you find a mysterious man bleeding out on the snow less than a meter away from your home when trying to venture down the mountain. what a good omen!
it had been just another day for you — heading to town to stock up on food for the winter — nothing out of the ordinary.
until you found an injured man on your way down the mountain.
you stare at the unconscious man at your feet: a wide slash across his left bicep and blood smeared across his abdomen — there’s so much of it that it’s staining the snow around him, you can’t tell if all of it is his or if he’s even alive.
you can’t help but wonder who this bloodied stranger was and why he was near your house, but you hesitantly reach down, placing your fingers on the side of his neck to check he was alive.
you feel his heart beat resiliently; it almost amazes you how strong his pulse is despite him seemingly losing so much blood. but the winter has started to rage on — if he were to be left here for even an hour longer, he would die of hypothermia.
all your apprehension disappears at the thought, and you move to haul this man to your home — he is nearly twice your size, but you’d rather die yourself than leave a patient to die.
groceries would have to wait for another day.
——
it’s been a full day since you found him.
it doesn’t surprise you that he hasn’t stirred awake yet; the severity of the injuries he had would leave most people dead instantly. to be honest, it’s more surprising that this man is alive.
you still have very little idea of who your patient was, and the bits of information you had only managed to puzzle you.
whatever he fought was not human.
that fact was glaringly clear when you began his care. the wounds on him were too jagged to be from a sword or any type of blade, something like an animal’s claws had dug into him — but there was no animal in this mountain who could do this.
the wounds he held weren’t the only unique thing about him. vibrantly painted nails, eye paint, gold armbands, a bejeweled head band, and the enormous blades: it all screamed of flamboyancy.
a noble perhaps? it would have also explained his pretty face — you didn’t know a man could be so pleasing to look at. he still stood out even with his adornment stripped away: strong facial structure, tanned skin that contrasted with his snow-like hair, and a muscular build that was more than ideal for a warrior.
you tear your gaze away from the patient himself to stare at his gathered belongings placed on the table, trying to piece together his identity. you stare at the uniform you scrubbed blood off of — it was torn, but you still felt compelled to at least try and salvage it.
it looked out of place next to the rest of his flashy belongings — but it still caught your eye. strangely enough, it looked familiar, but you couldn’t quite place where you had seen it before. and then it clicked.
demon slayer.
you know of them — your father was an esteemed enough doctor to have worked with them. you weren’t sure you would ever meet one again because of their secrecy, but you somehow managed to find one a few feet away from your house on the verge of dying.
the last time you had ventured down the mountain, the townspeople had told you of rumors of people disappearing from nearby villages.
missing people.
a demon slayer on the verge of death at your doorstep.
the connection makes a shiver run down your spine.
–
it has been about three days since you found the demon slayer.
he was still bound to the bed you managed to haul him into, still unconscious — but he groans when you change the dressings of his wounds, and you can’t help but mumble soft apologies for causing him discomfort, even if he can’t hear you. even though he remains unconscious, the responses are a good sign — he might be able to swallow food and water.
you stand in front of your stove, waiting for the congee to boil, when you hear a loud thud. your mind can not help but spiral to the worst-case scenarios that even you admit are absurd— but you’re still running to his room before you even realize it.
you slide the door open to find him hunched over next to the futon he was lying on, clutching his abdomen but still stubbornly attempting to get up. before you can even run to his side, his head snaps towards you.
“i must leave” he manages to mutter through gritted teeth, still holding to his side, very obviously in pain. “my family, i must — i must get back to them. or else they will think i’m dead,” he says with conviction. all you can do is sigh.
“i have no intention of stopping you,” you shrug. “if you can get up, you’re free to go.” you motion for him to try and stand up by himself. he seems momentarily dumbfounded by your nonchalance, but quickly snaps out of it.
he attempts to push himself again, but he lets out a sharp hiss once he puts pressure on his left arm. “that’s what i thought would happen,” you mutter under your breath as you walk towards him.
“i don’t know what it is with you warrior types, always insisting on leaving when you can’t even walk out the door.” you voice your complaints as you help him adjust to sit up.
you’ve seen many men act the same throughout your and your father’s time as doctors: low-rate mercenaries, shinobis, and even other demon slayers.
“just trying to act cool when you can’t even stand,” you huff as you place a pillow behind his back to make him more comfortable. you notice he turns his head away from you, almost as if he’s embarrassed by your words.
“...how long have i been here?” he says quietly, still not making eye contact. you can’t help but notice the tips of his ears are flushed.
“i found you three days ago, you’ve been unconscious since,” you say before moving to get up. you look down at him, and can’t help but feel a little bad about your impulsive scolding.
“I understand you’d like to leave, but i’m sure your family would rather you fully recover,” you say softly, a hint of remorse in your voice.
there’s silence that makes you feel increasingly awkward and worse about scolding him, and you wonder if you should directly apologize — maybe you were too insensitive.
“thank you,” his apology unexpectedly breaks the silence. you look down to meet his gaze, and you find your earlier observations glaringly apparent now: he’s beautiful. his eyes are a deep fuschia — a detail previously hidden from you while he was unconscious. his eyes are so rich in color they remind you of gemstones.
“it’s nothing,” now you’re the one to look away, feeling strangely sheepish. you clear your throat, “i’ll be back with a bowl of congee, eat as much as you can.” you leave the room rather abruptly, but you can’t miss the laugh he lets out when you stumble out.
—
the morning after, you got stationery ready for him to write his letter. despite his earlier determination to get home and his concern for his family, he only blankly stares at the supplies on the desk you provided.
“whats wrong?” you ask him as you sit down next to him. “not in the mood to write?” you lean forward to peer at the blank paper.
“no — it’s just — ” he shifts to look at you. “i’m just really grateful,” a smile spreads across his face. the sudden sincerity in his voice, now you’re fidgeting under his gaze.
“for… stationary?” you almost cringe at your own response — it was so obvious what he meant, why would he just thank you for stationary?
as a doctor, you’ve had countless patients thank you and your father for saving their lives but you’ve never felt this flustered by it before. his gratitude is so different — too enthusiastic, too intimate.
were your years of solitude getting to you? it felt so unprofessional to be so bashful because a patient was so handsome, but you couldn’t help it.
the sound of his laugh breaks you out of mental self-scolding, “not just the stationary — you saved my life.”
you shake your head, dismissing the need to thank you. “i’m a doctor, i did what i had to.”
“i don't think many doctors would have even tried to help me in that state — even i thought it was the end.” he gestures to the bandages peaking out his haori.
“you fought to survive, i just brought you inside.”
he lets out an exasperated sigh, “you know, all you have to say is ‘you’re welcome.’”
“yeah, yeah,” you can’t help but laugh at the drama of his antics. “you’re welcome. happy?”
his eyes slightly widen at the sound of your laughter, almost as if he didn’t expect you to be able to — but he quickly grins instead. “very.”
his eyes briefly drift from meeting yours to your hands resting on the desk , so quick you barely catch it.
“you know,” he starts innocently. you hum in response, signaling for him to go on. “i never caught your name,” and before you realize he’s taken one of your hands, grasping it in both of his and placing it on his chest, refusing to break eye contact.
“may i have the honor of knowing my savior?” his tone of voice is so sweet, almost seductive — and it renders your brain to mush.
what the hell is happening?
you blink at the sight before you, trying to process if it’s real and not a fever dream. you want to say something — let out a sound of confusion at least — but your throat seems to have to shut tight and you’re painfully aware of how firm his chest is.
this was obviously much too intimate of an interaction between two people who barely know each other, much less a doctor and patient. it’s unprofessional and unlike yourself to be taken by a man — but you find yourself unable to pull away, as if you’re under a trance. sure, you’ve had the occasional patient try to flirt with you, but they’ve never been this bold — or attractive, for that matter.
“you — ” you finally start to speak, but the way he’s looking at you makes you fumble with your words. you find yourself trying to avert eye contact without even realizing, but you can feel his burning gaze on you still, and his grasp is noticeably firm. “you don’t have to refer to me as your savior, it’s too—”
“if you won’t allow that,” his hands squeeze yours almost as if urging you to look back at him, and you can’t help but oblige. “then at least allow me to know your name.”
as soon as you utter it, he says your name like it’s something precious, something he treasures dearly. you feel your stomach flip, and you hope it’s just acid reflux— it’d be less embarrassing than admitting it was because of a man you barely know.
“don’t you think it’s time for you to introduce yourself as well?” you find it in yourself to retaliate, attempting to pull your hand away but his grasp stays firm.
“ah, where are my manners?” he grins as he looks down on you. “tengen, uzui tengen.” he guides your hand away from his chest, resting your hand on his cheek instead. he nuzzles his face into your palm, eyes shutting as if trying to savor the feeling of your touch.
“please, call out my name.” his gemstone-like eyes flutter open, a soft smile forming on his face, almost as if beckoning you to call out his name.
“tengen uzui,” you can’t help but oblige him, his name rolls off your tongue easily — almost too easily.
his smile grows into an even wider grin, very clearly pleased. he takes your hands away from his cheek, just to stare at it briefly. he moves your hands slowly towards himself again, grip noticeably looser, giving you the opportunity to take back your hand if you wish to.
he seems even more pleased that you don’t.
he kisses the back of your hand softly, and the feeling lingers even after. he's still fixated on the back of your hands, watching as his thumb caresses the area he just kissed. he gives your hands one final squeeze before letting go, looking up at you with a playful glint in his eyes. “i suppose i should start writing now, shouldn’t i?”
the words break you out of whatever trance he had you in, and you feel embarrassed that a part of you wishes it hadn’t.
you laugh, partially at yourself and partially at his words. “ah, then i suppose i should start with breakfast then.” your heart pounds in your chest as you stand, but you don’t let it show — you’ve embarrassed yourself enough.
“i’ll leave you to it,” you say as you reach the doorframe, you look back to smile at him — your way of trying to not let him know he had you wrapped around his finger.
you shut the door behind you, and it’s only when you reach the kitchen that you feel like you can finally breathe again.
—
tengen’s eyes can’t help but follow your retreating figure; the sight nearly makes him regret letting go of your hand and letting you leave. he has to remind himself not to be hasty — as receptive as you were to his boldness, he would hate to scare you away. once the door shuts behind you and he can no longer hear your footsteps, he can’t help but let out a wistful sigh.
he sits in silence before finally taking up the brush you provided, putting ink to paper. the first letter was for the corps: letting them know he was alive, the demon was killed, and that he was currently being cared for by you. another letter for his wives with mostly the same contents, but with the additional details of how he’s thinking of them and how he wishes to be back home as soon as possible.
although, he wasn’t sure how true the latter was for now.
he momentarily puts the brush down, shutting his eyes to reminisce about you despite it being only minutes since you were gone. perhaps you haven’t realized how you’ve already managed to creep into his heart.
he can still recall your sweet voice assuring him he’d be okay. despite being at the crossroads of life and death, your voice managed to reach him.
when he finally laid his eyes upon you, he knew it had been you. the voice that kept him alive, the hands that had cared for him, they all belonged to you — and you were more beautiful than he could have imagined.
he rushes for the brush again before even opening his eyes, writing a new paragraph about you to his wives. he stares at what he’s written, reading over the details of how you’ve cared for him so attentively. as he puts the brush back onto paper, he can feel the corner of his lips curl up involuntarily as he reads over his final sentence.
“would you three like another wife?”
--
a/n: first-time posting fanfic on a public domain, very nervous, eek! likes, comments, or even criticism is much obliged!
every inch of skin, every muscle, every crevice — all of them, littered with scars. some are smaller than others, while others stretch along the expansive of his body. he's not the same pretty man you fell in love with, far from it.
...so why?
you're tracing a finger on the ones along his stomach, eyes half lidded and almost in... is that awe? your lips are slanted upwards, tilted up in that soft lazy smile you get when the two of you lay under the covers, tucked away in the privacy of his room. only this time, you're even more affectionate, nuzzling into him.
"crazy girl," satoru mumbles softly, peeking at you through snowy bottom lashes. you rest the tip of your chin on his chest, nuzzling into his warm skin. "you really like 'em that much?" and for the first time, there's a hint of self deprecation that follows gojo satoru's words, accompanied with a throaty chuckle.
"how could i not?" your eyes shine. you rest your lips on his chin, trailing up the scars with your lips, smiling as you meet his glassy gaze with your own, "y'came back to me, toru." your voice breaks, but nonetheless, you keep on smiling. "they show me just how strong you are."
"the strongest?"
your nose brushes his as your lips brush one another. "the strongest."
Maladaptive daydreaming as a child was like "what if I was in the digimon universe" and now it's like "what if someone genuinely loved me even though I'm flawed"
you find a mysterious man bleeding out on the snow less than a meter away from your home when trying to venture down the mountain. what a good omen!
it had been just another day for you — heading to town to stock up on food for the winter — nothing out of the ordinary.
until you found an injured man on your way down the mountain.
you stare at the unconscious man at your feet: a wide slash across his left bicep and blood smeared across his abdomen — there’s so much of it that it’s staining the snow around him, you can’t tell if all of it is his or if he’s even alive.
you can’t help but wonder who this bloodied stranger was and why he was near your house, but you hesitantly reach down, placing your fingers on the side of his neck to check he was alive.
you feel his heart beat resiliently; it almost amazes you how strong his pulse is despite him seemingly losing so much blood. but the winter has started to rage on — if he were to be left here for even an hour longer, he would die of hypothermia.
all your apprehension disappears at the thought, and you move to haul this man to your home — he is nearly twice your size, but you’d rather die yourself than leave a patient to die.
groceries would have to wait for another day.
——
it’s been a full day since you found him.
it doesn’t surprise you that he hasn’t stirred awake yet; the severity of the injuries he had would leave most people dead instantly. to be honest, it’s more surprising that this man is alive.
you still have very little idea of who your patient was, and the bits of information you had only managed to puzzle you.
whatever he fought was not human.
that fact was glaringly clear when you began his care. the wounds on him were too jagged to be from a sword or any type of blade, something like an animal’s claws had dug into him — but there was no animal in this mountain who could do this.
the wounds he held weren’t the only unique thing about him. vibrantly painted nails, eye paint, gold armbands, a bejeweled head band, and the enormous blades: it all screamed of flamboyancy.
a noble perhaps? it would have also explained his pretty face — you didn’t know a man could be so pleasing to look at. he still stood out even with his adornment stripped away: strong facial structure, tanned skin that contrasted with his snow-like hair, and a muscular build that was more than ideal for a warrior.
you tear your gaze away from the patient himself to stare at his gathered belongings placed on the table, trying to piece together his identity. you stare at the uniform you scrubbed blood off of — it was torn, but you still felt compelled to at least try and salvage it.
it looked out of place next to the rest of his flashy belongings — but it still caught your eye. strangely enough, it looked familiar, but you couldn’t quite place where you had seen it before. and then it clicked.
demon slayer.
you know of them — your father was an esteemed enough doctor to have worked with them. you weren’t sure you would ever meet one again because of their secrecy, but you somehow managed to find one a few feet away from your house on the verge of dying.
the last time you had ventured down the mountain, the townspeople had told you of rumors of people disappearing from nearby villages.
missing people.
a demon slayer on the verge of death at your doorstep.
the connection makes a shiver run down your spine.
–
it has been about three days since you found the demon slayer.
he was still bound to the bed you managed to haul him into, still unconscious — but he groans when you change the dressings of his wounds, and you can’t help but mumble soft apologies for causing him discomfort, even if he can’t hear you. even though he remains unconscious, the responses are a good sign — he might be able to swallow food and water.
you stand in front of your stove, waiting for the congee to boil, when you hear a loud thud. your mind can not help but spiral to the worst-case scenarios that even you admit are absurd— but you’re still running to his room before you even realize it.
you slide the door open to find him hunched over next to the futon he was lying on, clutching his abdomen but still stubbornly attempting to get up. before you can even run to his side, his head snaps towards you.
“i must leave” he manages to mutter through gritted teeth, still holding to his side, very obviously in pain. “my family, i must — i must get back to them. or else they will think i’m dead,” he says with conviction. all you can do is sigh.
“i have no intention of stopping you,” you shrug. “if you can get up, you’re free to go.” you motion for him to try and stand up by himself. he seems momentarily dumbfounded by your nonchalance, but quickly snaps out of it.
he attempts to push himself again, but he lets out a sharp hiss once he puts pressure on his left arm. “that’s what i thought would happen,” you mutter under your breath as you walk towards him.
“i don’t know what it is with you warrior types, always insisting on leaving when you can’t even walk out the door.” you voice your complaints as you help him adjust to sit up.
you’ve seen many men act the same throughout your and your father’s time as doctors: low-rate mercenaries, shinobis, and even other demon slayers.
“just trying to act cool when you can’t even stand,” you huff as you place a pillow behind his back to make him more comfortable. you notice he turns his head away from you, almost as if he’s embarrassed by your words.
“...how long have i been here?” he says quietly, still not making eye contact. you can’t help but notice the tips of his ears are flushed.
“i found you three days ago, you’ve been unconscious since,” you say before moving to get up. you look down at him, and can’t help but feel a little bad about your impulsive scolding.
“I understand you’d like to leave, but i’m sure your family would rather you fully recover,” you say softly, a hint of remorse in your voice.
there’s silence that makes you feel increasingly awkward and worse about scolding him, and you wonder if you should directly apologize — maybe you were too insensitive.
“thank you,” his apology unexpectedly breaks the silence. you look down to meet his gaze, and you find your earlier observations glaringly apparent now: he’s beautiful. his eyes are a deep fuschia — a detail previously hidden from you while he was unconscious. his eyes are so rich in color they remind you of gemstones.
“it’s nothing,” now you’re the one to look away, feeling strangely sheepish. you clear your throat, “i’ll be back with a bowl of congee, eat as much as you can.” you leave the room rather abruptly, but you can’t miss the laugh he lets out when you stumble out.
—
the morning after, you got stationery ready for him to write his letter. despite his earlier determination to get home and his concern for his family, he only blankly stares at the supplies on the desk you provided.
“whats wrong?” you ask him as you sit down next to him. “not in the mood to write?” you lean forward to peer at the blank paper.
“no — it’s just — ” he shifts to look at you. “i’m just really grateful,” a smile spreads across his face. the sudden sincerity in his voice, now you’re fidgeting under his gaze.
“for… stationary?” you almost cringe at your own response — it was so obvious what he meant, why would he just thank you for stationary?
as a doctor, you’ve had countless patients thank you and your father for saving their lives but you’ve never felt this flustered by it before. his gratitude is so different — too enthusiastic, too intimate.
were your years of solitude getting to you? it felt so unprofessional to be so bashful because a patient was so handsome, but you couldn’t help it.
the sound of his laugh breaks you out of mental self-scolding, “not just the stationary — you saved my life.”
you shake your head, dismissing the need to thank you. “i’m a doctor, i did what i had to.”
“i don't think many doctors would have even tried to help me in that state — even i thought it was the end.” he gestures to the bandages peaking out his haori.
“you fought to survive, i just brought you inside.”
he lets out an exasperated sigh, “you know, all you have to say is ‘you’re welcome.’”
“yeah, yeah,” you can’t help but laugh at the drama of his antics. “you’re welcome. happy?”
his eyes slightly widen at the sound of your laughter, almost as if he didn’t expect you to be able to — but he quickly grins instead. “very.”
his eyes briefly drift from meeting yours to your hands resting on the desk , so quick you barely catch it.
“you know,” he starts innocently. you hum in response, signaling for him to go on. “i never caught your name,” and before you realize he’s taken one of your hands, grasping it in both of his and placing it on his chest, refusing to break eye contact.
“may i have the honor of knowing my savior?” his tone of voice is so sweet, almost seductive — and it renders your brain to mush.
what the hell is happening?
you blink at the sight before you, trying to process if it’s real and not a fever dream. you want to say something — let out a sound of confusion at least — but your throat seems to have to shut tight and you’re painfully aware of how firm his chest is.
this was obviously much too intimate of an interaction between two people who barely know each other, much less a doctor and patient. it’s unprofessional and unlike yourself to be taken by a man — but you find yourself unable to pull away, as if you’re under a trance. sure, you’ve had the occasional patient try to flirt with you, but they’ve never been this bold — or attractive, for that matter.
“you — ” you finally start to speak, but the way he’s looking at you makes you fumble with your words. you find yourself trying to avert eye contact without even realizing, but you can feel his burning gaze on you still, and his grasp is noticeably firm. “you don’t have to refer to me as your savior, it’s too—”
“if you won’t allow that,” his hands squeeze yours almost as if urging you to look back at him, and you can’t help but oblige. “then at least allow me to know your name.”
as soon as you utter it, he says your name like it’s something precious, something he treasures dearly. you feel your stomach flip, and you hope it’s just acid reflux— it’d be less embarrassing than admitting it was because of a man you barely know.
“don’t you think it’s time for you to introduce yourself as well?” you find it in yourself to retaliate, attempting to pull your hand away but his grasp stays firm.
“ah, where are my manners?” he grins as he looks down on you. “tengen, uzui tengen.” he guides your hand away from his chest, resting your hand on his cheek instead. he nuzzles his face into your palm, eyes shutting as if trying to savor the feeling of your touch.
“please, call out my name.” his gemstone-like eyes flutter open, a soft smile forming on his face, almost as if beckoning you to call out his name.
“tengen uzui,” you can’t help but oblige him, his name rolls off your tongue easily — almost too easily.
his smile grows into an even wider grin, very clearly pleased. he takes your hands away from his cheek, just to stare at it briefly. he moves your hands slowly towards himself again, grip noticeably looser, giving you the opportunity to take back your hand if you wish to.
he seems even more pleased that you don’t.
he kisses the back of your hand softly, and the feeling lingers even after. he's still fixated on the back of your hands, watching as his thumb caresses the area he just kissed. he gives your hands one final squeeze before letting go, looking up at you with a playful glint in his eyes. “i suppose i should start writing now, shouldn’t i?”
the words break you out of whatever trance he had you in, and you feel embarrassed that a part of you wishes it hadn’t.
you laugh, partially at yourself and partially at his words. “ah, then i suppose i should start with breakfast then.” your heart pounds in your chest as you stand, but you don’t let it show — you’ve embarrassed yourself enough.
“i’ll leave you to it,” you say as you reach the doorframe, you look back to smile at him — your way of trying to not let him know he had you wrapped around his finger.
you shut the door behind you, and it’s only when you reach the kitchen that you feel like you can finally breathe again.
—
tengen’s eyes can’t help but follow your retreating figure; the sight nearly makes him regret letting go of your hand and letting you leave. he has to remind himself not to be hasty — as receptive as you were to his boldness, he would hate to scare you away. once the door shuts behind you and he can no longer hear your footsteps, he can’t help but let out a wistful sigh.
he sits in silence before finally taking up the brush you provided, putting ink to paper. the first letter was for the corps: letting them know he was alive, the demon was killed, and that he was currently being cared for by you. another letter for his wives with mostly the same contents, but with the additional details of how he’s thinking of them and how he wishes to be back home as soon as possible.
although, he wasn’t sure how true the latter was for now.
he momentarily puts the brush down, shutting his eyes to reminisce about you despite it being only minutes since you were gone. perhaps you haven’t realized how you’ve already managed to creep into his heart.
he can still recall your sweet voice assuring him he’d be okay. despite being at the crossroads of life and death, your voice managed to reach him.
when he finally laid his eyes upon you, he knew it had been you. the voice that kept him alive, the hands that had cared for him, they all belonged to you — and you were more beautiful than he could have imagined.
he rushes for the brush again before even opening his eyes, writing a new paragraph about you to his wives. he stares at what he’s written, reading over the details of how you’ve cared for him so attentively. as he puts the brush back onto paper, he can feel the corner of his lips curl up involuntarily as he reads over his final sentence.
“would you three like another wife?”
--
a/n: first-time posting fanfic on a public domain, very nervous, eek! likes, comments, or even criticism is much obliged!
you find a mysterious man bleeding out on the snow less than a meter away from your home when trying to venture down the mountain. what a good omen!
it had been just another day for you — heading to town to stock up on food for the winter — nothing out of the ordinary.
until you found an injured man on your way down the mountain.
you stare at the unconscious man at your feet: a wide slash across his left bicep and blood smeared across his abdomen — there’s so much of it that it’s staining the snow around him, you can’t tell if all of it is his or if he’s even alive.
you can’t help but wonder who this bloodied stranger was and why he was near your house, but you hesitantly reach down, placing your fingers on the side of his neck to check he was alive.
you feel his heart beat resiliently; it almost amazes you how strong his pulse is despite him seemingly losing so much blood. but the winter has started to rage on — if he were to be left here for even an hour longer, he would die of hypothermia.
all your apprehension disappears at the thought, and you move to haul this man to your home — he is nearly twice your size, but you’d rather die yourself than leave a patient to die.
groceries would have to wait for another day.
——
it’s been a full day since you found him.
it doesn’t surprise you that he hasn’t stirred awake yet; the severity of the injuries he had would leave most people dead instantly. to be honest, it’s more surprising that this man is alive.
you still have very little idea of who your patient was, and the bits of information you had only managed to puzzle you.
whatever he fought was not human.
that fact was glaringly clear when you began his care. the wounds on him were too jagged to be from a sword or any type of blade, something like an animal’s claws had dug into him — but there was no animal in this mountain who could do this.
the wounds he held weren’t the only unique thing about him. vibrantly painted nails, eye paint, gold armbands, a bejeweled head band, and the enormous blades: it all screamed of flamboyancy.
a noble perhaps? it would have also explained his pretty face — you didn’t know a man could be so pleasing to look at. he still stood out even with his adornment stripped away: strong facial structure, tanned skin that contrasted with his snow-like hair, and a muscular build that was more than ideal for a warrior.
you tear your gaze away from the patient himself to stare at his gathered belongings placed on the table, trying to piece together his identity. you stare at the uniform you scrubbed blood off of — it was torn, but you still felt compelled to at least try and salvage it.
it looked out of place next to the rest of his flashy belongings — but it still caught your eye. strangely enough, it looked familiar, but you couldn’t quite place where you had seen it before. and then it clicked.
demon slayer.
you know of them — your father was an esteemed enough doctor to have worked with them. you weren’t sure you would ever meet one again because of their secrecy, but you somehow managed to find one a few feet away from your house on the verge of dying.
the last time you had ventured down the mountain, the townspeople had told you of rumors of people disappearing from nearby villages.
missing people.
a demon slayer on the verge of death at your doorstep.
the connection makes a shiver run down your spine.
–
it has been about three days since you found the demon slayer.
he was still bound to the bed you managed to haul him into, still unconscious — but he groans when you change the dressings of his wounds, and you can’t help but mumble soft apologies for causing him discomfort, even if he can’t hear you. even though he remains unconscious, the responses are a good sign — he might be able to swallow food and water.
you stand in front of your stove, waiting for the congee to boil, when you hear a loud thud. your mind can not help but spiral to the worst-case scenarios that even you admit are absurd— but you’re still running to his room before you even realize it.
you slide the door open to find him hunched over next to the futon he was lying on, clutching his abdomen but still stubbornly attempting to get up. before you can even run to his side, his head snaps towards you.
“i must leave” he manages to mutter through gritted teeth, still holding to his side, very obviously in pain. “my family, i must — i must get back to them. or else they will think i’m dead,” he says with conviction. all you can do is sigh.
“i have no intention of stopping you,” you shrug. “if you can get up, you’re free to go.” you motion for him to try and stand up by himself. he seems momentarily dumbfounded by your nonchalance, but quickly snaps out of it.
he attempts to push himself again, but he lets out a sharp hiss once he puts pressure on his left arm. “that’s what i thought would happen,” you mutter under your breath as you walk towards him.
“i don’t know what it is with you warrior types, always insisting on leaving when you can’t even walk out the door.” you voice your complaints as you help him adjust to sit up.
you’ve seen many men act the same throughout your and your father’s time as doctors: low-rate mercenaries, shinobis, and even other demon slayers.
“just trying to act cool when you can’t even stand,” you huff as you place a pillow behind his back to make him more comfortable. you notice he turns his head away from you, almost as if he’s embarrassed by your words.
“...how long have i been here?” he says quietly, still not making eye contact. you can’t help but notice the tips of his ears are flushed.
“i found you three days ago, you’ve been unconscious since,” you say before moving to get up. you look down at him, and can’t help but feel a little bad about your impulsive scolding.
“I understand you’d like to leave, but i’m sure your family would rather you fully recover,” you say softly, a hint of remorse in your voice.
there’s silence that makes you feel increasingly awkward and worse about scolding him, and you wonder if you should directly apologize — maybe you were too insensitive.
“thank you,” his apology unexpectedly breaks the silence. you look down to meet his gaze, and you find your earlier observations glaringly apparent now: he’s beautiful. his eyes are a deep fuschia — a detail previously hidden from you while he was unconscious. his eyes are so rich in color they remind you of gemstones.
“it’s nothing,” now you’re the one to look away, feeling strangely sheepish. you clear your throat, “i’ll be back with a bowl of congee, eat as much as you can.” you leave the room rather abruptly, but you can’t miss the laugh he lets out when you stumble out.
—
the morning after, you got stationery ready for him to write his letter. despite his earlier determination to get home and his concern for his family, he only blankly stares at the supplies on the desk you provided.
“whats wrong?” you ask him as you sit down next to him. “not in the mood to write?” you lean forward to peer at the blank paper.
“no — it’s just — ” he shifts to look at you. “i’m just really grateful,” a smile spreads across his face. the sudden sincerity in his voice, now you’re fidgeting under his gaze.
“for… stationary?” you almost cringe at your own response — it was so obvious what he meant, why would he just thank you for stationary?
as a doctor, you’ve had countless patients thank you and your father for saving their lives but you’ve never felt this flustered by it before. his gratitude is so different — too enthusiastic, too intimate.
were your years of solitude getting to you? it felt so unprofessional to be so bashful because a patient was so handsome, but you couldn’t help it.
the sound of his laugh breaks you out of mental self-scolding, “not just the stationary — you saved my life.”
you shake your head, dismissing the need to thank you. “i’m a doctor, i did what i had to.”
“i don't think many doctors would have even tried to help me in that state — even i thought it was the end.” he gestures to the bandages peaking out his haori.
“you fought to survive, i just brought you inside.”
he lets out an exasperated sigh, “you know, all you have to say is ‘you’re welcome.’”
“yeah, yeah,” you can’t help but laugh at the drama of his antics. “you’re welcome. happy?”
his eyes slightly widen at the sound of your laughter, almost as if he didn’t expect you to be able to — but he quickly grins instead. “very.”
his eyes briefly drift from meeting yours to your hands resting on the desk , so quick you barely catch it.
“you know,” he starts innocently. you hum in response, signaling for him to go on. “i never caught your name,” and before you realize he’s taken one of your hands, grasping it in both of his and placing it on his chest, refusing to break eye contact.
“may i have the honor of knowing my savior?” his tone of voice is so sweet, almost seductive — and it renders your brain to mush.
what the hell is happening?
you blink at the sight before you, trying to process if it’s real and not a fever dream. you want to say something — let out a sound of confusion at least — but your throat seems to have to shut tight and you’re painfully aware of how firm his chest is.
this was obviously much too intimate of an interaction between two people who barely know each other, much less a doctor and patient. it’s unprofessional and unlike yourself to be taken by a man — but you find yourself unable to pull away, as if you’re under a trance. sure, you’ve had the occasional patient try to flirt with you, but they’ve never been this bold — or attractive, for that matter.
“you — ” you finally start to speak, but the way he’s looking at you makes you fumble with your words. you find yourself trying to avert eye contact without even realizing, but you can feel his burning gaze on you still, and his grasp is noticeably firm. “you don’t have to refer to me as your savior, it’s too—”
“if you won’t allow that,” his hands squeeze yours almost as if urging you to look back at him, and you can’t help but oblige. “then at least allow me to know your name.”
as soon as you utter it, he says your name like it’s something precious, something he treasures dearly. you feel your stomach flip, and you hope it’s just acid reflux— it’d be less embarrassing than admitting it was because of a man you barely know.
“don’t you think it’s time for you to introduce yourself as well?” you find it in yourself to retaliate, attempting to pull your hand away but his grasp stays firm.
“ah, where are my manners?” he grins as he looks down on you. “tengen, uzui tengen.” he guides your hand away from his chest, resting your hand on his cheek instead. he nuzzles his face into your palm, eyes shutting as if trying to savor the feeling of your touch.
“please, call out my name.” his gemstone-like eyes flutter open, a soft smile forming on his face, almost as if beckoning you to call out his name.
“tengen uzui,” you can’t help but oblige him, his name rolls off your tongue easily — almost too easily.
his smile grows into an even wider grin, very clearly pleased. he takes your hands away from his cheek, just to stare at it briefly. he moves your hands slowly towards himself again, grip noticeably looser, giving you the opportunity to take back your hand if you wish to.
he seems even more pleased that you don’t.
he kisses the back of your hand softly, and the feeling lingers even after. he's still fixated on the back of your hands, watching as his thumb caresses the area he just kissed. he gives your hands one final squeeze before letting go, looking up at you with a playful glint in his eyes. “i suppose i should start writing now, shouldn’t i?”
the words break you out of whatever trance he had you in, and you feel embarrassed that a part of you wishes it hadn’t.
you laugh, partially at yourself and partially at his words. “ah, then i suppose i should start with breakfast then.” your heart pounds in your chest as you stand, but you don’t let it show — you’ve embarrassed yourself enough.
“i’ll leave you to it,” you say as you reach the doorframe, you look back to smile at him — your way of trying to not let him know he had you wrapped around his finger.
you shut the door behind you, and it’s only when you reach the kitchen that you feel like you can finally breathe again.
—
tengen’s eyes can’t help but follow your retreating figure; the sight nearly makes him regret letting go of your hand and letting you leave. he has to remind himself not to be hasty — as receptive as you were to his boldness, he would hate to scare you away. once the door shuts behind you and he can no longer hear your footsteps, he can’t help but let out a wistful sigh.
he sits in silence before finally taking up the brush you provided, putting ink to paper. the first letter was for the corps: letting them know he was alive, the demon was killed, and that he was currently being cared for by you. another letter for his wives with mostly the same contents, but with the additional details of how he’s thinking of them and how he wishes to be back home as soon as possible.
although, he wasn’t sure how true the latter was for now.
he momentarily puts the brush down, shutting his eyes to reminisce about you despite it being only minutes since you were gone. perhaps you haven’t realized how you’ve already managed to creep into his heart.
he can still recall your sweet voice assuring him he’d be okay. despite being at the crossroads of life and death, your voice managed to reach him.
when he finally laid his eyes upon you, he knew it had been you. the voice that kept him alive, the hands that had cared for him, they all belonged to you — and you were more beautiful than he could have imagined.
he rushes for the brush again before even opening his eyes, writing a new paragraph about you to his wives. he stares at what he’s written, reading over the details of how you’ve cared for him so attentively. as he puts the brush back onto paper, he can feel the corner of his lips curl up involuntarily as he reads over his final sentence.
“would you three like another wife?”
--
a/n: first-time posting fanfic on a public domain, very nervous, eek! likes, comments, or even criticism is much obliged!
you find a mysterious man bleeding out on the snow less than a meter away from your home when trying to venture down the mountain. what a good omen!
it had been just another day for you — heading to town to stock up on food for the winter — nothing out of the ordinary.
until you found an injured man on your way down the mountain.
you stare at the unconscious man at your feet: a wide slash across his left bicep and blood smeared across his abdomen — there’s so much of it that it’s staining the snow around him, you can’t tell if all of it is his or if he’s even alive.
you can’t help but wonder who this bloodied stranger was and why he was near your house, but you hesitantly reach down, placing your fingers on the side of his neck to check he was alive.
you feel his heart beat resiliently; it almost amazes you how strong his pulse is despite him seemingly losing so much blood. but the winter has started to rage on — if he were to be left here for even an hour longer, he would die of hypothermia.
all your apprehension disappears at the thought, and you move to haul this man to your home — he is nearly twice your size, but you’d rather die yourself than leave a patient to die.
groceries would have to wait for another day.
——
it’s been a full day since you found him.
it doesn’t surprise you that he hasn’t stirred awake yet; the severity of the injuries he had would leave most people dead instantly. to be honest, it’s more surprising that this man is alive.
you still have very little idea of who your patient was, and the bits of information you had only managed to puzzle you.
whatever he fought was not human.
that fact was glaringly clear when you began his care. the wounds on him were too jagged to be from a sword or any type of blade, something like an animal’s claws had dug into him — but there was no animal in this mountain who could do this.
the wounds he held weren’t the only unique thing about him. vibrantly painted nails, eye paint, gold armbands, a bejeweled head band, and the enormous blades: it all screamed of flamboyancy.
a noble perhaps? it would have also explained his pretty face — you didn’t know a man could be so pleasing to look at. he still stood out even with his adornment stripped away: strong facial structure, tanned skin that contrasted with his snow-like hair, and a muscular build that was more than ideal for a warrior.
you tear your gaze away from the patient himself to stare at his gathered belongings placed on the table, trying to piece together his identity. you stare at the uniform you scrubbed blood off of — it was torn, but you still felt compelled to at least try and salvage it.
it looked out of place next to the rest of his flashy belongings — but it still caught your eye. strangely enough, it looked familiar, but you couldn’t quite place where you had seen it before. and then it clicked.
demon slayer.
you know of them — your father was an esteemed enough doctor to have worked with them. you weren’t sure you would ever meet one again because of their secrecy, but you somehow managed to find one a few feet away from your house on the verge of dying.
the last time you had ventured down the mountain, the townspeople had told you of rumors of people disappearing from nearby villages.
missing people.
a demon slayer on the verge of death at your doorstep.
the connection makes a shiver run down your spine.
–
it has been about three days since you found the demon slayer.
he was still bound to the bed you managed to haul him into, still unconscious — but he groans when you change the dressings of his wounds, and you can’t help but mumble soft apologies for causing him discomfort, even if he can’t hear you. even though he remains unconscious, the responses are a good sign — he might be able to swallow food and water.
you stand in front of your stove, waiting for the congee to boil, when you hear a loud thud. your mind can not help but spiral to the worst-case scenarios that even you admit are absurd— but you’re still running to his room before you even realize it.
you slide the door open to find him hunched over next to the futon he was lying on, clutching his abdomen but still stubbornly attempting to get up. before you can even run to his side, his head snaps towards you.
“i must leave” he manages to mutter through gritted teeth, still holding to his side, very obviously in pain. “my family, i must — i must get back to them. or else they will think i’m dead,” he says with conviction. all you can do is sigh.
“i have no intention of stopping you,” you shrug. “if you can get up, you’re free to go.” you motion for him to try and stand up by himself. he seems momentarily dumbfounded by your nonchalance, but quickly snaps out of it.
he attempts to push himself again, but he lets out a sharp hiss once he puts pressure on his left arm. “that’s what i thought would happen,” you mutter under your breath as you walk towards him.
“i don’t know what it is with you warrior types, always insisting on leaving when you can’t even walk out the door.” you voice your complaints as you help him adjust to sit up.
you’ve seen many men act the same throughout your and your father’s time as doctors: low-rate mercenaries, shinobis, and even other demon slayers.
“just trying to act cool when you can’t even stand,” you huff as you place a pillow behind his back to make him more comfortable. you notice he turns his head away from you, almost as if he’s embarrassed by your words.
“...how long have i been here?” he says quietly, still not making eye contact. you can’t help but notice the tips of his ears are flushed.
“i found you three days ago, you’ve been unconscious since,” you say before moving to get up. you look down at him, and can’t help but feel a little bad about your impulsive scolding.
“I understand you’d like to leave, but i’m sure your family would rather you fully recover,” you say softly, a hint of remorse in your voice.
there’s silence that makes you feel increasingly awkward and worse about scolding him, and you wonder if you should directly apologize — maybe you were too insensitive.
“thank you,” his apology unexpectedly breaks the silence. you look down to meet his gaze, and you find your earlier observations glaringly apparent now: he’s beautiful. his eyes are a deep fuschia — a detail previously hidden from you while he was unconscious. his eyes are so rich in color they remind you of gemstones.
“it’s nothing,” now you’re the one to look away, feeling strangely sheepish. you clear your throat, “i’ll be back with a bowl of congee, eat as much as you can.” you leave the room rather abruptly, but you can’t miss the laugh he lets out when you stumble out.
—
the morning after, you got stationery ready for him to write his letter. despite his earlier determination to get home and his concern for his family, he only blankly stares at the supplies on the desk you provided.
“whats wrong?” you ask him as you sit down next to him. “not in the mood to write?” you lean forward to peer at the blank paper.
“no — it’s just — ” he shifts to look at you. “i’m just really grateful,” a smile spreads across his face. the sudden sincerity in his voice, now you’re fidgeting under his gaze.
“for… stationary?” you almost cringe at your own response — it was so obvious what he meant, why would he just thank you for stationary?
as a doctor, you’ve had countless patients thank you and your father for saving their lives but you’ve never felt this flustered by it before. his gratitude is so different — too enthusiastic, too intimate.
were your years of solitude getting to you? it felt so unprofessional to be so bashful because a patient was so handsome, but you couldn’t help it.
the sound of his laugh breaks you out of mental self-scolding, “not just the stationary — you saved my life.”
you shake your head, dismissing the need to thank you. “i’m a doctor, i did what i had to.”
“i don't think many doctors would have even tried to help me in that state — even i thought it was the end.” he gestures to the bandages peaking out his haori.
“you fought to survive, i just brought you inside.”
he lets out an exasperated sigh, “you know, all you have to say is ‘you’re welcome.’”
“yeah, yeah,” you can’t help but laugh at the drama of his antics. “you’re welcome. happy?”
his eyes slightly widen at the sound of your laughter, almost as if he didn’t expect you to be able to — but he quickly grins instead. “very.”
his eyes briefly drift from meeting yours to your hands resting on the desk , so quick you barely catch it.
“you know,” he starts innocently. you hum in response, signaling for him to go on. “i never caught your name,” and before you realize he’s taken one of your hands, grasping it in both of his and placing it on his chest, refusing to break eye contact.
“may i have the honor of knowing my savior?” his tone of voice is so sweet, almost seductive — and it renders your brain to mush.
what the hell is happening?
you blink at the sight before you, trying to process if it’s real and not a fever dream. you want to say something — let out a sound of confusion at least — but your throat seems to have to shut tight and you’re painfully aware of how firm his chest is.
this was obviously much too intimate of an interaction between two people who barely know each other, much less a doctor and patient. it’s unprofessional and unlike yourself to be taken by a man — but you find yourself unable to pull away, as if you’re under a trance. sure, you’ve had the occasional patient try to flirt with you, but they’ve never been this bold — or attractive, for that matter.
“you — ” you finally start to speak, but the way he’s looking at you makes you fumble with your words. you find yourself trying to avert eye contact without even realizing, but you can feel his burning gaze on you still, and his grasp is noticeably firm. “you don’t have to refer to me as your savior, it’s too—”
“if you won’t allow that,” his hands squeeze yours almost as if urging you to look back at him, and you can’t help but oblige. “then at least allow me to know your name.”
as soon as you utter it, he says your name like it’s something precious, something he treasures dearly. you feel your stomach flip, and you hope it’s just acid reflux— it’d be less embarrassing than admitting it was because of a man you barely know.
“don’t you think it’s time for you to introduce yourself as well?” you find it in yourself to retaliate, attempting to pull your hand away but his grasp stays firm.
“ah, where are my manners?” he grins as he looks down on you. “tengen, uzui tengen.” he guides your hand away from his chest, resting your hand on his cheek instead. he nuzzles his face into your palm, eyes shutting as if trying to savor the feeling of your touch.
“please, call out my name.” his gemstone-like eyes flutter open, a soft smile forming on his face, almost as if beckoning you to call out his name.
“tengen uzui,” you can’t help but oblige him, his name rolls off your tongue easily — almost too easily.
his smile grows into an even wider grin, very clearly pleased. he takes your hands away from his cheek, just to stare at it briefly. he moves your hands slowly towards himself again, grip noticeably looser, giving you the opportunity to take back your hand if you wish to.
he seems even more pleased that you don’t.
he kisses the back of your hand softly, and the feeling lingers even after. he's still fixated on the back of your hands, watching as his thumb caresses the area he just kissed. he gives your hands one final squeeze before letting go, looking up at you with a playful glint in his eyes. “i suppose i should start writing now, shouldn’t i?”
the words break you out of whatever trance he had you in, and you feel embarrassed that a part of you wishes it hadn’t.
you laugh, partially at yourself and partially at his words. “ah, then i suppose i should start with breakfast then.” your heart pounds in your chest as you stand, but you don’t let it show — you’ve embarrassed yourself enough.
“i’ll leave you to it,” you say as you reach the doorframe, you look back to smile at him — your way of trying to not let him know he had you wrapped around his finger.
you shut the door behind you, and it’s only when you reach the kitchen that you feel like you can finally breathe again.
—
tengen’s eyes can’t help but follow your retreating figure; the sight nearly makes him regret letting go of your hand and letting you leave. he has to remind himself not to be hasty — as receptive as you were to his boldness, he would hate to scare you away. once the door shuts behind you and he can no longer hear your footsteps, he can’t help but let out a wistful sigh.
he sits in silence before finally taking up the brush you provided, putting ink to paper. the first letter was for the corps: letting them know he was alive, the demon was killed, and that he was currently being cared for by you. another letter for his wives with mostly the same contents, but with the additional details of how he’s thinking of them and how he wishes to be back home as soon as possible.
although, he wasn’t sure how true the latter was for now.
he momentarily puts the brush down, shutting his eyes to reminisce about you despite it being only minutes since you were gone. perhaps you haven’t realized how you’ve already managed to creep into his heart.
he can still recall your sweet voice assuring him he’d be okay. despite being at the crossroads of life and death, your voice managed to reach him.
when he finally laid his eyes upon you, he knew it had been you. the voice that kept him alive, the hands that had cared for him, they all belonged to you — and you were more beautiful than he could have imagined.
he rushes for the brush again before even opening his eyes, writing a new paragraph about you to his wives. he stares at what he’s written, reading over the details of how you’ve cared for him so attentively. as he puts the brush back onto paper, he can feel the corner of his lips curl up involuntarily as he reads over his final sentence.
“would you three like another wife?”
--
a/n: first-time posting fanfic on a public domain, very nervous, eek! likes, comments, or even criticism is much obliged!
you find a mysterious man bleeding out on the snow less than a meter away from your home when trying to venture down the mountain. what a good omen!
it had been just another day for you — heading to town to stock up on food for the winter — nothing out of the ordinary.
until you found an injured man on your way down the mountain.
you stare at the unconscious man at your feet: a wide slash across his left bicep and blood smeared across his abdomen — there’s so much of it that it’s staining the snow around him, you can’t tell if all of it is his or if he’s even alive.
you can’t help but wonder who this bloodied stranger was and why he was near your house, but you hesitantly reach down, placing your fingers on the side of his neck to check he was alive.
you feel his heart beat resiliently; it almost amazes you how strong his pulse is despite him seemingly losing so much blood. but the winter has started to rage on — if he were to be left here for even an hour longer, he would die of hypothermia.
all your apprehension disappears at the thought, and you move to haul this man to your home — he is nearly twice your size, but you’d rather die yourself than leave a patient to die.
groceries would have to wait for another day.
——
it’s been a full day since you found him.
it doesn’t surprise you that he hasn’t stirred awake yet; the severity of the injuries he had would leave most people dead instantly. to be honest, it’s more surprising that this man is alive.
you still have very little idea of who your patient was, and the bits of information you had only managed to puzzle you.
whatever he fought was not human.
that fact was glaringly clear when you began his care. the wounds on him were too jagged to be from a sword or any type of blade, something like an animal’s claws had dug into him — but there was no animal in this mountain who could do this.
the wounds he held weren’t the only unique thing about him. vibrantly painted nails, eye paint, gold armbands, a bejeweled head band, and the enormous blades: it all screamed of flamboyancy.
a noble perhaps? it would have also explained his pretty face — you didn’t know a man could be so pleasing to look at. he still stood out even with his adornment stripped away: strong facial structure, tanned skin that contrasted with his snow-like hair, and a muscular build that was more than ideal for a warrior.
you tear your gaze away from the patient himself to stare at his gathered belongings placed on the table, trying to piece together his identity. you stare at the uniform you scrubbed blood off of — it was torn, but you still felt compelled to at least try and salvage it.
it looked out of place next to the rest of his flashy belongings — but it still caught your eye. strangely enough, it looked familiar, but you couldn’t quite place where you had seen it before. and then it clicked.
demon slayer.
you know of them — your father was an esteemed enough doctor to have worked with them. you weren’t sure you would ever meet one again because of their secrecy, but you somehow managed to find one a few feet away from your house on the verge of dying.
the last time you had ventured down the mountain, the townspeople had told you of rumors of people disappearing from nearby villages.
missing people.
a demon slayer on the verge of death at your doorstep.
the connection makes a shiver run down your spine.
–
it has been about three days since you found the demon slayer.
he was still bound to the bed you managed to haul him into, still unconscious — but he groans when you change the dressings of his wounds, and you can’t help but mumble soft apologies for causing him discomfort, even if he can’t hear you. even though he remains unconscious, the responses are a good sign — he might be able to swallow food and water.
you stand in front of your stove, waiting for the congee to boil, when you hear a loud thud. your mind can not help but spiral to the worst-case scenarios that even you admit are absurd— but you’re still running to his room before you even realize it.
you slide the door open to find him hunched over next to the futon he was lying on, clutching his abdomen but still stubbornly attempting to get up. before you can even run to his side, his head snaps towards you.
“i must leave” he manages to mutter through gritted teeth, still holding to his side, very obviously in pain. “my family, i must — i must get back to them. or else they will think i’m dead,” he says with conviction. all you can do is sigh.
“i have no intention of stopping you,” you shrug. “if you can get up, you’re free to go.” you motion for him to try and stand up by himself. he seems momentarily dumbfounded by your nonchalance, but quickly snaps out of it.
he attempts to push himself again, but he lets out a sharp hiss once he puts pressure on his left arm. “that’s what i thought would happen,” you mutter under your breath as you walk towards him.
“i don’t know what it is with you warrior types, always insisting on leaving when you can’t even walk out the door.” you voice your complaints as you help him adjust to sit up.
you’ve seen many men act the same throughout your and your father’s time as doctors: low-rate mercenaries, shinobis, and even other demon slayers.
“just trying to act cool when you can’t even stand,” you huff as you place a pillow behind his back to make him more comfortable. you notice he turns his head away from you, almost as if he’s embarrassed by your words.
“...how long have i been here?” he says quietly, still not making eye contact. you can’t help but notice the tips of his ears are flushed.
“i found you three days ago, you’ve been unconscious since,” you say before moving to get up. you look down at him, and can’t help but feel a little bad about your impulsive scolding.
“I understand you’d like to leave, but i’m sure your family would rather you fully recover,” you say softly, a hint of remorse in your voice.
there’s silence that makes you feel increasingly awkward and worse about scolding him, and you wonder if you should directly apologize — maybe you were too insensitive.
“thank you,” his apology unexpectedly breaks the silence. you look down to meet his gaze, and you find your earlier observations glaringly apparent now: he’s beautiful. his eyes are a deep fuschia — a detail previously hidden from you while he was unconscious. his eyes are so rich in color they remind you of gemstones.
“it’s nothing,” now you’re the one to look away, feeling strangely sheepish. you clear your throat, “i’ll be back with a bowl of congee, eat as much as you can.” you leave the room rather abruptly, but you can’t miss the laugh he lets out when you stumble out.
—
the morning after, you got stationery ready for him to write his letter. despite his earlier determination to get home and his concern for his family, he only blankly stares at the supplies on the desk you provided.
“whats wrong?” you ask him as you sit down next to him. “not in the mood to write?” you lean forward to peer at the blank paper.
“no — it’s just — ” he shifts to look at you. “i’m just really grateful,” a smile spreads across his face. the sudden sincerity in his voice, now you’re fidgeting under his gaze.
“for… stationary?” you almost cringe at your own response — it was so obvious what he meant, why would he just thank you for stationary?
as a doctor, you’ve had countless patients thank you and your father for saving their lives but you’ve never felt this flustered by it before. his gratitude is so different — too enthusiastic, too intimate.
were your years of solitude getting to you? it felt so unprofessional to be so bashful because a patient was so handsome, but you couldn’t help it.
the sound of his laugh breaks you out of mental self-scolding, “not just the stationary — you saved my life.”
you shake your head, dismissing the need to thank you. “i’m a doctor, i did what i had to.”
“i don't think many doctors would have even tried to help me in that state — even i thought it was the end.” he gestures to the bandages peaking out his haori.
“you fought to survive, i just brought you inside.”
he lets out an exasperated sigh, “you know, all you have to say is ‘you’re welcome.’”
“yeah, yeah,” you can’t help but laugh at the drama of his antics. “you’re welcome. happy?”
his eyes slightly widen at the sound of your laughter, almost as if he didn’t expect you to be able to — but he quickly grins instead. “very.”
his eyes briefly drift from meeting yours to your hands resting on the desk , so quick you barely catch it.
“you know,” he starts innocently. you hum in response, signaling for him to go on. “i never caught your name,” and before you realize he’s taken one of your hands, grasping it in both of his and placing it on his chest, refusing to break eye contact.
“may i have the honor of knowing my savior?” his tone of voice is so sweet, almost seductive — and it renders your brain to mush.
what the hell is happening?
you blink at the sight before you, trying to process if it’s real and not a fever dream. you want to say something — let out a sound of confusion at least — but your throat seems to have to shut tight and you’re painfully aware of how firm his chest is.
this was obviously much too intimate of an interaction between two people who barely know each other, much less a doctor and patient. it’s unprofessional and unlike yourself to be taken by a man — but you find yourself unable to pull away, as if you’re under a trance. sure, you’ve had the occasional patient try to flirt with you, but they’ve never been this bold — or attractive, for that matter.
“you — ” you finally start to speak, but the way he’s looking at you makes you fumble with your words. you find yourself trying to avert eye contact without even realizing, but you can feel his burning gaze on you still, and his grasp is noticeably firm. “you don’t have to refer to me as your savior, it’s too—”
“if you won’t allow that,” his hands squeeze yours almost as if urging you to look back at him, and you can’t help but oblige. “then at least allow me to know your name.”
as soon as you utter it, he says your name like it’s something precious, something he treasures dearly. you feel your stomach flip, and you hope it’s just acid reflux— it’d be less embarrassing than admitting it was because of a man you barely know.
“don’t you think it’s time for you to introduce yourself as well?” you find it in yourself to retaliate, attempting to pull your hand away but his grasp stays firm.
“ah, where are my manners?” he grins as he looks down on you. “tengen, uzui tengen.” he guides your hand away from his chest, resting your hand on his cheek instead. he nuzzles his face into your palm, eyes shutting as if trying to savor the feeling of your touch.
“please, call out my name.” his gemstone-like eyes flutter open, a soft smile forming on his face, almost as if beckoning you to call out his name.
“tengen uzui,” you can’t help but oblige him, his name rolls off your tongue easily — almost too easily.
his smile grows into an even wider grin, very clearly pleased. he takes your hands away from his cheek, just to stare at it briefly. he moves your hands slowly towards himself again, grip noticeably looser, giving you the opportunity to take back your hand if you wish to.
he seems even more pleased that you don’t.
he kisses the back of your hand softly, and the feeling lingers even after. he's still fixated on the back of your hands, watching as his thumb caresses the area he just kissed. he gives your hands one final squeeze before letting go, looking up at you with a playful glint in his eyes. “i suppose i should start writing now, shouldn’t i?”
the words break you out of whatever trance he had you in, and you feel embarrassed that a part of you wishes it hadn’t.
you laugh, partially at yourself and partially at his words. “ah, then i suppose i should start with breakfast then.” your heart pounds in your chest as you stand, but you don’t let it show — you’ve embarrassed yourself enough.
“i’ll leave you to it,” you say as you reach the doorframe, you look back to smile at him — your way of trying to not let him know he had you wrapped around his finger.
you shut the door behind you, and it’s only when you reach the kitchen that you feel like you can finally breathe again.
—
tengen’s eyes can’t help but follow your retreating figure; the sight nearly makes him regret letting go of your hand and letting you leave. he has to remind himself not to be hasty — as receptive as you were to his boldness, he would hate to scare you away. once the door shuts behind you and he can no longer hear your footsteps, he can’t help but let out a wistful sigh.
he sits in silence before finally taking up the brush you provided, putting ink to paper. the first letter was for the corps: letting them know he was alive, the demon was killed, and that he was currently being cared for by you. another letter for his wives with mostly the same contents, but with the additional details of how he’s thinking of them and how he wishes to be back home as soon as possible.
although, he wasn’t sure how true the latter was for now.
he momentarily puts the brush down, shutting his eyes to reminisce about you despite it being only minutes since you were gone. perhaps you haven’t realized how you’ve already managed to creep into his heart.
he can still recall your sweet voice assuring him he’d be okay. despite being at the crossroads of life and death, your voice managed to reach him.
when he finally laid his eyes upon you, he knew it had been you. the voice that kept him alive, the hands that had cared for him, they all belonged to you — and you were more beautiful than he could have imagined.
he rushes for the brush again before even opening his eyes, writing a new paragraph about you to his wives. he stares at what he’s written, reading over the details of how you’ve cared for him so attentively. as he puts the brush back onto paper, he can feel the corner of his lips curl up involuntarily as he reads over his final sentence.
“would you three like another wife?”
--
a/n: first-time posting fanfic on a public domain, very nervous, eek! likes, comments, or even criticism is much obliged!
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