of Impmon/Beelzemon’s draw. A stubborn refusal to go down is characteristic of many heroic characters, but it’s interesting to see such a strong will in so petty a creature. Mistreated and spurred, Impmon believes it’s him against the world, but he’s hardly a noble soul and thus it’s hard to feel anything for him but pity, which infuriates him. As Beelzemon, he is every inch a menacing threat and his determination manifests as his most devastating weapon. He fights and kills everything he sees, refusing to surrender or retreat, even when finally defeated. Better death than being pitied. When he does see the error of his ways and start to make amends, his determination drives him to put every bit of power he once used to hurt others into rescuing Jeri. He has so much to atone for that nothing else matters to him anymore. All of Jeri’s pain and depression began with his selfish actions and he will never forgive himself if something happens to her. But faced with the overwhelming might of the D-Reaper, Beelzemon finds himself back in the place he was as Impmon; hopelessly challenging a foe he cannot defeat. And again, even when the universe grants him the power he begs for, it falls short. It is only with the help of the Tamers that he breaches the defensive membrane of the D-Reaper, and only with the power of Jeri’s fallen Digimon that he breaks through the shell imprisoning her.
His triumph is cut short however, when the shell begins to repair itself, and Jeri, frozen at seeing a reminder of her partner, can only stare at Beelzemon as he begs to let him rescue her. Faced with the limits of even his strength and determination, he can only plead with Jeri to take his hand before the breach closes back up. It’s a heartbreaking scene, seeing Beelzemon try so hard to save her, only for his cries to reach Jeri too late. Beelzemon is shot out of the sky still screaming Jeri’s name and trying to smash his way back inside. As he falls, he makes one last plea to the universe. Not for power, but for one more chance to save Jeri.
His plea goes unanswered.
How about some design compliments? You would be hard-pressed to find a more fitting depiction of BADASS than Beelzemon. Somewhere between a demon biker and a fallen angel, wearing all black except the white trim of his jacket, a red bandana he wore as Impmon, and a shock of yellow hair, riding a motorcycle and firing double barreled guns from every angle; he looks epic. Even without the guns or bike, his claws alone are terrifying weapons. They are responsible for most of the deaths he causes (besides the swarms of Rookie Digimon he vaporizes for target practice). Add in some great animation with a figure seemingly designed for cool poses and you have yourself one hell of a creation. Oh, plus the wings and gigantic blaster he acquires during the final arc. This is a level of badass most assumed was a myth.
Then there’s his voice actor. Derek Stephen Prince is quite prolific, featured in dozens of series (including several seasons of Digimon). Often playing intellectual or brainy characters, he taps into quite a lot of raw emotion to bring Impmon/Beelzemon’s anguish to life. Voicing both characters, he brings his A game to the younger, more childlike Impmon and the rougher, adult Beelzemon. And few characters besides Vegeta push themselves so hard to attain power. The final arc in particular is like a nonstop shoutfest as Beelzemon throws everything at the D-Reaper and its apendages. You really connect with the physical and emotional struggle as you watch and listen. Yeah, he does kinda sound like someone from Brooklyn, but hey, it sounds mean when he’s supposed to be mean, and it sounds tough when he’s supposed to be tough.
Tonys controversially younger gf is so funny to me, he so randomly doesnt pay for things just to mess with her💀
oh fuck anon you hit me right where i needed it.
you're not overly demanding with his money, so when you ask nicely for something and he says, 'no. i'm starting to think you're using me for my money', you're at a total loss.
you've got this little pout on your face as you figure out how to respond, because no, you're not only with him for his money, but damn, it's nice to have at your fingertips. you can take the rejection, you just don't understand why he's saying no, because if anyone in the world is made of money it's tony stark. he loves watching you grapple silently with the 'no' because you don't want to come off as entitled or a gold digger so you don't confront him about it, but you're clearly bothered by the situation because he totally could buy it for you but he's not going to so does that mean you did something wrong?
he watches the wheels turn furiously in your sweet little head and probably has already purchased whatever it was, not that he'll tell you until it arrives. he's just a shithead that likes to mess with you.
His face immediately goes redder, the steam of the hot springs disguising it slightly as if he were just warm. Giyu stays silent, as he was quite surprised to find you still here.
As you sigh happily, relaxing into the steaming water, you finally notice your fellow Hashira and give him that signature cute smile of yours, which never fails to make Giyu’s heart stammer.
“Giyu! Sorry, am I intruding on your bath time?” You asked while making your way towards him; it was almost comical how shy the man had gotten once you got closer.
Not wanting him to feel uncomfortable, you were about to leave until he shook his head after seemingly collecting his cool. “No, it’s fine. You had a long day; I don’t mind you staying.”
You smiled at this and thanked him, causing the water pillar to look away in an effort to not further fluster himself around you.
While relaxing with him, he’d steal a couple of glances at you, admiring your calm features, your damp hair, and your flushed cheeks.
You decided to make some small talk where you asked him how his day was, which then led to both of you chatting with one another.
Sighing happily, you decided it was time to wash up and jokingly offered Giyu if he wanted to join, and to your surprise, he did.
Stepping into the wash area, he tries to act like he isn’t surprised or flustered, but with the warmth spreading across his cheeks and his half-lidded eyes as he watches you rinse off the soap, it's pretty damn obvious.
Seeing that he was a bit nervous, you decided to ask him to wash your hair. He’s happy to oblige and enjoys how adorable you are with him.
If you enjoy humming/singing in the shower, he will happily listen to your voice and will sometimes hum along with you while scrubbing your back.
When washing his hair, he likes when you’re in front of him since he gets to put his hands on your waist as you do so. He just likes holding you, y’know? <3
While you're soaking under the water, he likes resting his chin on either your shoulder or head while wrapping his arms around you; he finds it rather calming.
Please kiss him while he holds you; he’ll give you a sly smile before kissing you back.
𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾:
While scrubbing his back, he feels himself harden at your touch. Giyu hated himself for that, for thinking such sinfully dirty thoughts about you.
He shuts his eyes to concentrate, brows furrowed as he hopes his towel covers his aching cock.
He thanks God that he isn’t facing you; if not, he’d consider drowning himself in the water LMAO.
Desperately tries shaking away the thoughts of just pushing you up against the edge of the hot spring and grinding his cock against your slick folds.
He then shudders when he hears your sweet voice tease him while your hands dip down to grasp his cock. All hard and throbbing from being neglected.
“Want me to wash here, Giyu?” He couldn’t help but nod, and that’s where he found himself, sitting on the edge of the hot spring with you between his thighs.
His dark blue eyes were half-lidded, his breath hollow as he watched your soft lips kiss and tease his cock head.
Your tongue swirling around his pretty tip and making sure he’s all “clean.”
He’s so enthralled by the sight he didn’t even notice his hand gripping your hair and guiding your head to go deeper.
You happily sucked him off, your hand grasping his balls lightly to encourage him to cum. Lifting his hips a bit as he fucked your face, he let out a whine.
Surely you felt like your ears were tricking you, but God, hearing a man so quiet yet sounding so needy was such a beautiful sound.
You pulled away from his cock and jerked him off, his hot seed spilling onto your tits and hand. Giyu gasped for air, and you swear you saw tiny hearts in his eyes.
You could only giggle as you watched his cock harden again after he saw you scoop some of his cum with a dainty finger and taste it.
“Since you got me dirty, I think it’s your turn to clean me.” You hum as you sit on the edge of the spring, spreading your legs to show your arousal.
Of course he’d happily return the favour, dipping down between your thighs and dragging his hot tongue against your slit. <3
𝑲𝒚𝒐𝒋𝒖𝒓𝒐 𝑹𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒐𝒌𝒖
𝑺𝑭𝑾:
Both you and Kyojuro often paired up together during missions, and after one exhausting journey, the two of you find yourselves staying at a village’s hot spring.
You were already soaking in the water, your back pressed against the stone edge while relaxing. Your shoulders and back aching from being thrown around by a demon.
Moments later you hear a few footsteps approaching you; it was Kyojuro looking at you with his fiery eyes and his usual smile.
You’ve always wondered how he managed to stay upbeat even after tiring himself out during missions but was happy he was in a good mood.
You offered him to sit beside you, and he gladly accepted it, his broad shoulder pressed against you while you relaxed once again.
Oh, how pretty you looked, Kyojuro thought. The faint blush on your face due to the steam of the room made the fire pillar himself get a bit hotter too.
He’d always admired how beautiful you looked; even when you were tired, he couldn’t help but enjoy the sight, a warm feeling tugging at his chest.
Kyojuro watches as you roll your shoulders, wincing a bit. You swear you saw his lips twitch into a frown as he saw you in pain; oh, how the man cared for you.
“(Y/N), let me help you.” Kyojuro offers to massage your back, which you can't deny. As your back faces him, he brings his hands to your shoulders, rubbing them nicely.
His hands skillfully press against your aching muscles in your back and shoulders. He wanted you to feel good; you’ve helped him greatly during the mission, and this was the least he could do to ease your pain.
“Feels good, Kyo…” You mumble, and the fire pillar’s face burns brighter than his breathing technique. Oh, how he loved it whenever you called him that, so sweet with that voice of yours.
As the massage continued, he offered to help wash your back, and he happily took care of you. Carefully guiding the soap along your skin.
His hands were rough from the calluses from all his training, yet his touch was gentle, wanting to comfort you from the stress of the day.
“Relax, (Y/N). You deserve it.” He’d say softly as he caressed and washed you delicately, eyes noting how good you were at holding up after such a long mission.
𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾:
As he continues to massage you, he feels his hands slowly moving down to your hips, giving you a soft squeeze as he brushes his lips to your shoulder.
“(Y/N)…” He’d mumble as he guides his hand to your wet core, rubbing your puffy clit as his other hand gropes your breast. “Let me take care of you…”
As you relax against him, you feel his skilled fingers teasing and brushing against your folds. “So delicate…” He’d mumble while kissing your neck.
Your pleasure was his pleasure; every moan and whimper coming from your lips made his heart aflame and his cock throb.
He then slips a finger inside you; he groans a bit at how warm and wet you are, so flattered and proud of how he is making you feel with just his fingers.
His other hand gropes your tit, rolling the sensitive bud while his other hand focuses on pumping his fingers inside you.
With every thrust of his thick fingers, you could feel the slow grind of his hips, his now leaking cock throbbing against your ass.
Being the sweet Hashira he is, he didn’t care for his own needs, only seeking your pleasure as he continued to play with your slick pussy, his fingers coated with your essence.
He definitely makes a mental note to eat you out properly later, wanting your sweetness to coat his tongue and chin.
As you get closer to your orgasm, he’d lean his head down to kiss you, his mouth swallowing up your delightful moans.
As you cum, he’d rub your clit lovingly, wanting to comfort you from your high as he rubs his nose against the crook of your neck. “Good job, you did so well today.”
𝑻𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒏 𝑼𝒛𝒖𝒊
𝑺𝑭𝑾:
Oh, this man is living for it—hot springs and you? He’s in his element.
Loves watching you relax—he finds it incredibly attractive when you let your guard down around him.
He has so much respect for you as a Hashira, and seeing you relax tugs at his heartstrings a bit since he knows how much effort you put into your work.
After joining you in the water, he’ll immediately stretch, flex, and make sure you see how flashy he looks before teasing, “Enjoying the view?” He’d ask with a shit-eating grin.
When he catches you getting flustered, he’ll be all over you, teasing you about how you should get a closer look.
He definitely suggests a massage, offering to rub your shoulders. But when his hands move lower, he gives a cheeky grin and chuckles, “Oops, my hands slipped.”
Despite his teasing, he does want you to relax; his hands smooth out any knots and aches in your neck and back, massaging out the soreness from the day.
But don’t expect the massage to be for free, though; this man will then plop down in front of you and ask you to return the favour.
He’d groan and relax against your touch, and the things he says can either be used for asking for a massage or dirty scenarios.
“Shit… That feels good; squeeze a bit harder.” He’d groan, tilting his head to the side as you smooth out the knot near his shoulders and neck. See, he meant his shoulders, LMAO.
He does appreciate your touch greatly, though; your soft hands in contrast to his hard muscles felt just too perfect.
He might get a bit sleepy and lean back just a bit, so be careful, or this 6’6 giant might topple you over.
“Mm… Thank you, (Y/N)… You know, you’d make a great wife.” He’d mumble as he relaxes beside you after the massage.
𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾:
After realizing what he said, Tengen would look at you, and it was either what he said or the steam of the hot springs that had gotten you all flushed.
Just seeing you that way got him thinking about what it would be like to make you flush in a different way…
That’s where you find yourself holding onto the edge of the hot spring; you’re bent over and SMACK! You feel a sharp slap against your bottom.
Tengen smirks as he hears your struggle to keep your voice down; his hands grip onto your hips, and you hear the water splash a bit behind you as he gets in position, his face next to your heat.
“You’re dripping, so beautiful.” He’d say, almost just to himself, before he leans in, his nose brushing against your slick while his lips wrap around your clit.
As you cover your mouth with your hands, hoping to not catch any unwanted attention, that doesn’t stop the sound of Tengen’s own moans.
“Mmph... tastes so sweet.” He’d groan against your core as he continues to eat your pussy from behind, his grip on your hips still strong and tight, not giving you any chance to slip away from him.
After lapping his tongue along your folds one last time, he stood up; his impatient body towered over you.
Grabbing you by the waist firmly you looked over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him, his body chiseled with strong muscles and you felt yourself drool a bit as you saw some water dripping down his body.
He grabbed the base of his cock, all thick with some heavy balls that you know will slap against your clit. Giving it a few pumps he rubs his tip against your folds.
He groans as he pushes in, his cock filling your pussy up perfectly. He gives you a moment to adjust to his size as he leans down to kiss your neck and cup your breast.
“So goddamn perfect..” He’d mumble before rutting into you, his cock deliciously hitting your sweet spot and his heavy balls slapping against your clit.
With every thrust of his strong hips you felt yourself nearing the edge, your pussy tightening up and getting slicker around his thick cock.
After coming down from both of your highs, he’d pull out of you slowly, and despite rocking your world just a moment ago, he’d gently help you clean up.
(hi guys.... I'm back after like...almost a year or so..IM ALIVE, I know I keep saying I'll post more but I've been getting really busy, but I do wish to post more, I might start posting again if I feel like it but yeah. hopefully this writing was good, it was kind of some late night imagines stuff. I hope to finish up some requests soon so thank you for everyone's patience! ILY!)
A/N: This is the first thing I've ever written for KNY/Demon Slayer. I've never written for any of these characters before, so please be nice to me. Also - I didn't include Muichiro in this since he's canonically 14. But yeah, please enjoy those I did write for!
Warnings: Potential spoilers with respect to the backstories of the Hashira, bits of angst in some parts, romance, lots of pining, denial (looking at you, Sanemi)
Pairings: The Hashira x Reader
Word Count: 3,421
Kyojuro Rengoku
Kyojuro is a passionate man. He's somebody who's filled with energy, spirit and is purer of heart than anybody else you know.
So when he realizes that his heart has been stolen away from him, this man is amazed. Not shocked, not scared, simply amazed.
He's so filled with wonder every time he sees you, at the way the fire in his heart only seems to grow and his spirit lifts so immediately whenever you're around. He's never felt this way about anyone else before.
What is this wonderous feeling?
Though he's an incredibly smart man, it takes a bit of time before Kyojuro comes to understand what it is he feels since it's so new to him.
Love. Deep, unshakeable love.
Once he understands, he yearns with all of his heart and soul behind his every word, his every action. Even if there aren't explicit declarations of love (yet), his feelings for you are more than evident in everything he says and does.
"Good morning, (Y/N)! I've noticed that you look particularly well-rested today! It gladdens my heart greatly to see it!"
"(Y/N)! I've brought you this bento box for lunch! Please honour me with your presence and eat with me!"
"You must take good care of yourself, (Y/N)! Rest now, I'll keep watch over you!"
His enthusiasm is only heightened in your presence, and he longs to spend whatever time he can by your side, using whatever opportunities present themselves to be with you.
He'd also bring you gifts, small things that made him think of you during your time apart.
"Look at this, (Y/N)! I found it in a marketplace during my last mission, and it reminded me of you! Please, accept this gift!"
Kyojuro yearns for the day when he can finally hand you a gift and voice the truth of what he feels. He yearns for the day that he can look you in the eyes and reveal that you've become the spark that sets his heart ablaze. That his indomitable will is all the stronger because now, he has you to protect, to return to, to love.
"I will return to you, (Y/N). I promise. Please... wait for me."
That day has not yet come, but for now, these little moments will do.
Tengen Uzui
The God of Flashiness and Festivals is no stranger to yearning.
With three wives, Tengen's the most familiar with love and the things that come with it. Despite this, however, he still tries to keep up his usual flamboyant and flashy personality at first, though as he falls for you, hints of his softer and truly caring side begin to come out.
He'll tease you and push you around at first, testing your boundaries and bantering with you in public without a care of who sees or hears.
"Aren't you gonna bow to me, (Y/N)? I am the Sound Hashira, and a God! Show me reverence!"
He secretly does his best to impress you, showing off in any way he can manage, and ends up impressed himself when you don't let it faze you, simply going with the flow. You're not rude or unkind - just unfazed by his boisterous behaviour.
"Yeah, no. I'm good, thanks."
And he loves it.
He loves the fact that he needs to work hard to truly get your attention, and work harder still to keep it. Yet, despite that, he knows you're truly a good, kind and hard-working person, somebody all three of his wives like and get along with
And just like that, he's a goner.
However, his wives are the first to notice that Tengen's heart is starting to soften for you, before he even notices it himself.
They see the way his gaze becomes softer over time, his tone less boastful and more genuine when he speaks to you. His attempts to be flashy fade away, leaving behind the more sincere parts of him, especially when your wellbeing is at risk or you've been injured in the line of duty. His worry and his love shine through in those moments.
"You've done well, (Y/N). I'm truly proud of how hard you fought. I need you to fight a little longer for me, for us, okay? I'll get you home, I promise."
Hinatsuru, Makio and Suma all see the way Tengen has become touchier with you, always finding a reason to touch you somehow, whether it's helping you up during a sparring match or guiding you through a crowd with his hand on your lower back. They see the way he looks at you whenever you're not looking, as if there's something he desperately wants to say but doesn't. They find him lost in thought, his fingers idly and mindlessly fiddling with some little trinket that belongs to you. They know his heart belong to you, too, now.
"Lord Tengen... perhaps you ought to tell (Y/N) the truth of how you feel."
"Yeah, you should. We'll support you through it."
"We absolutely will!"
The truth is, Hinatsuru, Makio and Suma all love you just as much as Tengen does, so they're as invested in the outcome of this as he is. Go you!
Gyomei Himejima
Gyomei is the epitome of a gentle giant. Despite his enormous size and intimidating stature, he's a soft and sensitive soul. He feels deeply, but because of what happened in his past, he's suspicious of people's intentions and is painfully aware of what others can do if given the chance.
As a result, it takes Gyomei a long time to truly warm up to you and accept you. But when he does, his loyalty to you is unwavering, and during this time, a solid, strong, foundational friendship forms between the two of you.
"You have proven yourself worthy, (Y/N). I see now that you are a true, good soul. Your friendship is a great blessing in my life."
Over time, though, this friendship grows deeper, and before long, Gyomei finds himself beginning to question whether what he feels for you is simply the same love he harbours for others he deems his friends, or if it's something more.
His heart doesn't skip a beat and his soul doesn't feel as enlightened with others the way it does with you. All his troubles seem to fade away whenever he's with you, and the peace that you bring him is greater than any he's ever felt before.
It's all this that allows for Gyomei to come to the conclusion that the love he harbours for you is much, much more.
He's a sensitive soul who feels deeply, so when he falls, he falls hard. When he yearns, he yearns hard. You're all he can think about, and your presence is reflected to him in every beautiful thing in this world.
Gyomei hears your laughter in the breeze and feels the warmth of your touch in the rays of the sun against his skin. Now, it feels like you're around him all the time, but even that isn't enough anymore. If only demons didn't exist. If only he could tell you the truth of how much you meant to him and ask you to grant him the honour of spending the rest of your life with him.
"Gyomei? Are you alright?"
You'd looked over at him one day, when the two of you were sat together beneath a large tree, only to find him crying. To say you were surprised was an understatement, and you couldn't help but worry for him. You knew he cried easily, but something about these tears felt different and much more profound. These were tears with real weight behind them.
But through the tears, Gyomei offered you a small smile, his heart aching desperately for the chance to love you properly.
"I grieve for what could have been."
Obanai Iguro
Obanai's well known amidst the Demon Slayer Corps for being an extremely strict and harsh person. His actions are often merciless, making him pretty intimidating to most, but despite all that, you somehow manage to look past it to see the man behind it all, which catches Obanai's attention.
He's observant, and he notices the way you listen to him and take his advice when training. Though he generally considers other demon slayers as weak and incompetent, over time, his opinion of you begins to change. He doubted you at first, thinking you'd be just like the others who failed to progress and get stronger, but you somehow proved him wrong.
You worked hard, and even as you did so, you never lost sight of what was important to you. On the rare occasions that Obanai spoke to you, you never made him feel out of place. If anything, you were strangely adept at making him feel... calm. Accepted. Normal.
He's not sure how, but you manage to make the pain of his past disappear whenever he talks to you, and over time, his feelings for you begin to change.
Somewhere along the way, Obanai's heart fell from his chest and landed in your hands without him even realizing it.
He's observant as he yearns for you, and now, he uses his observations to give you gifts he thinks you'd like - things he hopes will remind you of him and grant him a place in your heart. He loves you and wants you more than he ever thought he could love and want another person, though his own self-hatred would never allow him to tell you that outright.
Instead, because of his belief that his blood is corrupted, he's doomed to pine after you from the shadows, not worthy of your love and your heart forever out of his reach.
"(Y/N), here. I just... thought you might like this."
Though he'd never believe himself to be worthy of you, he's come to know what you like and dislike, your little habits, your hopes, your fears. Despite his unworthiness, he knows you and he loves you.
Sanemi Shinazugawa
To the Wind Hashira, love was for sentimental idiots looking to get themselves killed. Love was a joke and had no place in the Demon Slayer Corps.
Or so he thought.
He also thought that you were an unbearable pain in his ass.
That's what Sanemi would tell himself every time he thought about you. Why else would you constantly be on his mind? It's not like you were important to him or anything. No, that definitely couldn't be it. You meant nothing to him. You were probably just another stupid, pitiful and weak demon slayer who'd die way too soon.
So why did his stupid palms get sweaty whenever you were a little too close? Why did his heart start to race whenever he saw you? When did you begin to inhabit his dreams, featuring in scenes of a future that was so peaceful and beautiful that there was no way it could possibly be real?
What the hell was going on?
Denial is Sanemi's middle name. He refuses to accept that what he feels for you is love. It can't be love. It won't be love.
No, his palms get sweaty and his heart races not because you're nearby, but because he's simply itching for a fight. That's all - it's simply adrenaline and nothing more. Definitely not love.
Those dreams of you are probably because Sanemi ate something funny before going to bed. Definitely not love.
Never love.
Until you nearly died right in front of him.
Sanemi saw red.
In an instant, he had exterminated the demon that nearly took you life before he could even process what had happened, and in the next moment, he had grabbed your upper arms and shook you a bit as he yelled at you.
"What the HELL is your problem?! You almost got yourself killed, you stupid brat, don't you realize that?!"
But as he yelled, it became evident that he wasn't yelling out of anger.
Sanemi was scared.
He'd lost so much. He'd lost his mother, his siblings. He'd lost so many people that he loved, and he refused to go through that again. He couldn't go through it again. He couldn't lose you, too.
Sanemi is cold, impulsive, and abrasive. He's known for his temper and his stubbornness, and once his mind is set on something, it's nearly impossible to get him to change his opinion.
Or so he thought.
Because now, love had gotten him in a chokehold unlike any other, but he ain't no sentimental idiot looking to get himself killed.
So maybe, just maybe... love did have a place in the Demon Slayer Corps.
And maybe, just maybe... love did have a place in Sanemi's heart.
Giyuu Tomioka
Giyuu is quiet.
Too quiet.
Ever since joining the Corps, Giyuu's been a man of very few words, his face seemingly a permanent, stoic, stern mask. When he does speak, it's not for long, and his words are typically blunt and get right to the point. Talking to others has never really been his strength, so he tends to come across as aloof, unfeeling and cold.
The truth is, though, that Giyuu does care, and when he deems somebody a friend, he cares deeply, wanting to protect them and keep them safe.
After spending quite a lot of time with him, eventually, you'd become one of the rare few that Giyuu had come to consider a friend. You'd always treated him with kindness and patience, and the moments where the two of you simply sat together in silence always felt comfortable.
If there were discussions, you tended to do most of the talking, with Giyuu listening and humming softly in acknowledgement or murmuring soft words here or there.
"Mmm. I see."
It wasn't long before you'd found a way through the walls Giyuu had put up around his heart and made a home for yourself in his heart.
When he first realizes that what he's feeling for you is much more profound than friendship, though, Giyuu's initial reaction is fear.
Oh, Gods, how could I let this happen?
He wants to be able to hide away from his feelings, to be able to shove them deep, deep down and ignore their existence altogether, but being away from you now is far too painful.
Now that his heart, too long starved of affection and care, has been reminded of what it is to love somebody, the mere thought of not being around you is enough to make his entire body ache.
It's as if every fiber in his very being cries out for you whenever he's apart from you, setting his very soul on fire.
But even now, Giyuu is a man of few words, and so, he shows what he doesn't yet know how to say through his actions.
A gentle but firm hand on your lower back or your arm, guiding you steadily through a crowd. Always ensuring that you have a cup of your favourite tea during a meal. A little token he obtained on a mission that somehow found its way into your pocket. Each gesture, each action is filled with thought, tenderness and care, born of a love not yet given a voice.
And if you were to ask him about all these little things?
"It feels right to do these things for you."
Shinobu Kocho
Shinobu's a master of hiding the truth of what she's feeling. Despite her cheery, friendly and calm demeanour, the truth is that beneath it all, she's almost always in a state of complete and overwhelming rage. Her hatred for demons runs deep, due to the loss of her family and her older sister at their hands. Yet, somehow, she manages to keep her true feelings under wraps.
Until you came into the picture.
At first, she treated you much as she did any other demon slayer - politely but strictly. But over time, you began to realize more and more about the truth of Shinobu's well-hidden anger. To say she was surprised that you'd figured it out was an understatement; very few people had ever truly managed to see through her mask so clearly.
"Oh... I guess you've figured me out, then. Yes, (Y/N). I'm angry. I've always been angry."
Once you knew the truth about her, Shinobu found herself letting her guard down around you more and more, even becoming comfortable enough around you to express the anger she was feeling and to let you see it. She can't even remember the last time she felt comfortable and safe enough to show her true emotions.
She knows that it's not the greatest idea to let somebody see her being so open and, frankly, vulnerable, but... with you, things felt different.
You never tried to distract her from her anger, or placate her with meaningless, empty statements. You simply stayed, and you listened.
Over time, you become her anchor in the storm that is her mind, and whether or not she's aware of it, she always seeks you out. Though she's afraid of letting herself get too attached to you, Shinobu still finds herself looking for you in every room she enters, constantly hoping that she'd find you there. She even finds herself conjuring up random reasons to see you and check in with you.
"Oh, (Y/N)! Your timing is perfect - I just finished creating a new poison for my blade. Come with me, I'll show you what it does."
"(Y/N), make sure you stop by the Butterfly Mansion to be assessed. We have to make sure you're in peak condition for when you get sent on your next mission."
She can't bring herself to voice any of her thoughts or feelings about you, the fear of losing you just as she did her parents and her sister too great. So, instead, she takes the love that's growing for you in her heart and tucks it away, hiding it from the world and keeping it somewhere only she can get to it.
Maybe, that way, she'll be able to protect you, too.
Mitsuri Kanroji
The Love Hashira is the biggest sweetheart - Mitsuri is happy and cheerful and filled with emotion, and is a very caring and gentle person. She's known for being excitable, a little over the top at times and prone to overexaggerating her reactions, but she's sweet and means well. She's easy to get along with, so it's no surprise that the two of you became friends.
When she realizes that you've become somebody important to her, though, somebody who she sees as more than simply a friend, Mitsuri can't help but have literal hearts in her eyes whenever she's you.
She's had difficult experiences in the past with her previous marriage interviews having gone so poorly, so even though she swoons for you, she still gets nervous as coming off as too intense, too head-over-heels, too... much.
But the fact that you accept Mitsuri for exactly who she is, eating with her, training with her and doing your best to become as strong as her reassures her that to you, she could never be too much. It gives her hope, and makes her heart race at the sheer thought of you.
"Come on, (Y/N)! Let's see who can eat the most sakura mochi! Ready? 3, 2, 1, go!"
Mitsuri is so happy to finally have somebody in her life who sees her for who she is and accepts her without complaint. Her joy is evident whenever she's with you - she talks and shares her food with you and ensures to feed you every time you come over to see her.
"Here, (Y/N)! You have to try these pancakes I made with honey, I really think you'll like them!"
Her gestures, her gifts, her feeding you, her spending time with you are all ways that the truth of her feelings for you shine through. Even if she's not quite ready to admit her love out loud just yet, these little things are her love language, each of them proof of just how important you are to her.
And if you reciprocate her efforts? It only deepens the love she already harbours for you, because it shows her that you're willing to look after her the same way she looks after you.
"Thank you for this, (Y/N). I really appreciate everything you've done, it's very sweet of you and means a lot to me!"
It looks like finally, at long last, she seems to have found her match.
Your Honour, the jury has reviewed the events of the Mugen Train incident and would like to state, for the record, that Rengoku Kyojuro’s strength is actually incomprehensible.
He fought Upper Rank Three immediately after a full-blown battle where he saved EVERYONE on board, didn’t rest, didn’t breathe, didn’t drink water
-
Nothing
-
and STILL almost killed an Upper Rank who was actively getting stronger because of Rengoku’s fighting spirit.
The jury notes that this was, strategically, the absolute worst match-up for any Hashira,
because Rengoku literally made Akaza stronger just by existing ( We can also note that any other Hashira wouldn’t of had such a large effect on Akaza this way because Rengoku’s fighting spirit was the largest ).
AND YET
He STILL had Akaza nearly GONE - terrified, scrambling, and holding on for dear life.
Furthermore, the court acknowledges that Rengoku managed all of this
WITHOUT a Slayer Mark
(which he would’ve gotten the easiest considering the man heats up like a human furnace and has the largest fighting spirit).
He held Akaza off until dawn, injured and alone, and still made him flee like he could of un poisoned the well if he ran fast enough.
Therefore, the jury finds Rengoku guilty of being the worst possible opponent for Akaza to encounter, and guilty of almost smiting him solo regardless.
Cw: NSFW, abo dynamics/omegaverse, heat suppression, light choking/restraints, fingering, possessive rengoku, you try and run/he stalks you
amazing art by hassy_0225
The sun is low, painting the walkways in amber and long shadow. The Hashira meeting has dispersed, and the grounds hum with quiet movement—messengers, attendants, and a few slayers finishing drills in the garden.
You keep your head down as always. You’re just another Beta-ranked soldier—low enough to go unnoticed, competent enough not to be questioned.
You’ve passed Rengoku before. Seen him from a distance. Heard the booming laugh, the passionate declarations of justice, the heat of his spirit that fills every room he enters like a bonfire.
But today—
Today he’s walking the opposite way down the corridor. Alone.
And as you draw near—
He stops.
You feel it before you see it—the shift. Like the air turns viscous. Thick with tension. Your skin prickles. The hairs on your neck rise. Your heart stutters.
His boot stills mid-step.
You glance up—just a flicker, just instinct—and he’s looking at you.
No. Not just looking.
Locked on.
His entire body has gone still. The way predators go still. That unnatural quiet, muscles tense beneath the surface, poised between recognition and pursuit. His golden eyes are pinned to you, unblinking, wide.
You can’t breathe.
You did everything right today—took the injection early, doubled the blockers. Your scent is flattened to nothing, as dull and uninteresting as the Beta role you’ve spent years performing.
But his nostrils flare—once—like a hound catching a single thread of blood in the snow.
His pupils dilate.
Not just wide.
Predatory.
You step aside politely, bow your head, just like you would with any higher rank, murmuring a soft “Rengoku-sama.”
But he doesn’t move.
He watches you pass like he’s watching something rare and wild that no one else has seen. His head even turns slightly as you go by—tracking you.
You don’t look back.
You can’t.
But your every nerve sings. Every instinct screams that something in him just snapped awake. And you feel his eyes on the back of your neck until the corridor ends.
...
Weeks pass.
The sky is grey, but not heavy. Pale light filters down through the wind-tossed canopy, flickering across the stone-paved walkways of the Corps estate. The trees have begun to turn—their edges burnt with gold, rust, blood-red—and every breeze scatters a few more leaves to the earth.
You walk the perimeter alone.
The paperwork from yesterday’s patrol is tucked neatly beneath one arm, your uniform immaculate despite the morning drills. You’ve kept to the edges of the path, close to the retaining wall, careful not to draw attention. The routine is comforting. The rhythm of silence. Of containment.
There’s nothing about you that would warrant a second look. You’ve made sure of it.
Suppression dose: taken early, as always. Expression: neutral. Your entire existence wrapped in clean neutrality. Efficient. Invisible. Beta.
The training yard opens before you—a broad space between buildings, the dirt packed down by years of discipline. A handful of lower-ranked slayers are engaged in drills, the sharp clack of their bokken echoing off stone and wood. A few sparring pairs shift, grunt, strike, correct. It’s not crowded.
But you slow slightly as you cross the open space.
You feel it first.
A subtle hitch in the wind.
Heat.
Not sunlight. Not fire.
Attention.
Your eyes flick upward without thinking.
He’s standing beneath the long shadow of the west veranda, partially obscured by the flapping edge of a hanging banner—Rengoku Kyojuro.
And he’s looking at you.
No—he’s watching you.
He isn’t speaking to anyone. Isn’t giving orders. Just… still. Like someone interrupted mid-thought. Like his body remembered something it shouldn’t have.
You falter.
Just for a breath.
You’re not close. There are slayers between you, the ambient noise of training, conversation. There’s no way he could smell anything. No way he could know.
But his eyes are locked to yours with an intensity that doesn’t make sense.
Wide. Sharp. Focused.
You know that look. You’ve seen it before—when predators catch movement in the corner of their vision. When they spot something not quite right in the brush.
His stance is deceptively casual—arms folded, shoulders relaxed—but his gaze pins you. And in that stillness, something in your spine curls tight, ancient and animal.
You force yourself to keep walking. Not fast. Not slow. Not like you're afraid.
Don’t react.
Don’t let instinct show.
You pass across the training yard like you’ve done a hundred times. Dust kicks gently at your boots. A leaf sticks to the edge of your sleeve, and you shake it off, careful, casual.
But you feel it all the way to the door:
His eyes never leave you.
Not once.
Even when someone calls his name.
Even when you disappear into the corridor.
Especially then.
...
A Random Evening — After Dusk Patrol Debrief
The meeting room is emptying slowly, slayers dispersing into the cool dark of the evening. Lanterns hang low along the walkway corridors, their paper skins flickering orange and gold against the deepening blue of twilight.
You’ve gathered your reports. Your hands aren’t shaking—but they want to be.
He was there.
Across the room. Eyes on you like they never left after the last time. Like he knows you’ve been avoiding him. Changing routes. Timing your meals to miss him. And still he finds you.
Rengoku didn’t say a word during the debrief.
But he didn’t need to.
He looked at you once, and your body answered in betrayal. The flush under your skin, the hitch in your breath—no matter how deep you buried it, it surfaced. And you know he saw it.
You step out into the corridor.
And walk fast.
Not enough to draw attention. Just enough to feel the wind tug your sleeves. The trees above whisper. Your footsteps echo hollow against the stone.
You turn left. Then right. Past the mess hall, toward the far servant wings. Less foot traffic. No reason for him to follow you.
But he is.
You feel him.
Boots moving behind you, patient, confident.
Not running.
Because he knows he doesn’t have to.
Your pace quickens. Your breath is tight now, caught between your ribs like a sob. Your thoughts blur—If he catches you—if anyone sees—you’ll be dismissed. Branded. Exiled. Worse.
But your body isn’t helping.
Your body wants him to.
The heat under your skin is rising again, no matter how hard you push it down. The suppression can’t hold forever. Not under this kind of stare.
You slip into a side hallway. Shadows eat the edges of the walls here—this part of the compound isn’t lit at night unless the Healers are on call. Your boots barely whisper against the floor as you cut through, breath shallow.
Behind you—
Still footsteps.
Still steady.
Like he’s stalking.
You take a sharp turn through a curtained doorway—storage. You press yourself to the wall, try to flatten your breathing, eyes scanning for another exit.
Silence.
Then—
He’s there.
The curtain lifts, quiet as breath.
Golden eyes catch yours through the dim.
You don’t even scream.
You run.
Past the shelves. Into the back hallway. Your footfalls echo in your skull, heart racing, mouth dry with fear and something far worse—want.
Then—
A hand wraps around your wrist.
Fast.
Too fast.
And before you can gasp—before your body can even protest—he yanks.
Hard.
The door slams behind you.
The sound echoes in the dark, then fades into silence—except for your heartbeat, pounding so hard it feels like it might shake through your chest.
And him.
Rengoku doesn’t speak.
He just presses in behind you—slow, deliberate, the heat of his chest meeting your back like a brand. One of his arms stretches past your shoulder, palm braced against the wall, forearm grazing your temple. The other settles low on the wall beside your hip, pinning you there—not with weight, but with presence.
Your breath stutters.
You don’t dare move.
He leans in, until his mouth is at your ear, and when he breathes in—slow, deep—you feel it all the way through you. His chest expands against your spine, molten heat and barely-restrained need radiating off of him in waves.
And then—
His voice.
Low. Rough. Frayed down to its most honest edge.
“…You always run right before I catch your scent.”
You flinch, lips parting—but no words come out.
He leans in closer. You feel the brush of his jaw along the side of your head, the edge of his nose grazing your neck.
“You cover it so well,” he murmurs. “So perfectly. Every trace scrubbed out. Every breath neutral.”
A pause—he inhales again, and shudders.
“But I always knew something was wrong. Something was missing.”
Your hand tightens against the wall. He’s so close now, every breath of his rocks into your back, hot and shaking. You can feel him trying to hold the line.
“You walk like a Beta,” he continues, voice lower, more raw. “You move like one. You lie like one.”
His lips are near your jaw now—not kissing, just hovering. His voice is breaking on the edges of control.
“But you smell like something I want to claim.”
Your knees nearly give at that, but his arm beside your waist shifts—his fingers brush your hip, steadying you without thought.
He still hasn’t grabbed you. He hasn't pulled you in.
But his body is a locked cage behind you, Alpha to the bone, breathing hard like every molecule in him is trying not to move too soon.
Then, quieter—just for you:
“I gave you time.”
His breath ghosts along your neck.
“I gave you space.”
His hand curls just slightly into a fist against the wall beside your hip.
“And you still ran.”
Your throat tightens. “I didn’t mean—”
“You did,” he breathes. “And that’s why I can’t let you go again.”
Silence stretches.
And then, darker:
“…Say it.”
You can barely get the word out. “What?”
“Say you’re not Omega,” he growls, low and hot. “Lie to me again. Right now.”
You can’t.
Your body won't let you.
And neither will he.
...
The silence between you breaks—not with a word, but with the sound of his breath.
Deep. Measured. Unsteady only at the edges.
You’re still pinned between the wall and the heat of him, your back to his chest, your spine arched slightly with the tension holding your body upright. Your legs feel wrong—weak, hot, unreliable. He’s close enough now that his mouth could brush the curve of your throat with the smallest tilt of his head.
But he doesn’t move fast.
He savors.
One breath. Another.
You feel it before you see it: his hand slowly rising from the wall beside your hip, moving—finally moving—to hover just above your waist. Not touching. Just measuring you.
Then his fingers close around your side.
Gently.
Not to restrain—but to feel.
Your whole body reacts. A rush of heat floods your chest, the air pulled from your lungs with a quiet, involuntary gasp.
He feels that.
And smiles.
“I knew it,” he murmurs, voice like smoke curling into your skin. “I knew your body would answer me.”
His other hand moves from beside your head, brushing your temple—not forceful, just enough to push your hair behind your ear. His knuckles graze your cheek. You shudder.
He leans in close enough for his lips to hover just against your skin, not kissing, not quite—but the warmth is unbearable.
“I haven’t even touched you,” he whispers, “and already you’re melting.”
You make a soft, helpless noise—one you don’t recognize as yours.
“That’s it,” he says, and his hand on your waist pulls you flush against him.
You feel the length of his body, the way his hips press into the curve of your lower back, the steady thrum of heat radiating off him. His breath shakes against your throat.
“You were never a Beta,” he growls, low and raw. “You were just hiding. But you can’t hide from me.”
His mouth finally, finally brushes your skin.
It’s not a kiss.
It’s a claim.
You arch against him like your body has been waiting for this for years. The contact—just that brush of lips against your neck—is enough to make your knees threaten to buckle again.
He catches you instantly, one strong arm wrapping fully around your waist now, holding you upright, keeping you close.
“You don’t have to speak,” he breathes. “I can feel what you need.”
He nuzzles lower, mouth pressing just beneath your jaw now, a slow drag of lips and breath that has your head tipping back helplessly.
Your voice is barely a whisper. “Kyojuro…”
He shudders.
That—that—is the first time you’ve ever said his name like that. Soft. Exposed. Needful.
He responds like it hits something primal. His arm tightens. His mouth opens against your neck—still no bite, no mark, but the promise of it is there. Burning.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs. Not possessive like a title.
Possessive like a revelation.
“Say it,” he growls again. Not cruel. Not demanding.
Hungry.
His hand slides up, slowly, from your waist to your ribs, fingertips grazing—just barely—over the curve of your chest.
“Say it before I take it from your lips.”
And you? You’ve never been more certain of anything in your life.
But you don't speak.
You can't.
Not with his voice in your ear like that. Not with your body already caving in around the truth he’s dragged out of you.
And behind you, you feel the shift—subtle, but seismic.
Rengoku exhales, and it's not relief. It's release. Like some primal part of him had been straining at its leash since the moment you first passed him in the corridor.
“…Good,” he murmurs, the word barely more than a growl stitched with breath. “Then I’ll take it.”
And you melt.
There’s no better word for it—your whole body softens under his touch, thighs clenching, eyes fluttering closed as you lean back into him.
“That’s it,” he breathes, mouth against your temple now. “There she is.”
He moves again, this time slower, dragging his hand up until his palm cups your breast through your uniform—warm, full, possessive. His thumb swipes over your nipple, and your hips jerk back into him, helpless, seeking pressure.
He groans.
“Sensitive,” he growls, teeth brushing your ear. “Of course you are. Been starved for this. Starved for me.”
And when you whimper—when your back arches just slightly more, thighs trembling, your lips parted with the kind of sound you’ve never let yourself make before—
That’s when he really smiles.
He dips his head, dragging his mouth down the side of your neck, open-mouthed kisses laid with deliberate care, and then bites—just once—right above your scent gland.
Not enough to mark.
But enough to promise.
You cry out softly, body surging against him, and he breathes against the mark like he’s anchoring himself there.
“…You're mine now,” he whispers, voice rough and reverent.
“And I’m going to spend all night proving it to you.”
...
You’re not sure when your legs started shaking.
Only that he feels it.
The hand on your chest drops, but not far.
The same arm, wrapped around you from behind now, tightens—not hard, not greedy, but steady. Containing. Holding you up the same way his body cages you in, chest flush to your spine, the rhythm of his breath vibrating through your spine.
You’ve never felt so small. So held.
Now one of his hands rests low across your abdomen, fingers splayed just beneath the dip of your ribs. The other drags slowly—intentionally—along your outer thigh. Not to tease. To explore. Like he’s tracing the perimeter of something that belongs to him.
His lips are at your ear, voice a low rasp threaded with restraint and something far darker underneath.
“Just feel,” he says, mouth brushing the curve of your jaw. “Don’t fight me. Don’t run now.”
His fingers skim inward along your thigh—deliberate, precise—and you bite down on a moan that still curls out through your nose.
He hears it.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Let me hear you.”
You feel his nose trail along your neck again, nuzzling behind your ear. This time it’s softer. Affectionate. Like he’s rewarding you. Like you’ve already started giving him what he wants.
“I’ve had to look at you every day,” he says into your skin. “Acting like you don’t need this. Watching you pretend to be something neutral. Something untouched.”
His hand—finally—presses in between your thighs, the heel of his palm finding the soaked center of you through your clothes. The sound you make is soft, broken, involuntary—and it undoes something in him.
He presses his hips to yours, grinding against the curve of your ass, letting you feel just how hard he is for you—how long he’s been waiting, holding back, starving.
“You’ve been walking around smelling like temptation,” he growls against your neck, voice lower now, shaking. “And expecting me to stay calm. Expecting me not to want to own every single sound you make.”
His hand begins to move—slow, patient pressure rubbing you through your clothes, the rhythm maddening and perfect. His other arm tightens across your middle, pinning you to him completely, almost lifting your heels.
And you—you—can’t help the way your body arches back into him. Can’t stop the breathless whimper that slips past your lips. The heat building under his palm is blinding.
He exhales hard against your ear, almost a growl.
“That’s it,” he hisses. “Just like that. Let me ruin you slow.”
His hand slides up under your shirt—not groping, not grabbing. Just gliding palm and fingertips over bare skin, feeling the twitch and pull of your muscles as you tremble against him.
“You don’t know what you sound like,” he says. “What you feel like when you finally stop pretending.”
You whimper again—too far gone to answer, too full of want to speak—and that’s when he dips his mouth to the space just beneath your jaw.
He kisses you once.
Then again—deeper, wetter, tongue barely tasting the salt on your skin.
And then?
He bites.
Not hard. Not enough to mark. But enough to warn.
You cry out, hips jerking—and he groans, grinding harder against you, the friction sparking heat through every inch of your body.
“You’re going to cum for me like this,” he growls. “Pressed between my hands. Just like I imagined.”
You try to answer, but the sound dies in your throat. All you can manage is a trembling breath, your hips rocking involuntarily forward before he guides them back—into him, into the steady grind of his cock against your ass.
You feel it—thick, hard, heavy—pinned between your bodies. Not even inside you. Not even bare. And still, you feel yourself unravel, stitch by trembling stitch.
He groans softly at the contact, voice dipping into something raw.
“You’re making a mess of yourself,” he murmurs against your neck, lips barely brushing your skin. “I haven’t even undressed you.”
His mouth drags over your pulse—slow, wet, savoring. Like he’s drinking in the way your heart stutters beneath your skin.
“You feel so soft,” he breathes. “So hot. Your whole body’s crying for it, and I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”
His hand between your thighs moves again—more focused now.
Not just pressure.
Rhythm.
A slow, circular grind of his palm, his fingers cupped perfectly against the soaked heat of your cunt, teasing that sweet, swollen ache he hasn’t even seen yet.
You let out a whimper—quiet, shattered—and his breath punches out against your neck like you just said his name.
“You like this?” he growls softly. “You like me working you through these clothes like you’re too sweet to be touched yet?”
His other hand slides up your torso—slow, tracing every twitch of muscle under your shirt—until he reaches your chest.
He palms one breast gently through the fabric of your bindings, his thumb brushing over your nipple, just once.
You gasp, sharp and high.
“There we go,” he whispers. “There’s that sound.”
He does it again—lazily now—brushing back and forth over that peak, circling, learning the rhythm of your breath, the exact pitch of your pleasure. Every time you twitch. Every time you try to hold still and fail.
The motion between your thighs deepens. You can’t help it anymore—your hips begin to rock. Slow. Seeking. Desperate.
And he lets you.
He lets you ride his hand.
He moans, low and hungry, into the crook of your neck.
“Look at you,” he breathes. “Grinding against me like you’re already in heat.”
You choke on another cry, burying your face into your arm, pressing into the wall for leverage as your thighs begin to shake.
“Shhh,” he soothes, rocking with you now, his hands completely in control. “Don’t rush. You’re going to cum like this. Just like this.”
Still clothed.
Still pinned.
Still fully his.
And you realize—
He’s right.
...
You’re soaked through.
The slick heat between your thighs is undeniable now—shameless—your clothes clinging to your skin, your hips rocking in a rhythm you can’t stop, every breath leaving your lips in a broken, high sound that would humiliate you if you weren’t so far gone.
And still—
He doesn’t let you fall.
Rengoku’s hand—pressed between your legs, firm and possessive—moves just slow enough to drive you mad. Every drag of his palm over the soaked seam of your uniform is perfect. Precise. Measured to keep you exactly where he wants you: trembling, grinding, wanting.
His voice—fuck, that voice—is low and full of heat, the edge of a smile in every word he speaks against your ear.
“Feel that?” he murmurs, breath brushing your cheek as his other hand palms your breast again, thumb teasing over your nipple with an infuriating laziness. “You’re so close. I can feel it.”
You whimper, nodding—your hand clawing at the wall, the other gripping the wrist of the hand working between your thighs.
“Kyojuro,” you breathe, a plea, a prayer.
He moans—soft and rough, full of hunger. His cock twitches against your ass, hard and hot through the layers between you.
“Oh, you sound ready,” he says, dragging his mouth down your throat. “So desperate already.”
His fingers press harder, a tighter circle just where you need it, and your hips jerk.
You cry out. You’re so close—so fucking close—
But just before it crests—
He pulls back.
Not completely. Not cruelly. Just enough to leave you gasping, twitching, thighs trembling with denial.
Your moan is broken—wrecked—and your head falls back to his shoulder.
But he’s already there.
Mouth against your ear. Voice dark with amusement.
“Not yet.”
You shake. “Please…”
“Not yet,” he says again, a whisper and a growl. “I’m not finished with you.”
And then—fuck—he does it again.
The rhythm builds slowly, his fingers moving with a practiced precision that’s almost mercy—almost—until you’re right back where you were. Hips circling, breath ragged, the wet heat between your legs throbbing under the friction he keeps feeding you.
He feels your thighs start to shake again.
“Already?” he murmurs, a little laugh in his throat. “I just gave you a taste.”
Your body tenses again—coil drawn so tight—and just as it starts to break, he slows.
You sob—soft, desperate, hips jerking against his palm.
But he holds you steady.
“I want to hear it,” he growls into your neck. “How badly do you want it?”
You gasp. “Please—I need—fuck—I need it, I need you—”
His hand moves again. More friction, more heat.
“Do you ache for me?”
You nod. Frantic.
His palm grinds hard against you—just once—and your voice breaks.
“Yes—yes, please, I can’t—”
He growls—low, possessive, wrecked—and holds you tighter against him, mouth dragging over your jaw.
“That’s it. Good girl.”
He lets it build again—higher, harder—but now you’re terrified. Every nerve screams that he’ll stop again, that he’ll keep you on this edge until your body’s nothing but want and wet heat and shame—
And he might.
Because he loves you like this.
Ragged. Shaking. Begging.
Owned.
...
You don’t remember what you said—if it was his name, or a sob, or just a broken plea—but whatever left your lips, it shattered him.
You feel it in the way his breath catches against your skin.
In the sound he makes—low, deep, not quite a growl but close enough to shake you.
And then in the sudden stillness that settles behind you.
“Fuck it,” he whispers, ragged.
And then his hand is moving.
Not above the cloth this time.
Down.
Under.
Your eyes fly wide as you feel the press of his fingers hook beneath the waistband of your trousers, under the last barrier, and then—fuck—he’s there, sliding through the slick, hot folds of you with a groan like you’ve just undone him completely.
Your mouth opens to cry out, the shock, the relief, the raw fucking pleasure of finally feeling him skin to skin—but his hand is already there.
Palm over your mouth.
Gentle.
Firm.
Loving.
“Hush,” he whispers, mouth at your ear, words like velvet wrapped in heat. “I’ve got you.”
You moan into his hand, helpless, your whole body jolting as he sinks two fingers deep inside you in one smooth motion.
And you’re so wet.
So ready.
So needy, clenching down around him like your body knew he’d be the one to fill you long before you did.
His groan is wrecked.
“Fuck—so tight—gods, you were made for this.”
He doesn’t thrust, not yet. He just holds them there, buried deep, feeling your body flutter around him, adjusting to the stretch, the shape of him, the rightness.
You’re whimpering now, muffled by his palm, face pressed to the wall, his body wrapped around yours—his hand in your cunt, his lips at your ear, his breath panting like he’s barely holding on.
“I told myself I’d be good,” he says, voice low and shaking. “That I’d go slow. That I’d make you cum through your clothes, let you keep pretending a little longer.”
His fingers curl just slightly, brushing that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back.
You squeal into his hand.
He kisses the edge of your jaw.
“Shhh, I know. I know, baby.”
Then he starts to move them.
Slow, deep thrusts—not fast, but purposeful—dragging his knuckles against your soaked heat, curling inside you just right, just enough to have your knees buckling.
Your thighs are trembling. Your breath is shattered. You’re dripping onto his hand, onto your own clothes, and still, still he keeps whispering like you’re something precious he’s just allowed himself to touch.
“Feels good?” he murmurs, dragging his fingers out slow, then pressing them back in—slick, tight, perfect.
You nod desperately, tears brimming, eyes wild.
He moans into your neck. “I know. You’re doing so well. You’re so fucking perfect.”
Your body jerks again—so close, the heat inside you coiled so tight it’s a miracle you haven’t climaxed already—
And then he curls his fingers again, just right, and whispers:
“Cum for me. Silently.”
...
And your body obeys.
Your orgasm crashes over you like it was always waiting—held back so long it rips through you, all shuddering hips and clenched thighs, your cunt pulsing hard around his fingers as his arm tightens across your chest to hold you up.
You shake.
You cry out.
And he’s there, whispering it into your skin—
“That’s it. Let me feel it. Let it take you.”
But he doesn’t pull back.
He doesn’t give you a moment to come down.
His hand keeps moving, fingers fucking you through it, not stopping, not slowing, keeping your body trembling as your climax keeps peaking, bleeding over into something new.
Your toes curl. Your breath hitches.
And then he leans in.
You don’t even notice where his mouth is until you feel the heat of it—right at your neck.
Right above your scent gland.
And he just… breathes.
Deep. Inhaling the thick, sweet scent of you as your body shatters against his.
You gasp. You try to squirm.
But he growls—low, threatening—his tongue barely brushing your gland, the tip of his teeth grazing just close enough to make your skin flare.
“No one else gets this,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “No one gets to smell this. Touch this. Fucking taste it.”
You sob—you can’t help it—your body clenching again, impossibly sensitive, the second orgasm coiling deep in your core with terrifying speed.
“You don’t even know how good you smell,” he says, pressing his lips against the place he won’t bite—not yet—but might, and you can feel it in the tremble of him. “Like heat. Like surrender. Like fucking mine.”
His hand keeps working between your thighs, soaking fingers thrusting deep with wet, obscene rhythm, and you realize—
He’s building the second one.
Without pause.
Without mercy.
And with his mouth now right on your throat—his breath hot, tongue flicking, his teeth teasing the place your bond would go—you feel like your soul is going to climb out of your body and beg him to take it.
You whimper, high and cracked.
And he grins.
“You want it again?” he growls. “Want to cum while I’m right here, tasting the spot I’m not supposed to mark?”
You nod frantically. Your hands slam against the wall. Your hips grind back into him like you can’t survive without it.
“Do it,” he hisses. “Cum for me again, Omega.”
And this time—
You shatter.
Your orgasm crashes through you—hot, deep, dragging you under.
Longer.
Wetter.
Relentless.
Silently sobbing as your body convulses around his fingers, your head thrown back against his shoulder, his mouth at your neck like a brand he hasn’t even pressed yet.
And all the while, he’s there.
Whispering how good you are.
How perfect you feel.
And how he’s not done with you yet.
-------------------to be continued------------------
... sorry yall didn't proofread my brain is so tired... hope you enjoyed!!
Tagged (lmk if you'd like to be tagged): @cereja-com-nuttela
Notice how Hoshina's speech bubbles are frequently penetrating Narumi. This implies that Hoshina is the top in this relationship. In this essay I will-
Gossip spread like wildfire through the JAKDF. By dinner, not only the First and Third Divisions, but probably every other base in Japan had already heard the news:
You and Narumi are married.
You sat at a table in the mess hall, surrounded by your squadmates, Okonogi, Captain Ashiro and Vice Captain Hoshina — who looked like he was still processing the shock.
“Ma'am, how could you keep such a big secret from us?!” one of your subordinates, Haruto, asked, clearly betrayed.
“We’ve been busy lately,” Captain Ashiro added, her brows furrowed in concern. “But if you’d told me, I could’ve given you a few days off. Did you even try to plan a honeymoon?”
Hoshina stared at you like you’d just admitted to marrying a Kaiju. “Are you for real?”
They’d been firing you with questions since dinner started. Honestly, you’d been hiding in Narumi’s room ever since training ended, trying to avoid this exact conversation. But now that it had exploded into an interrogation, you were equally annoyed… and amused.
“Okay, okay, calm down,” you said, raising your hands. “It’s not like I wanted to keep it a secret. But like Captain Ashiro said, we’ve all been swamped. We kind of... forgot to tell anyone.”
“Forgot? ” Okonogi questioned, unimpressed. “You forgot you got married?”
You winced. “Technically, Narumi did tell someone.”
You turned your eyes to Hoshina, who blinked.
“You,” you said pointedly. “He told you. But you laughed at him and said no one would marry him. After that, I was too embarrassed to say anything.”
The whole table turned to Hoshina, whose face was now unreadable.
He threw up his hands in surrender. “Come on, it is funny. I mean — it’s Narumi. The guy still acts like a middle schooler. Who the hell would look at him and go, ‘Yeah, husband material’?”
“Still funny now?”
A familiar voice cut through the air, smug and unbothered. All heads turned to look at Captain Narumi who strolled up behind you, tray in hand, smirking.
“I’ve got a pretty wife,” he said with a shrug. “Meanwhile, you’re all single and nosy.”
Before you could react, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek.
Ashiro looked seconds away from spilling her tea. Haruto dropped his chopsticks. Okonogi choked on her rice. Hoshina’s face twisted in annoyance.
“You two are insufferable,” Hoshina muttered.
Narumi took the seat beside you, grinning like he just won a competition. “Jealous?”
You elbowed him lightly, trying not to laugh. “Stop provoking them.”
“Too late,” he said, slinging an arm over your shoulders. “They started it.”
“Hey, Reno?” You say as you look up from your various papers scattered across your desk.
Wedding planning was a pain.
Reno looks up from his own papers with an eyebrow raised.
“Yes?” He asks, and you rub between your eyebrows.
“Remember when we first met?” At that, he gets up and meanders his way over to your side, where you’re looking at old photos to put up during the wedding reception.
There are photos of your first date, photos of your engagement, and photos of your accomplishments. There are photos of Reno in his dress blues from the Defense Force, of all his service accomplishments, everything. There are photos from all points in your life, but you made sure to emphasize moments with the both of you.
“‘Course I do. It’s a day I’ll never forget.” He said, leaning down to kiss your hairline. Ever since your engagement, his affection has grown tenfold. He was always pressing a kiss to your cheek, lips, or hand, or always had a hand in yours or on the small of your back when walking. Sleeping together at night is also filled with him holding you tight, so wiggling is pretty much futile.
You lean back against his waist as he casually lifts you up and settles you in his lap as he sits down.
“Would you mind telling me?” You say, and he chuckles,
“Why do you like this story so much? You were there!” He teases, and you lace your hands with his against your stomach. He squeezes your entwined fingers gently.
“I like hearing you talk about what you felt. It makes me happy.” You say, and he sighs, but it isn’t unhappy. It’s almost embarrassed.
“Well… I had just gotten hired at Monster Sweeper Inc.…”
Your name being called was what broke you from your work.
You flip your visor up, where it’s covered in kaiju blood and ichor, and look to see your coworkers approaching you. It was still early in the morning, but Monster Sweeper Inc. was supposed to get this kaiju disposed of by the end of the week, so you had headed out early.
“Working early now, are we? Are you trying to get overtime?” Mitsuike Ichitaka called up where you were setting down your chainsaw and heading down to meet them.
“Of course I am! That’ll mean my paycheck is nice and fat this time. Plus, you know I’m always down for overtime.” You shoot right back and hop the last few feet off the kaiju leg onto the concrete.
It was then that you realized there was someone new in your midst.
He was your age, with silvery white hair and violet eyes. He looked mostly unfazed, but you could tell the smell of decomposing kaiju was slowly getting to him. It usually did for those just starting out.
Maybe Kafka had an extra pair of nose plugs to lend him. He was typically prepared like that.
Everyone noticed you looking at the new guy, and Ichitaka piped up again,
“This is Ichikawa Reno! He starts today!” He said and introduced Ichikawa to you by saying your name. You peeled off a glove and extended it for him to shake.
“Nice t’ meet you!” You chirped, and he nodded,
“I look forward to working with you.” He said formally, and you let out a loud laugh,
“No need to be so formal, Ichikawa. We’re practically the same age!”
Reno watched as you revved your heated chainsaw to cut through part of the bone of the massive kaiju before them. He had been put on intestine work and was grateful for any break he received.
“You checking them out again?” Hibino Kafka teased, and Reno flinched in surprise. For someone so large, he was quiet when he wanted to be.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He mumbled and flinched again when Hibino threw an arm around his shoulders with a loud laugh.
“Of course you do! C’mon, it’s your first day, and you already have a crush!” He poked at Reno’s side in jest.
“Kafka!” You shouted from atop the monster's corpse, and the two of them froze in their bickering to look up at you. You hoisted your chainsaw up to rest against your hip, “You better not be picking on the new guy!” You chastised, and Reno watched as Hibino paled as you revved the chainsaw again and got back to work.
He thinks that was the first time he fell in love.
“You fell in love when I threatened Kafka with a chainsaw?” You look up at him, where he’s playing his video game. The two of you have taken a break from planning and moved to the front room. You sit in between his legs as he navigates his first-person shooter game. He hums and snipes an enemy.
“I think that’s when my crush on you first started. You looked really hot with it in hand.” He mumbles, cheeks flushing as he thinks back about it.
You begin to giggle, reaching to pause his game before getting on your knees and turning to face him. You cup his cheeks and kiss each one, then his forehead, then his nose, before he eventually drops his controller and wraps his arms around your waist.
“You keep missing.” He says softly and you grin before kissing him on the mouth.
Reno is gentle, almost overly so. He kisses you fervently yet is as gentle as the snow falling outside. His hands are calloused from years of holding a weapon to defeat kaiju, and you can feel a few old scars underneath his cotton t-shirt where you’re gripping his shoulders.
The two of you pull apart but are still close enough for his nose to brush yours.
“Tell me more stories.” You whisper against his mouth and feel his lips twitch into a small smile.
“What do you want to know?” He asks, and you shrug, handing him his controller as he begins to play again.
“What made you ask me out? I remember what I felt, but I don’t know what you were feeling at the time.” You say after a moment of thought.
That makes Reno go silent for a moment.
“I think it was right before the Defense Force exam…”
Reno couldn’t help but scuff his sneakers against the concrete.
You had agreed to meet him.
The sun was setting, the work day was long over, but everyone was gathering for drinks. Or at least those who were of drinking age were. You and Reno were somewhat excluded. Instead of drinking alcohol, you had mocktails or other drinks of your choice.
But he had asked you to meet him outside in a few moments to talk about something serious. He didn’t tell you what. Part of him wondered if you knew what he wanted to ask you. You were perceptive like that.
“Ichikawa?” Your voice makes him duck his head as if expecting a blow. He wasn’t quite sure why. You would never hit him; at least, you wouldn’t unless it was a friendly swat on his shoulder.
“You actually came outside.” He said, and you cock your head to the side,
“Why wouldn’t I? You said it was serious.” You replied. Your hair is washed out in the moonlight. The noise from the pub beside you died as the two of you mutually decided to go for a walk.
He itched to hold your hand. Itched to cradle it in his fingers to feel the callouses from the tools of your job. Or would your hand be smooth? You always wore gloves even when it wasn’t required, and he often saw you putting on lotion during breaks.
“Ichikawa? What did you want to talk about?” You asked when you were about a block away from your coworkers and the pub.
“Reno.” He said and saw you frown,
“Huh?”
“I—” He cut himself off and fidgeted with his fingers. “I want you to call me Reno.” He mumbled and watched as the words dawned on you.
And then you smile brilliantly, lighting up the sky brighter than the moon.
“I’m honored you want me to call you that. But was that all?” You said, and he shook his head.
“I also wanted to ask you something.” He said, stopped walking, turned to face you, and in a moment of boldness, took your hands in his. They were soft, softer than he thought they would be, and he caught a faint whiff of your floral lotion.
However, the moment he grabbed your hands, his mind went blank, and he forgot everything he had planned and practiced to say. So he stood there dumbly in silence.
At least until you spoke.
“Might I guess what you were going to ask me?” You asked lightly, and he finally nodded. A kind smile graces your lips, and he feels his ears and cheeks burn in embarrassment. In the three months he had known you, he had come to cherish your smile.
You finally speak after seemingly choosing your words carefully.
“Were you going to ask me on a date?” You asked, and he froze. Were you really that perceptive?
You would’ve made an excellent Defense Force officer had you wanted to apply. But you told him you had no such inclination to do so.
He finally nodded, and your smile grew.
“I’d love to.” You said, squeezing his hands.
“How did you know?” Reno asks after he finishes his story, and you shrug, eyes locked on the television.
“Kafka might’ve spilled the beans. But I wanted to hear it from you, so I never said anything until you asked to talk to me.” You reply, and he huffs.
“I knew I never should’ve told him anything.” He mumbles, and you just laugh.
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