Summary: The most unforgettable week of your senior year wasn’t the dance. It wasn’t the prank. It wasn’t even the heartbreak. It was the quiet sophomore who said yes…simply because you asked.
Modern AU • Muichiro Tokito x F! Reader
Fluff
Final Part 3- Friday Night (see part 1 here see part 2 here)
You stare at the text.
Your heart skips a beat.
Three sharp knocks at the front door shifts your gaze.
“Honey! Sanemi’s here! Oh my, you look so handsome, come in the living room—I need pictures before you leave!”
You glance at the text one last time. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard.
Nothing comes.
You lock the screen and slip your phone in your silver clutch.
Drawing in a slow breath, you listen as Sanemi’s footsteps grow louder down the hallway, accompanied by the relentless click of your mother’s camera.
You look up, locking eyes with him as you have countless times before.
You can’t help but smile.
He wore exactly what you suggested.
Tailored black slacks, polished dress shoes, and a crisp white dress shirt with the top buttons left carelessly undone beneath a forest-green suit jacket. A black tie hung slightly loose around his neck, and despite whatever effort he’d made to tame it, a few stubborn white strands still framed his face. His silver studded earrings caught the light every time he moved.
He looked exactly like Sanemi.
Comfortably handsome. Effortlessly confident.
Just like you knew he’d be.
His steps slow.
His lips part.
“...Damn.”
Your mother lets out another delighted squeal, the rapid clicks of her camera never stopping.
He closes the distance between you. Instinctively, your hands find the knot of his tie, straightening it while he brushes a loose curl behind your ear.
“You look beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.
A quiet laugh escapes you.
“Hold still, love.”
He grins.
“Knew you’d fix it.”
Click!
“Hold still guys! Sanemi lean in more—y/n smile!”
Your mother fusses with the camera, crouching lower to capture yet another angle.
You let out an exaggerated sigh.
“Mom, are we done yet? We’re going to be late.”
She finally lowers the camera, crossing the room to wrap you in a warm hug before pressing a kiss to your cheek.
“I love you so much. You look so beautiful.” Her voice softens. “You’ve always made me proud every single day. Just… have fun tonight, okay?”
Your smile turns smaller.
“I love you too mom.” You pause, flashing her a hopeful grin. “No curfew?”
She laughs.
“I talked it over with your father. No curfew.” She points a playful finger between you and Sanemi. “But keep your phone nearby just in case I want to check in. Now go make some memories—and send me pictures!”
Sanemi laces his fingers through yours as the two of you head toward the front door.
The steady click of your heels against the porch somehow sounds louder than usual.
Like always, he steps ahead to open the passenger door before waiting for you to climb in.
The drive is quieter than you expected.
Streetlights blur together beyond the passenger window. Trees give way to storefronts, storefronts to neighborhoods, neighborhoods to the familiar roads leading toward the school.
You search the passing scenery without really seeing any of it.
“Relax, babe.”
Sanemi reaches across the center console, his fingers slipping around yours.
“Tonight’s gonna be fun.”
You squeeze his hand back automatically.
“...Yeah.”
The word leaves your mouth before your heart has a chance to catch up.
The gym looked nothing like the place you’d spent four years dreading assemblies in.
Golden fairy lights crisscrossed the ceiling beneath hundreds of glittering paper stars. The polished hardwood reflected soft blues and golds from the decorations student council had spent weeks crafting, transforming the familiar basketball court into something almost unrecognizable.
Music boomed through the speakers, echoing throughout the room.
Laughter and light chatter followed.
Mitsuri spun happily across the dance floor in a blush pink gown that floated around her ankles with every step, Obanai close behind in an impeccably tailored black suit, his attention fixed solely on her despite the chaos around them.
Near the refreshments, Shinobu laughed behind the back of her hand, violet satin catching the lights as Giyuu stood beside her in a navy suit, looking as though he'd rather drown than pose for another picture.
Across the room, Tengen looked exactly as over-the-top as expected. White and gold suited him almost unfairly, though somehow Makio, Hinatsuru, and Suma managed to steal the spotlight anyway, each in dresses as lavish as their personalities.
Everything looked
Perfect.
Exactly how you’d planned it.
“...Green.”
A quiet voice pulls your attention away from the crowd.
Muichiro stands only a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of a charcoal suit vest, the light blue sleeves of his dress shirt folded up to his forearms.
He looks at your dress.
“You picked green.”
You glance down.
A laugh escapes you before you can stop it.
“I guess I did.”
“You said I’d have to wait.”
“I did.” you say, spinning nervously so he could see.
“I like it.” He says, as if commenting on the weather.
Heat rises to your cheeks.
“Thanks.”
Tanjiro appears between the two of you with a large sunny smile.
“I knew you’d come!”
Muichiro shifts. “I said I would.”
“You actually ironed your shirt!”
“I didn’t.”
“...Oh.”
“My brother did.”
Tanjiro sighs. “I should've known. I’m glad you went with the light blue instead of the black shirt.”
You laugh, surprising yourself. Everything feels easy. Too easy.
Muichiro steps awkwardly onto the dance floor after Tanjiro insists.
He has absolutely zero rhythm, but his choppy movements and clipped banter warms something deep in your chest.
You spend more time laughing than dancing, trying to guide him through moves he clearly has no interest in remembering.
“I stepped on your foot.”
“You’ve stepped on it three times.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“Okay.”
You smile. His eyes never leave yours.
Across the room, Sanemi catches your eye.
He grins.
Raises two fingers as the signal.
Your stomach drops. Your heart races.
No. Not yet. Not while Muichiro is still smiling like that.
“...Y/N?”
Muichiro notices you’ve stopped moving.
You don’t answer.
Your gaze drifts toward the front of the gym.
Mitsuri is already walking toward Obanai. Shinobu slips her hand into Giyuu’s. One by one, every senior returns to the person they came with.
The room slowly begins to understand.
Kanao’s smile disappears first.
“...Sanemi?” her voice comes out as a whisper.
Sanemi reaches you in only a few strides, wrapping an arm comfortably around your waist like he’d done a hundred times before.
“There she is.” He kisses your temple.
The entire gym goes silent.
No music. No laughter.
Kanao takes a slow step backward.
“...You…”
Tears fill her eyes almost immediately.
“I thought…”
Zenitsu lets out a horrified wail loud enough to shake the decorations overhead.
“I KNEW LOVE WAS A LIE! I’LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS MITSURI I KNEW IT I KNEW IT!”
Someone actually starts crying.
Someone laughs.
Tanjiro looks around the room. Then at you. No anger flashes across his features. He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t insult.
Just hurt.
“...Even you?”
The words are quiet, punching you in the gut.
You turn to Muichiro, who had already taken a step back, realization washing over him like an ice buck of water.
His expression hasn’t changed.
Not much.
His tiny smile is gone.
“I see.”
He turns and walks away.
“Muichiro. Muichiro wait!”
Your hand reaches for him before you can think better of it.
Sanemi’s hold on your waist tightens.
“Babe?”
You can’t hear him, the beat of your heart thrumming in your ears.
You pull away, the gym doors slamming behind you.
The cool night air hits your skin like thin sheets of ice.
You find him sitting beneath an old oak tree overlooking the football field.
Silver slivers of moonlight wound between the branches, highlighting blades of grass and everything in between.
Muichiro sits on the lowest root, silently folding something in his lap.
Green construction paper.
Your stomach flutters.
You stop a few feet away, the night air softly swaying your dress.
Neither of you says anything.
“I’m sorry.”
The words feel small. Not enough.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me.”
Silence.
“I knew you had a boyfriend.”
You blink in disbelief.
“What?”
“I’ve seen him walk you to class.”
Your stomach twists.
“Then,” your voice breaks.
“Why did you say yes?”
Muichiro examines the unfinished paper airplane resting between his fingers.
“Because you asked.”
His tone holds no anger, no accusation.
Just truth. The facts. As always.
Your eyes burn, threatening to water.
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“You’ve apologized more than once.”
You laugh weakly, a broken laugh that turns into a sob.
“I’m awful.”
“No.”
“You don’t have to make me feel better.”
“I’m not.” he looks at you.
“I don’t think you’re awful…just wrong.”
Another laugh escapes through watery tears.
“You really don’t know how to sugarcoat anything, do you?”
“No.”
“Sorry.”
“You apologized again.”
“Sorry.”
“Again.”
You wipe your eyes, laughing despite the sour feeling in your stomach.
He holds out the finished paper airplane.
“For you.”
You carefully unfold it.
Inside, written in neat handwriting are three simple words.
For maximum flight
Beneath the line is a tiny drawing of a cloud.
Your vision blurs all over again.
“You made this?”
“I was going to give it to you before the dance.”
Your fingers curl carefully around the paper.
“I still…”
He pauses.
“I still like talking to you.”
Your breath catches.
“I don’t know what this is.”
“Neither do I.”
“..Can we figure it out?”
Muichiro looks up toward the clouds drifting lazily across the night sky.
“Okay.”
You sit beside him beneath the tree.
No words. No dancing. No pretending.
You watch the clouds together, neither of you filling the silence.
Pale fingers gently intertwine with yours. You accept them, a tear falling down your cheek.
SPRING
Winter came and went.
The whispers surrounding the dance slowly faded into another story the school stopped telling.
But somehow
Muichiro never stopped texting.
And neither did you.
One conversation quickly turned into dozens. Dozens became a steady routine.
Before long, it wasn’t unusual to find him beside you on the football bleachers, a half-finished paper airplane resting in his lap while the two of you watched clouds drift lazily across the afternoon sky.
Somewhere along the way, Tanjiro had become part of the routine as well.
So had walking each other to class.
So had laughing.
To the public, you and Sanemi were still together. He still walked you to class when your schedules lined up. He still blew you kisses from the football field—you still caught them.
But somewhere in between catching them…you’d started looking over your shoulder first.
One rainy morning, just like every other morning, Sanemi picks you up for school. The ride there was eerily silent. The steady patter of rain against the windshield became the only sound between you.
He parks beside the football field instead of the main lot.
Like always, he circles around the truck and opens your door before you can reach for the handle.
You smile.
“Thanks.”
“Always.”
His eyes scan the area. A few students could be seen walking into the building. He had parked closer to the field, farther from the main entrance.
He leans against the truck’s frame, shifting uncomfortably.
Hesitating.
“Nemi–what’s wrong?”
Rain clings to the loose white strands framing his face.
“You know…Y/N…”
“I love you.”
You smile, adjusting the purse strap on your shoulder.
“I love you too.”
“I kept trying to figure out what I did wrong.”
Your smile fades. A knot in your stomach coiling.
“You didn’t—”
“Yeah,” he interrupts.
“Yeah, I know.”
You both say nothing for a moment.
“He makes you smile.”
You freeze, feeling the pit of your stomach churn.
“The way you smile around him..” He chuckles softly, running calloused hands through his damp strands.
“I haven’t seen that directed at me in a while.”
A tear falls down your cheek. You say nothing.
“You know that night at the dance, I was humiliated when you went off running for him. But I waved it off as you feeling guilty. Which I could live with, my girl has a heart.”
Pause.
“But then…you started smiling at your phone more. Skipping hangouts. Barely lookin’ at me.”
A steady stream of tears fall now, leaving a salty stain on your shirt.
“I’m so sorry.” you sob.
He shakes his head, wiping away a single tear from your cheek.
“Don’t apologize for growing up.”
He chuckles again.
“Funny.”
He laughs dryly.
“I always figured we’d be one of those couples that made everybody sick. Graduated together. Get married someday. Guess life had other plans.”
He looks over at his truck then back down at you.
“This world we’ve lived in for the last 4 years, that isn’t you anymore. I don’t fit into your future anymore.”
“...And that’s okay.”
He looks up at the sky, raindrops wetting his face.
“I’ll always wonder what would’ve happened if we’d met a little later.”
He looks back down at you.
“But I don’t regret a damn thing.”
He reaches over to envelope you in a hug. His scent pulls you in. Warm and familiar. The same detergent. The same cologne. The same heartbeat you’d fallen asleep against more times than you could count.
But this hug is different. Not a hug that promises forever. But a hug that respects your growth.
He plants a soft kiss on your forehead, eyes lingering on your face.
He gets into the truck, revving the engine and rolls down the window.
“Nemi…” you hiccup.
His signature smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, but smaller, less bright. Your heart skips.
“Go. Continue to make me proud.”
He pulls at the gearshift, tires carrying him away.
You stand there, outfit now fully damp, hair sticking to your neck.
You can’t tell what’s wetting you more, your tears or the rain.
You feel something poke at your shoes in the wet grass. A green paper airplane lands at your feet.
You look up. Muichiro stands quietly beneath the awning, another paper airplane resting between his fingers.
Your eyes drift past him…
…to the back of Sanemi’s truck disappearing beyond the parking lot.
You kneel to pick it up, fingers tightening around the damp paper tucked safely inside your jacket pocket.
You huff out a slow steadying breath.
Then another.
Your legs carry you forward.
You stop a few feet in front of him.
His expression shifts subtly as he takes in the tears staining your cheeks.
His gaze trails to the damp paper airplane tucked at your side, then back to your face.
He says nothing.
Without a word, he holds out the paper airplane.
You take it.
Neither of you says anything. You don’t need to.
You walk forward.
Side by side.
EPILOGUE
Years later, people would remember the prank.
They’d remember Kanao’s tears, Zenitsu’s screams, and the way the gym went quiet.
Funny.
That’s not what you remembered.
You remembered green paper airplanes and fluffy clouds.
And one boy who said yes…
..simply because you asked.
~
Cover illustration created with the assistance of AI. I am not the illustrator; all writing is my own. Please don't repost my works as your own.
Part 1
Part 2
A/N: Finally clearing out the drafts! This idea had been sitting in docs since April!
Would love if any mutuals could give their thoughts on this one, it was particularly difficult writing a modern AU Muichiro without making him seem too *off*
There was nothing particularly romantic about this one, but the nostalgia really guided me...this was definitely a tear-jerker...at least for me
Oh to be young and conflicted
anyways hugs and kisses
Likes, comments, PMs, reblogs, donations; always welcomed and appreciated <3
Summary: The most unforgettable week of your senior year wasn’t the dance. It wasn’t the prank. It wasn’t even the heartbreak. It was the quiet sophomore who said yes…simply because you asked.
Modern AU • Muichiro Tokito x F! Reader
Fluff
Part 2- The Week Before Friday (see part 1 here)
The door to your bedroom brushes against the carpeted floor with a soft whoosh.
You flop on the bed with a heavy sigh, soft plushes tumbling around your head as you sink further into the mattress.
Today had been grueling.
Midterms. Student council. Cheer. The cafeteria.
You bury your face in your satin pillowcase, the cool fabric grounding you for the first time all day.
You kick your sandals off the edge of the bed, flopping on your side to fish for your phone, which had been buzzing nonstop since you left the lunch room.
You open your phone to a myriad of notifications:
Mitsuri K.: OMG 😱
My love Sanemi S.: Babe 😭😭😭 You had the whole caf losing it. Call me.
Cheer GC: Oh my gosh, GIRL what was THAT?! 🤯
Volleyball team: YOU ASKED TOKITO??🫨😵
You roll your eyes, ignoring the flood of incoming messages with their various reactions.
You scroll until you find the contact you added earlier today. His indifferent photo fills the screen.
Your thumb lingers over the icon to create a new text thread.
You: hey!! It’s y/n 😊
Send.
You lock the screen and let your head sink back into the pillow, your fingers drumming lightly against the edge of your phone as you replay the day’s events.
You toss your phone onto the bed beside you with a huff.
Your eyes drift back to it anyway.
Forcing yourself up, you shuffle your way in your bathroom, hastily undressing before stepping beneath the spray of your walk-in shower.
The hot water instantly eases the tension from your shoulders. You work strawberries and cream body wash into a pink loofah before washing away the day, the sweet scent slowly replacing the lingering smell of cafeteria food and dry-erase markers.
You soap up the skin on and under your arms, legs, neck, and back, squeezing some matching scented shampoo in your hair and massaging the roots.
You step out of the shower, wrapping yourself in a fluffy cream-colored towel. You nearly trip over your feet when you hear the buzz of your phone in the next room.
You pick up the device with wet fingers, hurriedly unlocking the screen and clicking the new notification.
(1) New message
Muichiro T.: Hello, Y/N
Your lips pull into a frown.
You: Do you always text like you’re writing a business email?
Muichiro T.: Is that bad?
You can’t help but laugh. He wasn’t trying to be funny.
The serum bottle sits untouched on the bathroom counter.
You had forgotten all about your skincare/haircare routine.
You: Wyd?
Muichiro T.: Folding paper airplanes.
You stare at the message. Searching for some hidden meaning behind the line.
Finding none.
TUESDAY
By the next morning, saying hello to Muichiro in the hallway felt strangely normal.
You walk to your next class.
You pass by the sophomore hall. Tanjiro waves, a warm smile lighting his face. Muichiro stands nearby, an AirPod peeking out one ear, a crisp paper airplane in his hands.
Noticing his friend’s line of sight, his large hazy eyes fall on you.
He blinks.
“Hello, Y/N.” he says as the corner of his mouth lifts only slightly.
You smile and nod, strutting off to your next destination.
WEDNESDAY
You find yourself reaching for your phone more often now.
His name somehow always found its way back at the top of your messages, earning a reply long before the dozens of other notifications competing for your attention.
Your conversations span from cheer logistics to class schedules and homework, to clouds, your favorite snacks, and the best way to fold a paper airplane for maximum flight.
You catch yourself smiling down at your phone, always amused at just how literal and direct his responses came.
You: I h8 geometry.
Muichiro T: The clouds are nice today.
You: Why clouds?
Muichiro T: They look nice today. Less grey.
You: Where are you seeing clouds?
Muichiro T: Outside.
You: Shouldn’t you be in 3rd period? Y r u outside?
Muichiro T: I left class.
You: Why did u leave class?
Muichiro T: To go to the bathroom.
You: But ur outside.
Muichiro T: Yes.
You: 😐
Muichiro T: ?
You: nvm 😭
Muichiro T: Okay.
THURSDAY
Today is nothing less than hectic.
Cheer practice had taken 2 hours to perfect the routine for homecoming.
Student council was busy preparing for homecoming events and the big dance Friday night.
Homework had started piling up now that there wasn’t time to finish it during class.
And to top it off you haven’t reached for your phone all day.
You couldn’t.
You felt your purse buzz. You reach for it, expecting an update from the group chat on how the decorations for the dance were coming along.
Instead, you’re greeted with somewhat of an urgent text.
Muichiro T.: The paper airplane made it across the courtyard today.
You smile, fingers swiping quickly across the screen.
You: Really?? That’s awesome 😲
Muichiro T.: [attachment: 1 photo: *blurry photo of a paper airplane*]
The green construction paper works better than the blue.
You laugh, feeling your lips pull into the first genuine smile you’ve sported all day.
You sit back in your seat, tapping a mechanical pencil against the desk top.
You realize you wouldn’t have smiled at all today if you hadn’t gotten that text.
Strange.
Your fingers travel back to the keyboard, ready to reply.
“Who’s got you smiling?” Mitsuri squeals, seemingly coming out of nowhere.
You jump so hard that your buttocks physically lifts from the chair.
You quickly lock your phone, wincing at the audible click of the side button’s lock tone.
“..No one.” you lie. Terrible liar.
Mitsuri shoots you a knowing look, giggling as she analyzes your composure.
“That wasn’t a ‘no one’ lock.”
You say nothing.
She continues to smile at you, forgoing the desire to prod.
Your best friend knows something is different.
FRIDAY
Your bedroom looks like a tornado swept through it.
Dresses drape over your desk chair. Makeup litters the vanity. Curling irons, straighteners, and a blow dryer compete for the same outlet.
You thought this day would be easy. You had it all planned out since the announcement of the dance, but now…everything is falling apart.
Suddenly you feel the outfit you chose is too tight. Too short. The color too bold.
To make matters worse, you can’t stop checking your phone.
Muichiro T.: What color are you going to wear?
You: You’ll see
Your smile fades the second the screen goes dark.
Your mother flits around the room, snapping a picture of you at all angles.
You roll your eyes.
“Mom, can you please just get one good photo so I can go. Sanemi’s waiting!”
Your mother wipes an invisible tear.
“I’m sorry honey! It’s just you’ll never be a senior in high school ever again!”
Another click of the camera.
You’d settled on an emerald satin midi dress with delicate spaghetti straps and white heels. A simple silver necklace rests against your collarbone, soft curls framing your face beneath the same glossy lips you’d perfected all week.
It took some work and a few silent meltdowns but you were finally satisfied with the look.
That is…mostly satisfied.
You only wonder what Muichiro would thi—
Your phone buzzes.
Muichiro T.: I am looking forward to tonight.
Final Part
~
Cover illustration created with the assistance of AI. I am not the illustrator; all writing is my own. Please don't repost my works as your own.
Summary: The most unforgettable week of your senior year wasn’t the dance. It wasn’t the prank. It wasn’t even the heartbreak. It was the quiet sophomore who said yes…simply because you asked.
Modern AU • Muichiro Tokito x F! Reader
Fluff
Part 1- Popular
“Hmm, I’ve got it!”
Your friend Mitsuri squeals, her strawberry/kiwi bubblegum braids bouncing as her pointer finger positions itself in the air, as if it was a lit thought bulb symbolizing a new idea.
“How ‘bout the new boy?”
She says, a little too loud in the sea of students crowding the halls.
You giggle, swiping another coat of lip gloss over your lips in the rhinestone-framed mirror stuck inside your locker. Above it sits a collage of cheer competitions, football games, birthday parties, and nearly every other highlight of your high school career, most of them featuring your boyfriend, Sanemi Shinazugawa, grinning somewhere beside you.
The metal door slams unexpectedly.
You gasp as a scarred arm loops around your shoulders, pulling you back against a familiar muscled chest.
“I think it’s a great idea, babe.” Sanemi says, lips twisting into a sly grin. “Dude’s a total pipsqueak.”
He catches the back of your hair and pulls you in for a kiss before you can answer. You grab at his shirt as his mouth moves messily against yours, only shoving him away when his hands begin to wander.
“Babe!” you fake pout, “I wasn’t done.” You pop open your locker again to fix the gloss he already ruined.
“Besides,” you say, studying him through the mirror, “have you even found your own loser for the dance?”
Sanemi wipes the sticky shine from his lips with the back of his hand.
“Course I have. Ya know that dorky girl who sits in the back of math? Doesn’t say much. Always hangs around that annoying smiley guy with the scar?”
“Don’t tell me you forgot her name already. It’s Kanao.”
“Whatever.” He leans closer to the mirror, scowling at the faint pink sheen still clinging to his lips. “Love how this stuff looks on you. Hate how hard it is to get off.”
You roll your eyes, satisfied with your touch-ups, closing the metal door and slinging your purse over your shoulder.
“I think you look cute.”
His gaze drops lower as he pulls you closer by the waist.
“Cute enough for third base?” he pleads with the best puppy dog expression he could muster.
You laugh, pressing a palm against his chest before he can distract you again.
“We’ll see what happens after we declare a winner.”
Mitsuri giggles beside you, already twisting one of her braids around her finger.
“This is going to be so much fun!”
The rules had already been decided.
Each senior had to ask an unsuspecting underclassman to the dance. Keep up the act long enough to make them believe it. Let them buy the outfit, tell their friends, and wait by the entrance beneath the glittering paper stars.
Then arrive with your real date.
Whoever got the biggest reaction won.
Cruel, maybe. But that was what made it funny. At least, it had every other year.
“If I go for the new boy, neither of you stands a chance,” you say. “You’ve seen him staring.”
“Fat chance!” Sanemi folds his arms, leaning against cold metal lockers with his signature smirk, as cocky and boisterous as ever.
“That Kanao girl looked like she was gonna pass out when I asked her. That scar-faced kid beside her looked like he wanted to kill me.”
“Tanjiro,” Mitsuri corrects sweetly.
"Didn't ask.”
The warning bell rings, cutting through the hallway chatter.
Sanemi brushes a stray piece of hair from your face, his teasing expression softening as he looks down at you.
“Don’t overdo it with the pipsqueak,” he murmurs. “Bet or not, you’re still mine.”
You trail a manicured thumb over his bottom lip, giving him a reckless grin.
“It’s our senior year.”
You step away as the final bell begins to ring.
“Let’s go out with a bang.”
Classes droned on. Not because they were boring, but because you understood the material almost too well.
When class is dismissed, you’re the first one through the classroom door.
You shoulder open the cafeteria doors, greeted by overlapping conversations, scraping chairs, and someone yelling clear across the room.
The soft tick of your wedges barely echoes three steps in before you hear your name.
You wave.
A compliment on your skirt.
You shoot them a wink.
Someone from the volleyball team asks if you’ll be at Friday’s game.
“You know it!” you say smoothly.
Your smile never falters as your gaze wanders over the sea of tables, searching for one face in particular.
Heads turn as you weave between tables, your skirt swishing around your thighs. A few freshmen straighten in their seats, whispers following your every step.
Across the room, Sanemi catches your eye from the seniors’ table.
He smirks, raising an eyebrow in silent reminder.
Go. Win.
Your stomach flutters, warmth blooming in your chest as you straighten your shoulders. Making Sanemi proud always came naturally.
The newest addition to the sophomore class wasn’t hard to spot. Until now, he’d always been little more than another face in the hallway.
While the rest of the cafeteria buzzed with the usual teenage chaos, Muichiro Tokito sat at the end of the sophomore table, absentmindedly sipping a Snapple through a straw. One AirPod peeked through his dark tresses as the burgundy-haired boy beside him chatted animatedly, comparing their class schedules.
Muichiro simply listened, untouched by the chaos.
You flip your hair over your shoulders, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from your shirt before closing the distance.
The closer you get, the quieter the cafeteria becomes.
Overlapping conversations fade into lingering murmurs. A chair scrapes across the floor. Someone cat calls and lets out a low whistle.
You stop beside the sophomore table, your gaze falling on the new boy.
His never leaves Tanjiro.
Tanjiro halts mid-sentence, noticing his tablemates staring. He looks up, following your gaze.
It’s almost comical the way Tanjiro’s face lights in surprise, the tips of his ears flushing in awe. He nudges the new boy.
“...Tokito?”
Muichiro finally looks up.
You smile sweetly.
His face is unreadable. If you didn’t know any better you’d think your presence didn’t faze him at all.
“Hi.”
You say with almost too much pep.
“Hello.”
You continue to smile. Waiting.
You feel everyone’s stares.
Nothing.
He just…looks at you.
Tanjiro looks between the two of you.
You wait.
Muichiro waits.
“Uhm…did you need something?”
You disregard the question, holding Muichiro’s gaze.
“Do you know who I am?”
You ask, leaning a little further in.
“I’ve seen you around.”
You cock your head slightly to the side.
“I’m (y/n). Senior class representative and head of the cheerleading team.”
“You don’t look like a cheerleader.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not wearing the uniform.”
“Practice was cancelled today because of exams.”
“Oh.”
Neither of you says anything.
He holds your stare.
“...Well this is Muichiro Tokito. He’s an underclassmen coming from–”
“Wanna go to the dance this Friday?”
A series of gasps echo throughout the cafeteria.
Tanjiro sucks in a sharp breath. Muichiro takes another sip of his Snapple.
Swallows.
Then looks up at you.
“Why?”
Your mouth parts.
“...Because I asked?”
You shift your weight from one foot to the other, your practiced smile threatening to slip for the first time all afternoon.
“It’s a good way to get to know the school.” you justify.
“Besides, dances are more fun when you’ve got a plus one.”
Your gaze catches a stray pack of gum abandoned on the table.
Before you can think better of it, your fingers steal a piece.
Spearmint floods your mouth.
Your eyes refocus on the new boy, noticing the color match between his hoodie and the tips of his hair.
You lean over the table again.
“So what do you say? Wanna go to the dance this Friday with me?” you prod.
You refused to leave without an answer.
Muichiro holds your gaze, saying nothing.
You blink.
…
“Okay.”
“Great. I’ll text you the details,” you say quickly, already learning that every question led to another with him.
Muichiro reaches into his pocket, hand coming out empty.
“..I don’t have my phone.”
Your foot taps against the cold cafeteria floor.
“What?”
Tajiro sighs. “He has one.” His eyes roll to his new friend. “It’s somewhere.” He fishes his own phone out of his pocket.
“I’ll give you his number.”
You save the number before tapping the camera icon.
“Say cheese!” you squeal, lifting your phone before either of them can protest.
Click!
“For your contact.”
“..Oh.”
You close your phone, slipping it in your purse before turning on your heels to head out the cafeteria.
“Thanks, Tanjiro.” you wave over your shoulder.
He smiles.
“No problem.”
You reach the cafeteria doors, hearing the frantic murmurs of questioning bystanders.
Did she just ask him to the dance?
No way. Lucky bastard!
Why the new guy?
Isn’t she with the football star, Shinazugawa?
You pretend not to hear them, the stolen gum still clicking between your teeth.
You won. Yet you don’t feel victorious.
You glance back at the sophomore table.
Muichiro has already resumed his conversation with Tanjiro, no longer holding your gaze.
You frown.
Weird.
You push through the doors, the soft click of your wedges echoing behind you.
Part 2
~
Cover illustration created with the assistance of AI. I am not the illustrator; all writing is my own. Please don't repost my works as your own.
Summary: With tuition overdue and your future hanging by a thread, you make one impossible decision to keep your dream alive. One client. One payout. One night to forget. But Tengen Uzui isn’t a man who settles for masks and performances.
Modern AU Tengen Uzui x F! Reader
Warnings: Mentions of sex work/sex. Minors DNI. 18+
Word count~ 3.9k
Illustration created with the assistance of AI (I don't wanna hear it, I wrote the story myself, AI created the cover art. I'm a writer, not an illustrator)
Green
Your favorite color.
Sage green to be exact.
The color of new beginnings. Of growth. Of quiet things that survived harsh winters.
Tonight resembled nothing of the sort.
You tug the sage-green bodysuit over your hips, the spandex snapping against your skin with a sharp slap!
Too tight. Too short. Too expensive-looking for something with so little fabric.
You stare at yourself in the mirror. The woman looking back almost resembles you.
Almost.
Pale fingers settle around your waist from behind, their warmth grounding you before panic can pull you under.
Mitsuri joins you in the mirror, large adoring eyes holding your own worried stare in the reflection.
“See?”
Mitsuri beams from behind you, smoothing a wrinkle that doesn’t exist. “The green is perfect on you. Here–wear this over it until you’re inside.”
She drapes a long cardigan over your shoulders like armor. The fabric is soft, grounding against your bare skin, which has become prickled in overwhelming anxiety.
“First clients are always scary,” she says softly, her smile gentler now. “Just breathe.”
You try to breathe.
In through your nose, out through your mouth.
Simple.
You’d done it a hundred times before exams.
Before interviews.
Before presentations.
But tonight, your lungs refuse to cooperate.
Every inhale snagged somewhere beneath your ribs, coming back out as a shaky humiliating gasp.
Mitsuri presses two fingers lightly against your sternum.
“With me,” she whispers.
She inhales.
You follow, fixing your eyes on hers, feeling the expansion of your chest as you breathe in deep.
She exhales.
You almost manage it.
“Oh! That reminds me,” she reaches on the bed covered in soft pink throws and pale gray and green plush pillows to fish something out of her purse, notably, a very expensive purse.
She moves to dab her fingers around your eyes.
Tiny dots of fine holographic silver glitter line your eyes and smudge in with your lipgloss.
Your gaze holds the reflection in the mirror.
Yeah, definitely unrecognizable.
How you got to this point, you didn’t know.
Six months ago, your biggest concern had been making it to your 8 AM lecture after working a closing shift.
Then corporate announced “restructuring.”
You remembered the fluorescent lights in the breakroom and the slight slosh of stale coffee in the outdated coffeemaker.
The HR representative smiling way too much. The rehearsed apology.
40 hours quickly became 20.
20 turned into per diem to “We’ll call if we need you.”
Your name quietly disappeared off of the already ghostly schedule, once live with numerous brightly color-coded names with shifts that spanned from part-time to full-time to over-time.
Savings depleted first. Then the emergency fund. Then the credit cards.
Tuition notices kept arriving whether you could afford them or not, not to mention rent, auto bills, and your other monthly expenses.
Now it’s 2 weeks before the next semester starts and that hefty tuition balance hasn’t moved, and you’re dangerously close to not being able to register for classes at all.
So here you are.
Standing in front of the elaborate vanity in the room Mitsuri had called hers, wearing a skimpy borrowed outfit underneath a cardigan that felt too warm and too settling.
“Everyone who’s been here awhile gets one,” she’d told you with a laugh when she’d first shown you around.
It wasn’t quite a bedroom. It wasn’t quite a hotel room either.
Just a place to breathe before becoming someone else.
Mitsuri, your best friend since kindergarten, knew about your financial troubles from the beginning. She had been there for all of it and offered help multiple times.
But pride got in the way, as it always does.
Until you called her one night, crying about how the shitty corporation finally let you go and that you had no other options.
For the first time, your dream of becoming a neonatal nurse seemed so far from reach.
All because of finances.
Mitsuri put her foot down that night, sending her boyfriend, Obanai, home and coming to pick you up. When you asked where she was going she only responded with “To see a lady who will change everything for you.”
That night, Mitsuri took you to meet Lady Kochō, who greeted you with tea and smiled through every question she asked.
Somehow, that made her even more intimidating.
There wasn’t a wasted movement in her body, nor a wasted word.
By the time she’d finished listening to your situation, you had the unsettling feeling she’d already decided whether you belonged there before you’d even sat down.
Did you really want to do it?
No.
Did you trust your friend Mitsuri?
Yes.
So you agreed.
And that’s what led to today.
You look at the pink kitten clock silently ticking on a far wall.
9:04 PM.
It’s getting late.
Your first client’s instructions to Lady Kochō read bluntly in a curt text.
9:10 PM. Have them ready for me. I don’t wait.
Why such a specific time? You didn’t know. But for the money he’s agreed to spend you’d lay on the floor and let him walk on your back if you had to.
Maybe a little extreme, but you needed the funds.
Mitsuri, trying to avoid furthering your anxiety, frantically but lovingly touches up your lipgloss for the third time, fluffs up your curls, and adjusts your breasts in the outfit.
She goes to spritz some perfume unknown to you from a golden bottle onto the sides of your neck, wrists, ankles, and over your body.
She takes a step back, and with a firm nod and warm smile she deems you ready.
You gaze at your reflection one last time. A stranger stares back.
The woman in the mirror was a living doll, polished into something ornamental, not the silently pretty science nerd who stuffed her curls in a sloppy bun and sported hoodies most of the day.
Fine silver glitter catches beneath her eyes every time she blinks. Big curls frame carefully glossy painted lips. A sage-green bodysuit that leaves little to the imagination hugs every curve you’d spent years trying to ignore, hidden beneath a borrowed cardigan that Mitsuri insists you keep until the very last second.
The woman in the mirror looks expensive.
Desired.
Beautiful.
Like the kind of woman people paid to spend time with.
She just didn’t look like you.
With a sigh you turn to your friend, whose eyes never leave you.
You reach for her, and without hesitation she wraps you in a warm embrace, pulling back to land a tender kiss on your cheek.
You both eye the clock that reads 9:06 PM
“Ready?”
You weren’t. But time spared no one. Not even a senseless novice like you.
The hallway suddenly felt longer than it had only moments ago, and unnaturally quiet.
Cream-colored walls stretch toward a staircase at the far end, broken only by antique sconces that paint everything in warm amber light. Fresh lilies sit atop narrow console tables.
The scent of vanilla candles lit somewhere in the distance mingles with expensive perfume until you can't tell where one scent ends and the other begins.
A door opens somewhere behind you. A woman around your age steps into the hallway laughing softly, fixing the cufflinks on a man’s sleeve before gently, almost lovingly, guiding him toward the room.
He kisses the back of her hand.
She smiles.
Then both disappear.
The door shuts and silence returns. Your stomach twists, painfully aware that this was normal here.
Every step toward the stairs made the heels beneath your feet click against polished hardwood.
Too loud, too deliberate, and too final.
Somewhere below, muted jazz drifts throughout the house. Glasses clink. Someone laughs. Then silence.
Your client has arrived.
You and Mitsuri reach the top of the staircase, hand in hand. Sweaty, trembling palm against steady warmth.
Mitsuri turns to look at you, precious green orbs never leaving your frantic gaze.
“Listen.” She says, hushed but sincere.
“Nobody downstairs expects perfection.”
You say nothing, searching her eyes for any hint that you should run and never look back, but only finding sincerity and love for you and you alone.
“Lady Kochō chose you because she believed you’d be okay.”
You hang onto every word as if your life depends on it.
“And if you want to walk away…”
She squeezes your hand reassuringly.
“...we’ll walk away together.”
For the first time since this entire ordeal, your face stretches into a bright sunny smile.
Together, you descend.
The lounge reveals itself one step at a time. With its dark wood, soft amber light, crystal chandelier suspended above the bar, and rhythmical melodies that drift through hidden speakers, smooth enough to disguise the nervous beat of your heart.
A man’s voice reaches you before his face does.
“Flashy things are worth waiting for.”
Warm.
Amused.
Certain of himself.
Lady Kochō sits across from him, one slender hand resting beside a bottle of wine. Her smile remains perfectly composed.
“Let’s hope you still feel that way in 3 minutes.”
Mitsuri’s fingers tighten around yours.
Your attention settles on the man across from Lady Kochō. You notice his hands first.
Long fingers curl loosely around the stem of a champagne glass, jeweled rings catching the light whenever he moves. A tailored jacket stretches over broad shoulders. White hair, neatly tucked behind his ears, spills across his nape in a way that should have looked artificial but somehow only makes him appear more striking.
Expensive. Everything about him looks expensive, and flashy—explains Mitsuri’s insistence on big hair and extra glitter for the night.
Then he turns toward the staircase.
Fuschia eyes find yours.
Your breath catches in your throat, mind going somewhat blank.
Mitsuri never lets go of your hand as she quietly leads you before them, giving you one final glance that says, tell me you don’t want to do this and we’ll go.
You look at her, then turn your attention to Lady Kochō, whose sharp eyes scan your appearance and demeanor, satisfied with only one.
You can feel his eyes on you. Your grip on Mitsuri’s hand tightens even more, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest.
“Shinobu, you neglected to mention that she’d be terrified.”
His tone is curt, with only a hint of amusement.
Lady Kocho’s gaze swiftly moves to the massive man sitting across from her, “She isn’t afraid of you specifically. You requested someone new. This one is new. Very new.”
He leans back in his seat, eyes never leaving you. You refuse to hold his gaze, fearing you may go unconscious.
“I see.”
Lady Kochō rises first, not letting the moment linger any longer.
No wrinkles dare to disturb the silk of her dress as she smooths an invisible crease from the front of it.
“Room 3 is prepared.” She says with the sternness and poise of someone who was presumed to have been in business for some time. The four words settle over the room with surprising weight.
Her large violet eyes find yours.
“If you need anything—”
She pauses, letting her words punctuate.
“—you know where to find me.”
The reassurance eased something tight and unyielding in your chest, a simple reminder that the door was never locked from your side.
Lady Kochō turns toward your friend, dismissing her with a subtle command.
“You may go.”
Mitsuri looks at you before she looks anywhere else.
“You still have a choice,” she whispers. You nod, though you aren’t entirely sure you believe yourself. You still haven’t fully grasped that you were here at all.
You step closer, fidgeting with the collar of the cardigan, suddenly feeling suffocated.
“I’ll be waiting when you’re done.” she says reassuringly, though hidden worry dances in the corner of her eyes.
Her hand slips from yours. Only then did the silence become unbearable and the room began to feel cold.
You waited.
Surely this was the part where he would lead. Or touch you. Or say something smooth enough to make your knees weak. Instead…nothing.
He stands gracefully, adjusting one of his jeweled rings around his finger. He looks toward the hallway, hand outstretched.
“Well?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Are we walking, or are we planning to re-decorate Shinobu’s lounge?”
You blink, heat crawling up your neck in embarrassment at the realization that you hadn’t moved.
“Oh.” you mumble low as you begin to walk, one foot in front of the other, letting the click! of your heels overshadow the thrum of your heart.
His laugh is quiet, amused.
The room at the end of the hallway surprises you. You expected velvety reds and dramatic decor, instead you’re greeted by inviting ivory walls with dark chestnut furnishings. A fireplace flickers softly against polished stone. Fresh flowers rest near an oversized window overlooking glittering city lights.
It looks less like a fantasy and more like somewhere someone would actually live in.
You linger near the door. Unsure where to put your hands, unsure where to put yourself.
Tengen crosses the room without a hint of urgency. He loosens his cufflinks, sets his watch carefully on the dresser.
You watch in silent awe.
He pours himself a glass of water, looking over his shoulder.
“You thirsty?”
“..what?”
“I asked if you’re thirsty.”
You give him a doe-eye stare. “A little.”
He slides a glass across the counter toward you. You catch it with slightly trembling fingers, taking a careful sip. A faint print of pink lip gloss blooms along the rim. When you chance a glance up, you find him watching you, quietly taking your measure.
The silence stretches.
He leans one shoulder against the dresser, a single ash-fallen strand dangles at the arch of his eyebrow. Your breath hitches and your heartbeat quickens. Despite your nerves and the sheer taboo of the situation, the man really was gorgeous, breathtaking in a way that could only be described as otherworldly.
“So.”
Violet eyes meet yours.
“What are you studying?”
You’re caught off guard, answering before you can analyze the question.
“Neonatal nursing.”
His brow rises.
“Really? Babies huh?”
You nod.
“I start clinicals next semester.”
“If…” you correct yourself with a weak laugh. “If I can afford to.”
He listens, doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t pity you or immediately rush to offer a monetary solution.
“You’ve been rehearsing this evening in your head all day, haven’t you?”
Your fingers curl tighter around the glass.
“Is it that obvious?”
“I’ve met enough people to know the difference between confidence and survival.”
His tone isn’t mocking, it’s more matter-of-fact.
You look away. “I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do.”
He sets down his glass.
“I figured.”
Silence.
Then, with surprising gentleness, “You don’t have to impress me.”
For the first time this evening, your shoulders felt safe enough to relax.
Just a little.
You move to set the glass on a nearby side table, the click! of your heels less imposing on the rug-adorned floors.
The room remained quiet, save for the soft crackle of the fire and the hum of an undying city beyond the windows.
When you finally reach for him, it isn’t because you believe you have to, it’s because for the first time since this entire ordeal, you want to stop pretending.
Stop pretending you didn’t lose your job. Stop pretending your back was against the wall. Stop pretending that your dreams were about to slip through your fingers.
Stop pretending that you had agreed to selling yourself to keep your world steady.
Was there no other way?
Quieting your mind, you stretch to plant your lips on his.
This is how it starts, right?
You weren’t a virgin, but you by far weren’t an expert.
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t lean into the kiss nor pull away, instead letting you lead.
You hadn’t planned on that.
Your lips leave a trail down his jaw, leading to the skin next to his Adam's apple, enjoying the restrained swallow and tick of his mandible, as you suckle lightly, careful not to leave any remnants of tonight.
You look up at him nervously, feeling a bit foolish and out of your element.
He raises an eyebrow, smirking down at you in perceived amusement.
“May I?”
His fingers tug at the gifted cardigan. You nod, drawing in a breath as your safety net falls to the floor around your feet.
Bare.
The warm air feels electric against your exposed skin. The tiny bits of skin covered by the skimpy outfit didn’t feel covered at all.
A strong hand cups the base of your neck, holding your gaze.
“You’re beautiful.”
Your lips part. Your heartbeat quickens.
Surely, he isn’t talking about you. He’s talking to the character. The living Barbie painted and prostrated into the lady of the night.
That’s right, get into character.
You lean in, he captures your lips in a kiss where he leads.
Gods he’s a good kisser.
You try to remind yourself that you’re supposed to be his lady of the evening. That you were supposed to please him for a price.
But who were you kidding? You’re a novice in a costume.
You feel your knees start to weaken as you lean into the kiss further. His hands are careful with you, slowly snaking their way down your body, deliberately letting you feel him. Silently reminding you that you have control.
Your body fully melds into him against the wall, legs going completely weak as his lips leave a hot trail down your neck, unconcerned with whether he left remnants of your time together.
A soft whimper escapes your lips.
He hooks an arm under your thigh, encouraging you to hold on as you’re suspended in the air, carrying you to the large bed, decorated in subtle but rich refinery, in the center of the room.
Your back sinks into the soft comforter with surprising gentleness.
He looms over you, drinking in your visage.
Burning you into memory.
His fingers lift to unbutton his shirt.
Is this the first time you’ve noticed his nails are painted?
A subtle lavender, opposite to the sharp fuschia of his eyes.
The next few moments were a blur of tangled limbs, and fiery kisses. Soft praises and breathy moans.
Until you’re naked, crying out from under his skilled and deliberate tongue, working you from the inside with precise fingers until your release is torn from you.
Your orgasm is loud, trembling, and—to Tengen—very flashy.
He lifts to kiss your forehead, your temple, your cheek.
Whispers of “You did so well for me” between every peck.
Your head swims with so many thoughts, feelings, emotions, all under the haze of euphoria as you come down from your high.
Large hands cup your face.
“You still here with me, beautiful?”
You blink through wet lashes, nodding as weak arms outstretch, clumsy fingers fumbling with the buckle to his pants.
He gently swats your hands away with a chuckle, holding your gaze through your now heavy lids.
“Aht aht pretty girl, tonight it’s about what you want.”
“B-but–”
“Talk to me, tell me what you want.”
“Please Tengen.”
His eyes visibly darken as his name falls from your lips.
“Tell me.”
“P-please. Please fuck me.”
The words sound foreign coming from your mouth. Filthy, so unlike you.
The smirk that stirs the butterflies below returns.
His eyes never leave yours. He lifts up to free himself, lightly stroking the heavy bulge that had been grazing at your thigh. Exposed in all of its massive glory.
A strangled sound rumbles low in your throat at the sight.
Your ankles wrap their way around his back, forcing him to lean over you again. He chuckles, his dazzling smile lighting up the space.
You felt you were in a dream, chasing a high with an Adonis who may or may not actually exist.
You were oblivious to the whiny moans you were emitting, or Tengen’s clenched fists and forced restraint as he let you grind against him, allowing you to explore every inch.
“Tengenn”
You plead.
“Yes love.”
He says, teeth only slightly clenched. You had no idea how much restraint he’s imposed on himself for your benefit.
Little did you know, he wanted you to want him.
“Please T-Tengen. Inside. Need you inside.”
Before you realize it, the fat tip is grazing at your entrance.
A guttural moan rumbles low in your chest.
Your hips wriggle for more. The sound of your slick squelching audibly and lewd as you work to take in more of him.
Finally, his hips grind into you. Testing. Seating himself fully before giving into ecstasy completely.
Once you had gotten use to the colossal weight in your warmth, you grip his shoulders, steadying yourself, readying for what’s next.
Him. All of him.
You look into his eyes. Your lips stretch into a warm smile.
“Please Tengen. I want you. I want all of you.”
The room is quieter afterward.
Not because anything had changed outside, but because something inside you had.
You stand before the mirror fastening the borrowed cardigan around yourself. The glitter still caught beneath your eyes, only slightly smudged. Your curls were still full, only slightly fallen around your shoulders.
You smile despite yourself.
Not because life had suddenly become easier. Your tuition balance still existed, your bills were still overdue with looming threats of eviction, repossession, and shut offs.
You are painfully aware that the future had not rewritten itself in the span of one evening.
But the woman staring back at you no longer felt borrowed.
She felt like you.
Tengen joins you in the mirror, seemingly slipping the tiny buttons of his shirt through the slits with practiced precision.
But his eyes are on you.
You turn to face him. Feet shifting nervously as your fingers play at your sides.
“Sorry if I…”
He picks up a tiny piece of silver glitter resting on your shoulder, observing it with a signature smirk.
“You know—-”
He flicks the tiny particle off to the side, shifting his gaze to your face, holding the same intensity as if it was the first time he’s laid his eyes on you.
“Next time—”
Your heart flutters, anxiously beating in your ears at the sheer sound of him speaking to you.
“Lose the glitter.”
You blink, mouth slightly agape.
“...W-what?”
He eyes the cardigan, the curls, the outfit, the remnants of lipgloss that stain your lips.
His gaze softens.
“Bring the nursing student instead.”
He offers one last smile before stepping toward the door.
“Goodnight.”
The door clicks softly behind him.
The thrum of your heartbeat quiets only slightly.
Silence.
Outside the room, soft footsteps approach. The door opens just enough for Mitsuri to peek inside.
Green eyes search your face, “You okay?”
You rack your brain for the answer, only coming up with enough sensibility to respond, “...I think…I will be.”
Your voice came as a whisper.
She crosses the room and wraps you in another hug, just like before, warm and loving—just like her.
You hold her just a little tighter, clutching selfishly at her warmth.
Somewhere down the hallway, footsteps fade until they’re swallowed by the quiet.
Next time.
The words settle deep in your chest. There wasn’t supposed to be a next time.
Tonight was supposed to be a means to an end, not the beginning of a trap.
One stranger. One payout. One impossible choice.
As Mitsuri leads you toward the front door with the intent to take you home, your fingers curl absentmindedly around the sleeve to the oversized cardigan still draped over your shoulders.
You had originally agreed to wear it as a means to hide.
But somehow, after everything, it no longer felt like armor.
~
A/N: hey guys! Forgive me this is not thoroughly proofread since I sacrificed sleep to get this out before my 7 am shift 😭
Let’s talk! So I’m actually not that big of a Mitsuri fan (Mitsuri warriors I’m ready for you ⚔️) but through writing this, she’s grown on me…a little.
Can you believe this fic started out as reader x Sanemi😱 hence the green reference (also it is one of my favorite colors!)
I hope readers enjoy my newer writing style, I’m trying to slowly inch my way from amateur to someone who knows how to convey conviction in a more concise way…
Also forgive me again…I think my chronically stressed and overworked brain has completely lost the ability to write smut. It’s just not in me at this time 💔
I hope your doing okay! Your online children and moots miss you ❤️🔥
Omg hi my love!
This warms my heart tysm😢
I’m alive! —-it’s been brutal
I work 2 jobs and start pharmacy school in a few weeks 😱 so I literally have zero off days 🫠
BUT I’m alive and I have some drafts to publish and I think about you guys constantly and will make an effort to be more active for my online family 🥰 this really warms my heart tho thank you for checking in babes!!
Summary: Shattered by Mai's betrayal, Fire Lord Zuko flees. His destination: the Southern Water Tribe where old wounds reopen, buried feelings resurface, and he discovers that some scars were never meant to heal alone.
Pairing: Zutara (Fire Lord Zuko x Water Bending Master Katara)
Warnings: Not your average Tumblr oneshot, a wopping 5.3k words. Otherwise, none :)
Disclaimer: I own no rights to the original or likeness of the storyline/characters of Avatar: The Last Airbender. However any fics posted on this account are my own original ideas/stories/content. Please don’t repost any of my work as your own.
The sun sets low just above the horizon. Its blazing flames heating still, humid air, casting pink-gold hues over the earth as a final farewell before nightfall.
Robust willow branches hang low in adjacent streams of water, seemingly drinking its subtle ripples, the slender foliage dipping beneath the surface that shimmers under remnants of the setting sun’s rays.
The palace courtyard is almost motionless at this hour. Small creatures scurry to make their way to their respective homes, retiring for the night after a long, torrid day.
A small smile graces his lips. It had been a grueling day for our beloved Fire Lord, who had come to this corner of the Fire Nation Palace to watch the sunset.
This was the part of his days that he enjoyed the most. Watching the sunset had always filled his heart with an immense sense of peace he couldn’t find elsewhere. With the constant needs of his nation, he was never afforded the opportunity for alone time, not unless he demanded it, which of course he never did.
Zuko’s smile widened. A low chuckle rumbles low in his throat. He takes in a deep, calculating breath and exhales slowly, feeling the expansion and contraction of his lungs, and the air that pulls in through his nostrils and out from in between his lips.
He was at peace.
His nation has had a slow, but significant recovery after the great war, and he had great allies in his friends, who were leaders in their own kingdoms and tribes, facilitating their construction and recoveries after the oppressive years they endured under the rule of his merciless father.
All was well.
Well enough, at least.
Zuko had always felt that his life was similar to a glass house. Don’t touch it and all was well, come anywhere near it and it would shatter.
It pained him not having either of his parents nor his sister in his life, broke him beyond words at the fact that they would never get to meet his precious baby girl, born only months ago.
To him, his baby Izumi was all he had left to represent his bloodline. She was his pride and joy, all smiles and a fierce intelligence that far exceeded one so young.
His heart fluttered at the thought of her.
Zuko had grown so much since the beginning of his exile. Transitioning from banished prince to Fire Lord had forced the painful restoration of his dismantled mental health and self image. It was his friends, the fearsome gaang, that really helped shape him into the well renowned head of the Fire Nation he has become.
With a sleepy yawn, Zuko stands to make his way inside, eager to see his baby girl before resigning to his own chambers for the evening.
The day was filled with arduous meetings that droned on and on, and his muscles ached from prolonged regal prostration.
Long crimson robes drag against marbled floor, the sound punctuated by the silence of the palace halls, usually lined with armored guards who were ordered to retire to their chambers for the night. Zuko was not a man who liked a lot of staff around, but he respected everyone’s sense of purpose in their work.
Low yawns and mews of exhaustion echo in the massive hallways, with its tall ceilings and grand archways, each area of the monumental estate made Zuko's heart swell with pride.
This was his.
The Fire Nation palace used to be a place filled with fear and anxiety. He remembered hating growing up here, always seeing his mother’s face filled with worry, her voice always so hushed and secretive.
Now, the palace was a lively place, filled with jubilant royal workers, guests, and family. It was warm, the walls no longer holding angst and condemnation, but now imbuing love and safety.
This is home.
He reaches up to unwrap his hair from its taut topknot, shoulders sagging in relief as he removes the golden Fire Nation hairpiece. Long obsidian strands curtain over broad shoulders. His neck had ached from having his hair heavily coiffed in the center of his head all day.
Turning the final corner to his royal chamber, he is obstructed by a startling scene before him.
Shocked gasps fill the air as panicked expressions gaze up at him in horror.
His wife, Mai, stands in front of the door of the room assigned to his darling daughter, her arms clutching the robes of the head chief of the palace guardsmen, who was no longer adorned in his usual metal armor.
Everything is still, accentuating the betrayal in all its glory.
Zuko takes a precise step backward, using the glow of a nearby wall torch to really see the scene before him, deeply hoping that his exhausted mind was playing tricks on his perception of things.
The chief’s arms are wrapped around Mai’s waist. He hunches over her, both are slightly panting, their lips agape and swollen. At the ‘v’ of her nightwear, Zuko could see her pale skin is littered with blossoming pink love marks that Zuko himself had not placed there.
His golden eyes widen, blazing in fury and hurt. He could feel his fists clenching, flames threatening to ignite with every breath he takes.
Suddenly, the white hot rage Zuko had thought was long gone, buried with the angry teen he once was, started to bubble just beneath the surface.
“Z-zuko”
Mai’s voice cracks as she reaches for him, untangling from the drunken man above her to get closer to her husband.
Zuko’s face contorts at the mention of his name. He takes another step back, adamantly avoiding her touch.
Zuko looks at Mai. Truly, looking at the raven-haired beauty who he never quite understood for the first time. His wife, Lady of the Fire Nation, raised and prepped to become the wife of royalty, the mother to his beautiful babygirl, his partner in sovereignty.
The woman he never knew.
He slowly pumps clenched fists at his sides, willing himself to avoid setting the entire palace ablaze, burning the embers of the betrayal along with all the pain of his childhood.
Without any acknowledgement of the two, he pushes past them into Izumi’s bedchamber, eyes frantically scanning the space for his daughter.
There, in the center of the room is her bassinet, lined in fine satin silks and outlined in frilly white lace lay his precious daughter, her large golden eyes falling onto her father as she coo’ed soft baby babbles to no one in particular.
Zuko’s eyes soften, his fists unclench and reach for the infant, inwardly glad Mai hadn’t followed him in. He picks up the tiny girl, smoothening her ink-black strands and placing a kiss on her plump cheek, letting his lips linger on the soft skin, reveling in the solace that was his babygirl, his greatest love.
With Izumi in his arms, he storms out of the room, past the dumbfounded traitors and toward the palace gates.
“Zuko! ZUKO where are you going with her!”
The hand holding Izumi tightens, holding the chattering baby to his chest firmly as he storms his way through the halls.
“Get my airship ready.”
He says to the guardsmen at the outer gates, clutching his daughter a little tighter as the slight breeze signaling impending nightfall whirls by, lightly ruffling his royal attire.
Zuko looks up at the sky, searching in the darkening orangey hue for answers he didn’t quite have questions to. He then turned his attention to his darling daughter. So unaware of the situation that she was in the center of, so radiant and jubilant, her eyes a mirror image of his own but brighter, unmarred by tints of trauma with a permanent scar to match.
He gently rocks the squirming child, kissing her on the forehead and breathing in her scent to ground himself as the guards hurriedly readied the massive airship.
The Fire Lord didn’t know where he or his bouncy baby girl were headed, but he knew he couldn’t stay here.
The Southern Water Tribe is a glacial terrain of pristine snow and frost. With its tall ice walls and everlasting snowfall, one wouldn’t expect to feel warmth in a place engrossed in eternal winter.
But that’s how most felt.
The sound of metal clashing against metal bounces off soft wisps of frigid air. Today’s a festive day for the Southern Water Tribe, and Sokkka was, to put it lightly, stressed.
Today marked the day of his students’ coronation as incoming Southern Water Tribe warriors, but Sokka had more important things on his mind, mainly a new invention he planned to showcase at the ceremony. If only the damned thing would stop backfiring during test runs.
The creak of metal wrenches tightening squeaky bolts fill the small workspace, alongside Sokka’s heavy breaths and frustrated curses.
Beads of sweat line his forehead, trailing down his temple despite the glacial setting in which he was accustomed to. The pink of his tongue peaks out from the corner of his mouth, back hunched over the metal apparatus in heavy concentration.
The thick tribal-patterned cloth acting as a door draws open, inviting a fresh gust of icy air sprinkled with crystalline snow pellets.
“Chief Sokka,”
It was Yuka, Sokka’s second-in-command, standing tall at the entrance of the workshop, adorned in heavy royal blue winter-wear lined in ivory animal pelts. Yuka was all muscle and strength, standing at a hulking 6'4 with lean muscles and a fierce loyalty to match. The fur of his hood blew softly as wisps of cool air whirl by, his navy blue mask drawn up, piercing blue eyes landing on his war chief in silent awe.
“Hm?” Sokka sings, never taking his eyes off his work, hands moving frantically to tap, tighten, or screw tiny bolt pieces in place.
“Fire Lord Zuko is here to see you.” Yuka says, his tone formal, but twinged in hints of boredom.
Sokka breaks his concentration to peak up at the doorway, head tilting a little to see his long-time friend standing quite awkwardly in long royal robes and a heavy blue parka, trying in vain to keep little Izumi from fisting the fur lining of their gifted winter-wear and placing it in her mouth.
Sokka smiles a large sunny smile that replaces his earlier vexation.
He drops his tools with a clank! Flinging his arms out dramatically to reach for the fussing baby in Zuko’s arms.
“IZUMI! Come to Uncle Sokka!”
Izumi bounces happily on Sokka’s knee, amber eyes wide with excitement, squealing and giggling so hard that sticky baby drool starts to trail down her chin.
“—so I took Izumi, boarded on the airship and landed here.”
Zuko had just finished telling Sokka the story of what prompted his travels to The Southern Water Tribe, exhaustion wearing heavily on the features of his face. He looked frazzled, tired, and candidly—broken.
Sokka raises an eyebrow, never taking his eyes off Izumi.
“Landed here? Yeah sure” he says with a knowing smirk.
Zuko looked at his friend, the fog of fatigue in his eyes lifting at the spirited baby in his hands.
With a sigh, he looks off to the side, suddenly very interested in some forgotten trinket laying in the corner of the room.
“That’s rough, bud. I’m sorry.”
Sokka did his best to be there for his friend, although he never thought Mai was quite right for Zuko. She was too bland, too secretive, and to put it plainly—rude. Zuko was a passionate man, everyone knew that. Yeah, she worked for publicity purposes, but love?
No way.
“Any idea where I can find Katara?”
It came out as a whisper, so low Zuko hadn't realized it slipped from his lips.
Sokka’s smirk breaks out into a full-blown smile, but he reigns in his desire to tease Zuko, realizing the man had just gone through what was essentially the end of a very public marriage only days ago.
“See that large ice building over there? You’ll find her in there.”
“Lady Katara, is there anything I can do to assist you?”
Glacial eyes meet the handmaid’s concerned hazelnut orbs in the ornate mirror hung above the vanity.
Katara flashes the young woman a warm smile, putting on her best stern impression.
“No, Kira, that'll be all. You’re good to go for the rest of the day.”
Katara knew if she didn’t order her away, the poor woman would never leave her alone, waiting on her hand and foot day in and day out was not Katara’s style.
The handmaid swallowed back another reason to stay, hearing the forced tone in her Lady’s voice and opting to listen. With a bow, she made her leave, creamy cotton dress swaying softly as she left the room.
Katara resumed the daunting task of her hair in the mirror, sighing audibly as she moved the whale-tooth comb through her long espresso wavy locks, rolling her eyes at her reflection.
Today was a special day for The Southern Water Tribe indeed, but she had sat through many coronations and silently grew bored of her brother’s antics and pompous show of his new inventions.
Frankly she thought the need for her to be there was uneccesary. She wanted to be with her friends.
Being stuffed in regal dresses, robes, and jewelry was not on her to-do list. She rather be sent off to help teach young women how to become healers, or help facilitate reconstruction, anything but be the token Water Tribe princess, feigning demure stature, hiding who she truly was, an independent adventurer.
She dropped the comb on the vanity, pushing her hair behind her shoulders. She had long grown out of her childhood “hair loopies” and opted for a regal halo braid as a headband pinned to the front with shiny silver water tribe pins, allowing the rest of her hair to flow down her back.
For the event, she wore an off-the-shoulder long-sleeved blue gown that flowed behind her when she walked. She wore minimal makeup, only allowing Kira to apply a gloss and brush out her lashes. She reached up to touch her signature necklace, fingers hovering over the waterbending emblem at the center.
Her heart ached.
Tears threatened to spill over. She wanted to leave.
Ever since her and Aang decided to quietly call it quits, she felt at any moment she would shatter. She had agreed to the separation to explore something that lingered deep within her heart, something unknown yet so familiar to her.
“Katara.”
Katara jumped, startled out of her deep thoughts, nearly falling over in fright.
Her heart skips a beat as she looks up to see the intruder, laughing in relief once she realizes who it is.
“Zuko! Jeez, you nearly made me jump out of my skin!” She says standing to greet him, pulling him in the room for a warm embrace, elated to see her friend.
A tear slips down her cheek as they hug. In this moment, this is what she needed.
What started off as a friendly embrace quickly turns into a yearning of two broken hearts. Zuko leans into the hug, clutching Katara’s waist as if his life depended on her being there. Without thinking, he inhales deeply, bathing himself in her scent, familiarizing himself with the warm feminine aroma that helped him drift off many nights camping with the gaang.
He missed this.
He missed her.
Katara pulled back, slowly untangling the two. She looked up at Zuko with dazzling eyes, looking into the tired embers of his own eyes, worried.
“Zuko, there’s a reason you’re here. Isn’t it?” She asked, her tone laced with concern, as it often was.
Zuko looked down at her, at a loss for words. His mind was riddled with so many thoughts. He was spent, he was hurt, but at this moment he was just happy to be in the company of one of his best friends.
Looking down at her, the world seemed to slow. He goes to speak, but fails as his breath catches in his throat.
Zuko always thought Katara was beautiful but it had been some time since he’d last seen his old friend, and today—well today she looked absolutely captivating. She looked so regal, mature in a way that exposed the womanhood that her teenage years had hidden. She was no longer an awkward adolescent, but a fierce woman who oozed the aura of a leader.
Zuko swallowed. He was at her whim.
Katara tilted her head to the side, taking his hands in hers.
“Zuko? Come sit, you look terrible.”
He couldn’t bring himself to feign a smile. He felt terrible. He felt too many things at once.
“Thanks.” He replies dryly.
Katara looks him over carefully, always so analytical. Always so maternal.
It warmed Zuko’s heart, yet broke it at the same time.
It always stirred something low in his belly to see her so worried about everyone. He always wondered what she must’ve gone through to become such a woman, but he didn’t have to wonder, did he? He saw her fight her own desires to end the man who murdered her mother. He saw how she was the glue keeping a group of rowdy teens together, and always being labeled a nag for it. He saw how despite her large part in the reconstruction after the war, she would always be seen as the token Southern Water Tribe princess, and not the independent Water Bending Master she was.
He saw it.
He saw her.
“Hey,”
Her hand moves to land on his. Soft mocha melding onto pale alabaster.
Katara wasn’t a mind reader, but she understood that whatever the reason for Zuko’s unexpected visit, he didn't want to talk about it just then, which was fine by her, for now.
She knew he’d spill one way or another. Katara was one of the only people Zuko ever had the strength to trust with his emotions. His inner child always felt safe with her from the moment he met her years earlier. But his outer man, well—-he yearned for her.
But that wasn’t something he was ready to explore. Not in the wake of his newly destroyed marriage.
Zuko looks away quickly, biting the inside of his cheek in an attempt to ignore the creeping heat crawling up his neck.
Katara looks at him with large glistening eyes, hints of amusement dancing in cerulean oceans.
“Wanna be my plus one to this thing?”
The coronation event droned on as it did every year. Each one of Sokka’s students were formally introduced to the tribe’s people as official Southern Water Tribe Warriors. Sokka and Yuka marked them in formal tribal face paint, gifting them traditional weaponry and specialized parkas that would be their new everyday attire that branded them as warriors.
Sokka gave his customary speech, introducing the Southern Water Tribe council members one by one, including his father, himself, his sister as the Water Tribe’s very own princess, Yuka his second-in-command, and their surprise guest Fire Lord Zuko. Each member stood with rounds of applause following.
Zuko stood next to Katara, only looking slightly out of place as he sacrificed his customary red robes for tribal blue formal wear, brown leather boots, and a large fluffy parka. Katara had hastily braided his hair back in a single sleek braid that fell down his back for the event. He felt out of his element, going from extreme heat to extreme cold seemed fitting for Zuko’s life.
Zuko didn’t miss the way Katara’s jaw ticked at being introduced as the Water Tribe’s princess, or how the men openly swooned when she stood, not-so-silent whispers bluntly questioning why she wasn’t betrothed as a woman of her beauty should be. Zuko could practically feel her loathing.
How she longed for the same respect as a man.
Sokka went on to thank his students for entrusting him to be their leader—this didn’t go without self praise for his fine job at molding fresh young men into the militia.
Lastly, he introduced his new invention which did not misfire, then everyone dispersed for the evening to enjoy the festivities.
Zuko watched as tribal music commenced with ancient instruments and skilled dancers giving a lively performance. Sokka picked up baby Izumi from a nearby village girl’s arms and twirled her around, dancing with her to the tune and absorbing her hearty baby laughter.
Zuko’s heart swelled.
Katara elbows Zuko playfully, “You look good in blue!”
She says with a laugh, a gilded silver cup of fresh wine in between her slender fingers. She had left her fur parka behind, and only wore the regal dress that fit dangerously tight down to her abdomen, then flowed like water down to the floor.
Zuko couldn’t understand how she could stand the cold air, but she did grow up here after all, ice and snow was kind of her thing.
He looks down at her playfully, a genuine smile stretching across his face.
“Do I?”
She giggles, “No, it washes you out.”
They laugh together, feeling light for the first time in a very long time.
Katara tilts the cup in suggestion, “You don’t mind do you?”
Zuko shakes his head, eagerly taking the cup and downing it in one sip.
The wine was fresh, strong, and went down like silk.
Katara held onto his arm. “Woah there! Didn’t take you for much of a drinker.”
Zuko chuckles, setting the now empty cup on a nearby tray. He turns to see Katara looking at him intently, large eyes somewhat dulled as they dart from his lips to his face.
“Zuko, you got a little..”
A delicate finger reaches up to wipe a stray drop of wine that had trickled down his chin. The petal-soft digit lightly swoops up the silk-like substance in an upward motion, bringing it to her lips to suckle almost too audibly.
Zuko was at a loss for words. He had never witnessed Katara act so lewd, usually the perfect picture of everything proper and orderly.
Heat stirs in his lower belly at the act. He could say nothing, do nothing but stare. All he knew was that she looked gorgeous and it made him burn beneath the surface, it’s why oftentimes he avoided looking at her altogether, but the wine started to invade his bloodstream, making him feel bolder, warmer, looser.
He takes a step back, suddenly feeling a little too warm despite the persistent chill in the air. He tugs at his parka’s neckline, needing to shed some layers.
Katara tugs at his arm, standing on her tip toes to whisper
“I can help you get rid of that heavy thing, follow me.”
Zuko swallows hard, feeling a fluttery sensation all the way down to his hair follicles. He could feel his palms growing sweaty and his ‘heavy thing’ growing heavier. But she was talking about the parka, wasn’t she?
He hadn’t a clue what was happening anymore. The room was too noisy, his head was too foggy, and he wanted to crawl out of his skin and into Katara’s.
Had she had any wine? Zuko wasn’t sure. But he knew her boldened state wasn’t an illusion.
Zuko follows her down a hall that is too quiet in comparison to the noisy festival they had just left. He isn’t embarrassed to admit that he looks like her lost puppy on her heels, eyes lingering on the sway of her hips and the way her body moved so fluidly down the hall. Zuko had always been mesmerized by her gracefulness, attributing it to her bending technique, but the truth was Katara had always moved with the waves even before she became a master.
“Here,” she says lowly, bringing them to a room with a large door. She retracts and clenches the fingers of her right hand, and with a few click clanks the door creaks open.
She looks up at Zuko with a sheepish smile.
“There’s frozen bolts in the door that unlock with bending.”
Answering the question Zuko hadn’t the words to vocalize.
With a giggle she pulls him inside, maneuvering her hands to help him out of his bulky layers. After pulling the parka over his head, he throws his head back with a breathy sigh, cracking his neck and straightening out some, feeling a little lighter without the massive fur weighing him down.
He looks around the room, impressed with the cozy space and its modest decorations. It seemed to be a rest room of some sort, with a few love seats surrounding a marbletop table. There’s a makeshift hearth on the far wall, keeping the space relatively warm.
Zuko’s eyes land back on Katara, whose eyes never seemed to have left him.
He swallows, feeling the air around them thicken in a way he didn’t understand. He could hear her breaths getting heavier and see the rise and fall of her chest, looking almost feral with the way she eyes him.
Zuko was no stranger to sex, evident by the presence of Izumi, however true sexual desire and lust was something he never fully experienced and he could admit that he was out of his realm.
His heart beat ferociously in his chest, alternating with the heavy throb below the waistline. He could feel his mouth going dry and the tips of his ears heating up as his eyes drink in her refined features.
Finding his courage, he rasps “Katara I–”
He’s interrupted by her lips mashing into his, impatient hands fumbling to untie his robes.
Zuko, startled, goes to gently pry her off, but when his hands land on the bare smooth skin of her slender shoulders, he could only lean into the kiss further.
Katara hums impatiently as she sloppily mushes her lips against his, drunken desire fueling her actions.
Zuko could feel his self control starting to slip away, fingers gripping her shoulders in desperation, trying to sort the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that caused the flutter in the pit of his stomach.
Katara pulls back, coming back to reality for a moment. Although somewhat inebriated, her eyes only held sincerity beneath pools of desire.
Zuko looks at her, chest heaving cheeks flushed red, hands still clasping her shoulders.
Katara catches her breath, sober enough to muster the courage to speak.
“Z-zuko I–”
Zuko hangs onto every syllable, waiting for her to make the next move, desperately missing her touch.
Katara blinks, tears pooling at her waterline, glacier orbs crystalline in the light of a nearby torch.
“I love you.”
The words rest between them, fragile as the glass caging their hearts.
Zuko stares at her, his heart pounding so loudly he was certain she could hear it.
For years he'd imagined what those words might sound like if they ever came from her. In every version he'd conjured, he had always known exactly what he'd say in return.
Yet now that they are here...nothing came.
Not because he didn't feel it, but because he felt too much.
His fingers tremble against her shoulder as he searches her face, looking for hesitation, for regret—anything that might tell him the wine had spoken instead of her heart.
He found none.
Only tears.
Only Katara.
"You don't have to say it," she whispered, a watery smile breaking through. "I know tonight has been..."
She laughs weakly.
"...a lot."
Zuko shakes his head.
"No."
His voice cracks.
"You deserve to hear it."
He reaches up carefully, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"I think..." He swallows. "No—that isn't true, not anymore."
Another shaky breath.
"I know I've loved you for a very long time."
Katara's breath catches.
"I just buried it."
His eyes drift toward the floor.
"You were with Aang. I was with Mai. We had responsibilities, kingdoms, lives that no longer belonged only to us."
His laugh is hollow.
"So I convinced myself it was just admiration."
Katara cupped his face before he could retreat any further.
"It wasn't."
"No."
"It never was."
For the first time since walking in on Mai, the tightness around Zuko's chest loosened.
Not because the pain was gone, but because someone was finally helping him carry it.
He leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes, breathing her in.
"I don't know what tomorrow looks like."
"I don't either."
"My marriage is over."
"I know."
"I'm still angry."
"I know."
"I have Izumi."
A soft smile spreads across Katara's lips.
"I know."
Silence settles over them, no hints of awkwardness or uncertainty, but a peacefulness that always seemed so far from reach.
Zuko let out a breath he felt he'd been holding in for years.
"I love you too."
Katara's eyes flutter shut.
This kiss was nothing like the frantic collision they'd shared moments before.
It was slow, careful, and hungry.
This kiss was a far cry from the troubled teens hurling insults at one another with novice bending, but an oath to each other and themselves that they would heal—a promise instead of an escape.
Outside, laughter from the celebration drifted faintly through the ice walls while snow continued to fall over the Southern Water Tribe.
For the first time in a very long time, neither of them felt alone.
The rest of the world could wait until morning.
Morning arrived quietly.
The room smelled faintly of cedarwood and extinguished fire, warm despite the endless snow beyond its walls.
Zuko stirs first. For one blissful heartbeat, he didn't remember where he was.
Then he felt the steady rise and fall of another person's breathing against his chest.
His eyes open.
Katara sleeps peacefully beside him, her cheek resting over his heart, long chestnut hair spilling across both their bodies like a blanket.
He doesn’t move. He simply watches her.
Without the worry lines that usually crease her brow, she looks younger somehow. Softer. Peaceful.
Beautiful.
His lips curve into the smallest smile.
Last night hadn't been a dream.
He remembered every kiss, every confession, every whispered laugh between shaky breaths.
Every promise.
The smile disappears. Reality settles over him like a rush of cold water.
Mai. The Fire Nation. The council. Izumi.
He slowly covers his face with one hand.
"...Spirits."
The movement rouses Katara. She lets out a sleepy hum before blinking up at him.
Striking blue meets warm gold.
Neither speak. Neither knew where to begin.
Finally, Katara offers a timid smile.
"Good morning."
Zuko laughs—a short, helpless breath that borders on a groan.
"I don't think there's ever been a morning less deserving of those words."
She winces.
"...Probably not."
Silence. Not uncomfortable, just heavy.
"I don't regret it."
Katara said it before fear could stop her. Zuko looks at her immediately.
"I regret the timing."
She continues quietly, her voice small and diminutive.
"I regret the pain that brought us here."
Her fingers find his beneath soft satin blankets.
"But I don't regret... us."
His thumb brushes across her knuckles.
"I don't either."
More silence.
"I have to go home."
The words taste bitter, like the combination of two flavors that didn’t quite mix.
Katara nods.
"I know."
"I have to end my marriage properly."
"I know."
"I have to protect Izumi."
"I know."
"And I don't know what happens to us."
Katara looks down at their intertwined hands.
"I don't know either."
She squeezes gently.
"But... I don't think last night was a mistake."
Zuko leans forward until their foreheads touch.
"No."
"It wasn't."
Outside the room, muffled laughter echoes through the halls. Life had continued. Duties and politics would wait for no one.
But for one stolen morning, they allowed themselves a few more quiet moments before the world came crashing back in.
And the world would just have to be okay with that.
~
A/N: Hi everybody! If you made it this far tysm for reading! This took an ungodly amount of weeks to finally push out. Just have to face facts that I'm not a fic writer who can start and finish in the same day *sighs*
Anyways! As always, thank you to my favorite pookies who always show my work some love 💗
If anyone would like to donate in support of my works, that would be greatly appreciated: all proceeds will go toward helping me pay down my balance as an incoming freshman of my Doctor of Pharmacy program
Thank you for supporting my dream of becoming a Pharmacist 👩⚕️’30
Venmo: Haley-AveSav
Bye for now! xoxo
Rengokusflame
[cover art created with the assistance of AI-I'm no illustrator and I never wanna get in trouble for using fanart :) ]
Summary: Part 1 of a multi-part series involving Douma x human F! reader.
Douma assaults reader and gets her pregnant. Follow this drama as reader faces the challenges of becoming a new mom as a slayer, and having Douma, upper moon II, as the father.
Douma x F! Reader (reader is presumed to be a very young adult)
Warnings for this chapter: Nonconsensual sexual content, sexual assault, r*pe, overall dark lore
Word count~2.1k
Chapter I: Implantation
“Hello? Hello, are you there?”
It’s cold.
Your fingers are numb, stiff knuckles cracked and frost-bitten in the heap of fresh-fallen snow.
Snow clumps together in heavy piles around you, disregarding your limp body, the soft fallen fluff turning into icy jagged flakes against your chilled and exposed skin.
Crisp lashes scrape against the skin of your lower lid, your eyes flutter open hesitantly, vision focusing in on the brittle, snow-covered branches above, delicate flakes leaving petal-soft kisses against your paling skin.
You measure your breathing, huffs visible as they frost in below-freezing air.
Your cheeks are flushed, hair completely unraveled from its intricate braid, uniform cuts seep deep into your flesh, fresh blood pouring from new wounds. Your fingers lock, frozen in a tight grip on your sword handle.
“Hey there! Oh! You’re still very much alive. That’s a relief. For a second I thought our fun was over!”
You will your muscles to stop their quivering, audibly gasping as you force yourself to stand on shaky knees, but quickly landing on the wobbly joints in the snow, which continues to pile in heavy heaps from the unwavering blizzard.
The moon hides behind a haze of clouds, its slivers of light highlighting the glints of frost, making the snowy terrain look like a blanket of tiny glittering diamonds in the night.
You struggle to regain your composure, your muscles straining in pain, fatigue, and cold. Your breathing is labored as blood pours from your wounds, staining the frozen floor a deep crimson, its warmth steaming softly against the ice.
Your ears pick up the crunch of footsteps heading your direction. Slow and determined. Slow and mocking, as if they didn’t need to move any faster, they knew just where to find you.
Your heart flutters wildly in your chest, skin vibrating in anticipation. You’d never been so afraid in your life.
Why won’t he just kill you?
It had been hours of this nightmare. Hours of you fighting and losing. Hours of his wind-chime laughter and haunting taunts as you fight for your life against a demon in human form.
You wince at the thought.
“Ss-stop it!” You scold yourself, tightening the grip on your sword as your exposed knees sink deeper in the snow, the microscopic crystals leaving tiny cuts into your raw, reddened skin.
You’d fight from down here if you must. You’d die sword swinging.
His figure closes in, footsteps stopping just a few feet away, kaleidoscope gaze falling on you.
His presence in the scenery is nearly unreal. His eyes glow bright in the hidden shadows of nightfall, the mosaic colors dancing gleefully behind the sinister upper rank 2 markings, reminding you of who you were up against.
Your breath hitches, heart thumping wildly in your chest. You don’t dare blink, don’t move, learning quickly that even the slightest hesitation could mean your death.
Your lungs tense as you attempt to steady your breathing, but before you’re able to exhale, to allow the air to leave your nostrils, he’s there.
Standing directly in front of you, your nose mere millimeters from his trousers, lines crisp, no wrinkles in sight.
“agh!”
You feel the cold scrape of nails against your scalp as his arm wounds around the side of your neck, snaking your hair around his hand in a tight grip, snapping your head back so forcefully you hear a sharp crack! at the base of your skull.
“You look so much prettier with your hair down! Why do you wear it in that braid?”
The rumble of his voice rings loud in your ears, his tone candy sweet, sickening in a way that makes your stomach churn in disgust and hatred.
You don’t answer, audibly breathing misty puffs in the cold air, eyes darting about, trying to focus on something, anything to steady yourself.
It’s not over.
It’s not over.
You chant the mantra repeatedly as your heart continues to thud wildly in your chest.
“Ah, is it because it’s more convenient for battle? That’s so silly! as easily as it comes undone it can’t be that convenient, although I must say, you’re very good! We’ve had so much fun playing this night, I don’t want it to end!”
He says with icy, musical laughter that vibrates against your chilled skin, so close that you feel the tickle of the tips of his hair skimming across your cheek—the prickle of the ashen strands causing you to shiver.
Your neck aches from the grip he has you in, follicles burning as your hair remains taut around his fist.
Your eyes start to water, tears threatening to spill over as you feel heat crawl up your neck. Your jaw tightens as you grit through clenched teeth.
“Let go of me, you prick”
The words come out low and determined, masking the fear boiling hot within your veins.
The demon turns slowly, lips no longer lingering too close to your ear, but turning to look at you directly.
His features are sharp, each outline highlighted subtly in the moon’s light, beautiful in a way that someone who dances with the devil can be. Painfully enticing, meant to rope one into their own demise.
Your heartbeat quickens as he faces you, the colorful prism of his eyes scanning your face. Determination etches across your soft features, but he doesn’t miss the thrum of your blood in your pulse or the way your eyes dilate in delicious fear.
A wicked grin stretches his lips, sharp fangs peaking out beyond the plush barrier of skin to taunt you. His eyes bore into you, searching every pore and orifice for something you aren’t aware of.
Your eyes blink tiredly, body completely encompassed within the throws of exhaustion. Blood still seeps from your forgotten wounds as your eyes fixate on his, their beautiful glow drawing you in, pulling at the depths of your soul like a magnet to metal.
For the briefest moment the world halts. Your knees stop their shaking, blood stops its thumping.
His body hunches over you in the snow, face millimeters from your own. You feel the vice grip he has on your hair as the other hand clutches the small of your back, sharp talons slicing the delicate patchwork of your uniform.
“Wha-what is this?”
The words fall as a whisper that licks your skin.
He leans in.
The grip on your sword tightens.
No time to think, no time to process.
You go to swing, wrists taut, elbows flexing with a single whoosh! of the polished steel blade that doesn’t land.
In the same instant you make the split decision to draw your sword, you land face first into the snow with a heavy thud.
“Silly! So silly, silly slayer girl”
Your head is pushed further into the ice. Your skin burns, you struggle to breathe as your nose fills with frosted pellets.
You try to move, fingers fisting frozen earth as your body wriggles in desperation, trying to fight in vain with a spirit that was far from broken, but finding it impossible to move with the oppressive weight pressing into the center of your back.
The world around you muffles as snow fills your ears. You hear utterances of
silly slayer girl
soft
pretty
silly
Each word punctuated by the tearing of your uniform.
Your eyes widen, suddenly very alert and aware of what was happening.
You move to struggle harder, to loosen his grip even a little, but to no avail. The powerful demon holds you firm, tearing at your uniform, enjoying your muffled yelps and cries as your bare skin makes contact with the ice.
He seats himself above you. Your sword is no longer in your grip, broken in half across the snowy terrain after your final attempt at slashing the sinister demon.
You were powerless, tears falling and melting with the ice beneath you as you feel your legs being parted, bracing yourself for what’s to come.
“Calm down dear, there is no need to be afraid. I will free you.”
His voice is much lower than the taunts he’s thrown at you this night, but still sickly musical in a way that makes your eardrums want to burst.
He tears your underwear. You gasp and whimper in whiny desperation, still face down in the snow. Your thighs instinctively try to clench together, resisting the inevitable assault of your most sacred space.
“You’ll obtain happiness. Nirvana that you never knew existed!”
You scream as the invasion rips through you, the explosive burn rippling throughout your body, tearing and stretching spaces you’ve had yet to explore.
His thrusts start off slow. You feel every drag, every push and pull of his heavy manhood leaving and entering you as your body works with your brain to adjust to the unwanted intrusion, making you slicker and wetter with every thrust.
His groans vibrate against your back. Hums of pleasure rumble low in his belly with every rush of slick your body provides, lessening the friction of your velvety walls.
Your limbs lay heavy on the earth, no longer registering how frozen and cold your skin is, buried in between the heaps of ice.
As the assault continues, your mind wanders, focusing in on the snow and how it continues to blow in the wind, landing softly on your broken body, completely unaware of the torture you endure.
You were so young when you lost your entire family, so young when you became a slayer. There was so much you never got to do, never got to see, feel, or touch.
A sharp tug at your hair abruptly halts your daydream, causing a breathy gasp to erupt from your throat as your head is positioned to expose the side of your neck.
You gasp for air, finally able to see the world around you as you had forgotten your face was buried in ice.
Wet lashes flutter and your vision steadies. Involuntary moans escape your chest as your body responds to his relentless thrusts. His lips hover against your pulse point. Your eyes squeeze shut.
This is it, he’s going to drain you dry and leave you there dead in the forest, in the middle of a blizzard, naked and alone. You’d be lucky if anyone found your remains under the piles left by the winter storm.
Fat tears fall from your face as you embrace death.
At least you tried.
At least you gave it your all.
His lips graze the skin of your shoulder. Trailing up your neck and hovering over your pulse, feeling the blood that pumped just beneath the surface. Dragging sharp porcelain fangs over velvety skin—testing, willing himself to do it, to drain you until there was nothing left.
You send silent prayers and pleas for forgiveness, thanking all who knew you for their love and kindness.
A sharp thrust jolts your body forward.
He bites.
You scream into the wind.
He stops.
He can’t do it, can’t bring himself to kill you.
The world is still as he unwinds your hair, letting your body fall to the ground, bloody and wrecked.
He blinks, your blood flowing down his chin, eyeing the fresh bite mark on your neck.
His cock hangs heavy and limp outside of his trousers, having roared his release into you just moments ago. He enjoys the view of your body, dead-like and limp with his cum flowing out of you at one end and blood flowing out the other.
Douma chuckles to himself, licking the remnants of your blood off his face and adjusting himself before standing to his feet.
He gives your feeble body a measured kick, smirking at the recoil.
You’d live.
“Let’s hope you survive the night, slayer girl. You ignite something in me that I never thought existed.”
His whisper trails off into the wind just like his presence.
He’s gone. He didn’t kill you.
Relief directly followed by overwhelming disgust washes over you.
You go to move, but quickly double over as vomit forces its way up your throat. You struggle to catch your breath, heaving and coughing streams of blood and bile.
It was over. You had survived a brutal attack at the hands of an upper moon.
But he was still alive, still out there.You had survived without landing as much as a single scratch on him.
He had violated you in the worst ways and left without a scratch.
Rage threatened to surface, but you hadn't the energy. Your body collapses, all the will to fight, to stand, to even move now gone.
It was over.
What now?
A/N: Hi everybody! Tysm for reading! I’m kinda anxious 'cause I’ve had this idea mulling in my head for weeks and now I actually have to follow it through *sighs*
Anyways! As always, thank you to my favorite pookies who always show my work some love 💗
If anyone can spare any change in support of my works, that would be greatly appreciated: all proceeds will go toward helping me pay down my balance as an incoming freshman of my Doctor of Pharmacy program
Thank you for supporting my dream of becoming a Pharmacist 👩⚕️’30
As a writer, I always try write in a way that is universal. But I must say as a woman of color, it’s always nice to see works that represent us as the world of anime usually doesn’t!
It’s always been a topic of interest for me, writing the main character as a person of color but I try to never offend anybody or steer readers away! But it is something I will sprinkle into my works more often 🤎🖤 black/brown is beautiful, but all are welcome 🌈 ❤️🔥
All the beautiful works below are credited to the original creators (swiped from Pinterest) I don’t own them or have rights to them in any way 🤗
Summary: Kaburamaru can’t seem to keep himself from sneaking away to your home, mortifying a very frustrated Obanai.
Obanai x F! Reader
Fluff
Warnings: None. Maybe some suggestiveness if you squint really hard. Obanai has a crush, that’s it
Art: stolen from my fav @deathmetaldreams @windingserpentslash
The halls are silent, rug-adorned floorboards absorbing the soft patter of sandals grazing against intricately woven fibers.
The air is still, peaceful in the way your home usually is. This stillness isn’t of discomfort, but of the warmth that the throws of late spring invite. Lively birds chirp happily in the distance, adding to the glow and serenity of the peaceful estate.
A man of diminutive stature glides through your home stealthily, as if the halls were committed to memory, his striped haori slicing through the heated morning air like a sharpened knife cuts through fluffy buttercream cake.
You’re still sleeping peacefully at this hour, hugging your pillow close and nuzzling a bit deeper under the covers, completely unaware of the ghostly reptile that had slithered its way into your home and under your blankets.
The shoji door slides open carefully, dual-colored eyes landing on your sleeping form, observing the slight rise and fall of your breathing, taking you in in your most vulnerable state.
Obanai Iguro shifts carefully at the entryway, heat rising to his cheeks in frustration. He knew he was here, felt him in a way only two very close companions can feel, and it was no coincidence that he seemed to always find his fiercely intelligent pet in your home.
But for Obanai, this was getting annoying.
“Kaburamaru, get over here. Now.”
The words rumble low as to avoid waking you, slightly muffled from under his bandages.
No response from the usually lively creature.
Obanai’s fists clench at his side, feeling disobeyed and embarrassed at being put in this predicament yet again by his most trusted companion.
“Kaburamaru.”
This time, the little head of the expressive white-scaled serpent peaks from the head of the bed, hovering just above your face, his little pink tongue peaking out and retracting just as quickly in a silent “what’s up?”
Iguro’s eyes widen, a vein pulsating at the side of his temple.
Kaburamaru blinks.
Your body shifts, limbs stretching awkwardly as your eyes begin to flutter in impending consciousness.
Obanai stiffens at the doorway, inwardly relieved that he made no attempt to step closer in order to obtain his stubborn friend, but still mortified at the situation nonetheless.
Your lips stretch open in a yawn as your eyes fully open to register the room, breath hitching in your chest as your sleepy mind comes to process the weight on the side of your neck and the stoic man at your door.
—silence
Obanai makes no move or gesture as to why he’s there, his mind going blank at the realization that he’s been caught in your home uninvited yet again.
This was not his usual behavior and he hated how this made him appear. If it were up to him, he’d never talk to you, never be in your presence as he despised how his mind and body seemed to have a will of its own whenever you were in even a 50-ft radius. He also hated witnessing the other Corps members around you— hated how Sanemi’s arm conveniently seemed to always wrap itself around you, hated how Muichiro clung to you like a lost puppy, hated how Mitsuri sang your name and showered you with hugs and kisses at every opportunity, hated how Gyomei gave you head pats and acknowledged you, hated how Tengen openly flirted with you and commented on your beauty, hated how Shinobu always found a reason to invite you to her estate and check on you, hated how effortlessly you laughed and blushed around Kyojuro, hated how even Giyuu—the silent, introverted creep that he was—spoke to you and hovered close.
Obanai Iguro hated how everyone could openly express their love to you when he couldn’t.
If it wasn’t obvious, he was not one who communicated fluently. He kept things curt, blunt in a way that left no room for questioning. And ever since he noticed how his fingers trembled around you, and how his heart seemed to pick up the pace when you entered a room, he decided it was best that he avoided you as much as humanly possible.
That is until Kaburamaru made it his mission to frequently invite himself in your home.
To this very moment, Obanai still hadn’t the slightest clue as to why the snake took such a liking to you and why he was so incessant on dragging his master all the way to the warm space that smelled and imbued every essence of you.
Was this some kind of crude joke?
“Oh, goodmorning—”
You mumble sleepily as you try to move to sit up, noticing the resting serpent on your shoulder.
Even in the fog of your residual slumber, your voice is music to his ears.
Obanai’s heartbeat picks up the pace.
“Hi. I came to retrieve Kaburamaru, I didn’t mean to disturb—”
“It’s no trouble at all! He seems to like it here.”
You reassure as you raise a hand to pet the friendly snake, giggling at the tickly feeling of his lithe body slithering against your skin as he wounds around you tighter in reptilian affection.
Obanai takes a step forward, his patience running dangerously thin as the discomfort of his quickening heart rate and blood flow start to settle in.
“Kaburamaru! It’s time to go now.”
The snake draws his attention from your affections to his master, giving him a slow blink and a tongue peek-a-boo to signify “I heard you the first time.”
You free an arm to push the covers to the side, standing, and gracefully padding across the room to meet Obanai at the door, unwrapping Kaburamaru and presenting him to the striking serpent pillar.
Obanai’s mind seemed to go completely blank for a moment, not registering anything after you moved the blankets and stood in a nightdress that was agonizingly small. He didn’t even know nightwear came that small.
The thin satin fabric pulled taut over your luscious body, stretching painfully over your heavy breasts and subtly wide hips. Every step you took made the fabric ride higher and higher, not even bothering to hide the soft plush of your rear anymore, leading down the mile-long path of your bare legs, skin smooth and even, unhidden by uniform socks.
Your hair was slightly tousled from sleep, but still fell beautifully around your shoulders, remnants of slumber evident in the corner of your eye and in the slight swell of your lips.
Obanai thought you were the definition of a morning goddess. He thought he was going to die.
Your head tilts slightly at his hesitation, a friendly smirk stretching your lips as a hand comes up to grab his scaly companion, fingers visibly trembling.
“Thank you.”
He says so lowly that you barely even register it.
You blink, a toothy grin gracing your face.
“Kaburamaru is always welcome, he knows that.”
Obanai gives a stiff nod of his head, choppy black locks swaying with the movement. He turns to leave, the back of his striped haori facing you as he exits the now too-small space.
“You are always welcome as well, Iguro!” you blurt, heat crawling up your neck, ears tingling in embarrassment.
His steps halt.
—silence
You shift uncomfortably as the air stills.
“You’re welcome to stay if you want. Are you hungry?”
—more silence
Kaburamaru turns to peak his head in your direction, tongue slithering out and retracting, tiny cherry-dot eyes peering at you.
Obanai turns to face you again, expression slightly softer and kinder under his mask.
“Got anything good for Kaburamaru?”
(A/N: I just learned from Google that snakes don’t blink so don’t eat me up for this one! Decided to publish this quickie instead of doing my homework XD
I am in crisis rn I am unable to write smut idk if it’s because I’m not *cough cough* active irl or what but, these little fluffy quickies are all I’m capable of rn. Don’t hate me ily xoxo bye!)
Muichiro Tokito x Female reader (Muichiro is 17 y/o, reader is around 17-19 y/o)
Warnings: None, for once this is all fluff. Maybe a little suggestive if you squint.
Your sandals graze against graveled ground before you can register your surroundings. The air is warm, almost thick with a presence you can’t identify.
It’s a sunny day at the Ubuyashiki estate, soft winds capturing ripe greenery in its throws, causing the slight ruffle of tree leaves and soft sway of fresh blades of grass. The vibrational hum of chattering birds and insects blend in with the serene scenery that is the affluent, but humble estate.
Kagaya’s words fade in the wind as you take in the scene before you. 9 striking figures bowed low to the ground, each of them all starkly different in size, looks, and aura, noses pointed to gravel in prostration and respect.
As your name falls from his lips, all nine of the majestic creatures look up at you, most of them unimpressed, some friendly smiles thrown your way, and few in awe.
You glance over each of the vibrant personas, quietly assessing and taking their measure.
“Up until this point y/n has exhibited incomparable amounts of strength and adaptability, but without any specific breathing technique to call her own.”
They stare intensely at Kagaya, hanging onto every word as if it meant life or death.
“That is where you come in, my cherished Hashira. I have called this meeting today to ask each of you to take y/n in, assess her techniques and help her to identify her breathing style. I believe there is a massive amount of uncharted potential that lies in the identification of her unique breathing technique, and I’m entrusting you, my precious Hashira, to the task.”
Passion pools below the surface of each set of eyes, a fierce loyalty to the master deep set into the very pores of their skin.
You watch in awe, never witnessing such devotion to someone as soft spoken as Kagaya. You can tell no one on the scene harbors any ill-will or animosity, but it seems as though they would die for this man without a second thought.
Who are these creatures?
Eyes land on you once more. You shift at the attention, observing each of them silently.
Up until now, you had just been a regular person killing what you thought were only monsters. Monsters who had somehow escaped hell and were looking to wreak havoc on earth until judgment day.
Well, you wouldn’t wait for that day to come.
In losing everyone and everything you ever loved, you vowed to protect as many people as you could from the horrible creatures. And seeing as you were the only one of your family to be left alive after a brutal demon attack, you saw it as your calling.
God had left you alive for this purpose.
Being born with abnormal amounts of strength was what Kagaya called ‘a gift’.
So, you joined the Demon Slayer Corps, quickly rising up ranks that held no meaning to you.
Since you had no family, no master, or a breathing style, you’d been housed at the Ubuyashiki estate up until now.
With a nod of approval, he dismissed himself for the day’s affairs, leaving you and the mysterious 9 alone.
Silence ensues. The pressures of 9 sets of eyes on you turn your eyes downcast to the ground.
You look up when the large and bejeweled white-haired titan speaks.
“Well you heard the man, who wants to go first with this (h/c)-haired beauty?” He says with a flare. You can’t help but stare, the man is gorgeous. All glitz and glam with shiny muscles to match.
More silence.
You wait patiently for next steps as you watch everyone contemplate as to what to do with you. Truly, you felt this was a waste of time. Why Kagaya left you in their hands? You don’t know.
The man with different-colored eyes, upper limbs engulfed by his own striped haori sneers and points a finger in your direction.
“She’s a girl. I’ll have nothing to do with this little training experiment.”
This earns him a frown from the painted taller man.
“Aht aht, Iguro you heard the master. We must all join our efforts to train this jewel to unlock her breathing style. Besides, I wouldn’t talk down to someone who climbed the ranks in weeks when it took you years.”
A smirk pulls at the corner of the man with fiery eyes’ lips while a woman with large colorful braids stifles laughter.
You can’t help but giggle yourself.
A man covered in scars lands a hand on the striped man’s shoulder, causing his snake to shift.
“Ahh come on, Iguro. It will take no time and besides, this way we get to see what she’s made of. Heard she’s strong, can’t wait to be the judge of that!” He said with a grin in your direction, smacking his right fist against his left palm, the harsh pops of his knuckles cracking fill your ears.
You shiver slightly. Not looking forward to spending any time with that one.
“I’ll do it—I don’t mind going first.”
You turn to see a young man with long sleek hair and a graceful presence, although shorter than most of the group, indicating he was much younger. His large eyes are a misty faded blue accompanied by keen features configured into a stoic mask. His eyes hold muted curiosity and dreamy wonder under a thick haze. Just by looking at him, you can tell he’s been through hell and back—a story steeped in tremendous loss and marred by pain, but reversed in redemption–a story everyone in the Corps shared and wore proudly, but this young man, this creature, he held it within under a heavy brume—with poise, precision, and solemnity that didn’t belong to someone so young.
“Then it’s settled, Tokito will start with her first and we will go in order of who isn’t assigned to missions week by week. Sound like a plan, doll? Oh and by the way, the name’s Tengen Uzui but you can just call me Tengen.”
He was mesmerized as soon as you glided into the garden, hair swaying down your sides, haori hanging loosely on your slender shoulders, a doe-eyed but sharp gaze hinting at the innocence that was long gone but soft lore that still remained.
Muichiro Tokito wasn’t one who cared for many things, much less remembered them, but he was curious, patient in his assessment of others, and tried to push past the fog of his own mind for the sake of holding onto things that were important.
As young as he was, he was respected for his unnatural maturity and laser focus to the cause. Slaying demons that is, as that is all he had left.
He found comfort in his comrades though, taking a particular liking to the fatherly presence of Mr. Gyomei Himejima, and the company of the other Hashira, when he could remember why he was around them in the first place.
Being robbed of his entire family at such a young age and climbing the ranks like his life depended on it left no room for normal milestones. He never once looked at a girl without passiveness, much less understood the lore behind male/female relationships. But with you gliding into the Ubuyashiki garden with all the grace and femininity of a goddess, he was hooked, his brain—for once—was laser focused. On you.
He extends a hand in your direction, a courtesy he didn’t even know he was capable of.
“I’m Muichiro Tokito, the Mist Hashira.”
“SHE MAY BE PRETTY BUT SHE’S NO MATCH FOR THE SPEED AND AGILITY OF MIST HASHIRA LORD TOKITO!”
“PUT A CAN IN IT WILL YA?! SPEED AND AGILITY ARE NO MATCH FOR HER STRENGTH! AND ONCE HER BREATHING STYLE IS IDENTIFIED SHE’LL BE UNSTOPPABLE!!!”
Crows squawk in still trees overhead, Tokito’s crow as nasty as ever, yours more noisy and obnoxious than normal.
Muichiro shoots a sharp gaze in their direction, bringing their squawking and flapping to a halt.
“Quiet you two, or I’ll make you leave.” His tone is flat, cut with authority.
“Our apologies, Lord Tokito.” They say back in unison.
You watch the interaction silently, finding it strange how pet crows became your new normal but finding it cute nonetheless.
Muichiro’s gaze returns back to you, wooden prop sword in hand.
You stand a few feet away, your own mock sword clutched loosely in your right hand.
A soft breeze whooshes by, swaying your haori looser, exposing more of your shoulders and chest. Your fingers move swiftly, adjusting the stubborn fabric and resuming your stance, waiting for your next directive. All the while, Muichiro’s eyes never leave you, calculating every movement and committing it to memory.
He swallows a little too audibly for someone so composed.
“Mist breathing has seven forms, with the seventh being self-taught. This breathing style relies on speed and precision.” His eyes scan you over.
“The Master regards you as ‘strong’ but strength alone won’t be enough to master Mist breathing.”
A smirk tugs at the corner of your lips as your stance widens, grasping the wooden sword in both hands as you prepare for your training to start.
“Don’t underestimate me so early, Muichiro. You have yet to see what I’m made of.”
His expression remains flat, but a playfulness teases in the depths of his eyes. His ears twitch at the fall of his name from your lips, stirring at his insides and beating around the edges of his heart.
What is this?
The way your lips wrap around the word Muichiro, he wanted—no…needed to hear you say it again. That was his name you were saying, and he never wanted you to stop saying it.
With a speed so swift your eyes can’t follow, his stance widens, feet barely gliding against the ground as he clasps the mock sword.
“Very well then, ready? GO!”
You slump against the wall of the well, chest heaving, finding it impossible to catch your breath, the cool jagged rocks against your back keeping you somewhat alert.
Muichiro stands over top of you, collecting water into a tin bucket. He watches you from the corner of his eye, never missing a moment to study you, your appearance, your next action, every expression, tick, and quirk that made you you.
You slide a knee up to prop your elbow against as you rub at your forehead, kneading out the tension at your temples from such a demanding training session. A faint blush creeps up his neck as he catches sight of your undergarments peeking through the exposed space where your leg and skirt didn’t cover, distracting himself by dipping small towels into the bucket to soak them.
“You did well today.” He says flatly, but with a hint of more fondness than prior.
He continues to dip the towels in and out of the bucket, wringing them out and soaking them again on repeat.
Over and over.
Anything but look at you. At how the sweat clings to your skin, dipping into the valley of your breasts. How your waist dipped in but widened at the hips, giving the modest uniform skirt a run for its money. How you challenged him without fear during training, your hair swaying, scent distracting him, the sounds that erupted from your throat as you landed your attacks.
Everything. Everything. It was all too much.
It was as if your presence lifted the fog clouding his mind. With you he could see almost too clearly. And he didn’t know how to handle it.
He finally stopped his inner monologue, extending a hand to offer you a damp towel.
“For your face and to clean any fresh cuts.”
You look up at him with large eyes, lids heavy with fatigue but still that sparkle of wonder and seductive pull of your femininity playing at the center.
Damn you. He sucks in a breath.
You stand and take the moist cloth, leaning against the well’s edge, enjoying the soft winds of impending nightfall against your sweat-licked skin.
“Thank you for today, Lord Tokito.” You say with a slight bow, messy strands of your hair sticking to your neck and shoulders as you come up.
He frowns. “Muichiro, just Muichiro.”
You smile, leaning back casually against the well’s edge once again, using the towel to wipe at the dirt splotches on your now sticky skin.
“What does Muichiro stand for anyways?” you say playfully, not really expecting a formal answer, but trying to pull at his strings a little.
“Hm?” Confusion crosses his face as he folds his arms, casually leaning back against the well’s edge with you.
Finally, loosen up the uptight act will ya?
“Well, I’ve been told it stands for ‘Infinity’.” He says, eyes gazing at the pink and orange sky, seemingly lost in his own memories.
“Told by who, exactly?” You ask curiously, raising an eyebrow.
His gaze drops to land on you once more.
“My twin brother.”
“You have a twin brother?! Since when?”
“Since birth I suppose.”
You plant a palm to your forehead at his candidness. “I mean, I haven’t seen a duplicate of you anywhere. Where is he?”
“He’s dead.”
No change in expression. No emotion.
“Gah! I’m so sorry Muichiro, geez.”
“It’s quite alright, that was some years ago anyways.” He says, eyes resuming their star gaze towards the skies.
Silence ensues.
You scoot a little closer, fingers grazing his.
His breath catches.
“I like the name Muichiro. It’s nice. Cute. Like you.”
He says nothing, willing his eyes to stay put in the sky, mouth going dry as his mind tries to process the brazen compliment.
With a speed that surprises even you, you swiftly connect your lips against his jawline, standing to make a hasty exit heading back to the Ubuyashiki mansion.
With your back towards him, you crane your neck to give one final glance before waving goodbye and sending your thanks, promising to be back tomorrow to resume training. You enjoy the glitched look on his face, mouth slightly agape as his fingers move to touch where your lips once occupied.
A blush creeps up your ears as you realize what you just did.
On the path back to the mansion your crow catches up with you, landing gracefully on your right shoulder without complaint.
You tap a finger to your chin as you ponder the day's events, your body sore and achy, but your mind filled with the swirl of circulating thoughts.
Warnings: Adult content! 18+ minors do not interact! M! x M! No romance, no aftercare, just Sanemi being a straight brute to a submissive Giyuu
Oneshot!
“Sshh-shiit! Fuck!”
Kakushi hastily scurry to their respective corners of the estate, all too aware of the happenings behind the thin shoji doors. Flushed cheeks and hushed whispers hide behind booming reverberations that echo off of every surface.
Sanemi Shinazugawa grips the edge of the desk tightly, knuckles going pale, palms growing slippery against the polished wooden surface.
Sweat-slicked strands the color of freshly fallen snow plaster against his forehead, the sheen stretching down the muscled skin of his abdomen, fully exposed as the remnants of his button-down lay across the floor.
A hand loosens its grip to entangle in Tomioka’s thick ink-black hair, pulling so forcefully the poor follicles threaten to break loose.
A rosy blush blooms across Tomioka’s cheeks, mouth going hollow as he takes in more of Shinazugawa’s thick heavy cock, suppressing the urge to gag as the flushed and angry tip stretches the restricted walls of his throat.
His eyes squeeze shut, taking him in deeper.
slowly. inch by agonizing inch.
A rough tug of his hair tilts his chin up slightly, cock still lodged deep, tongue dragging along the undersides in silent exploration.
Teary blue eyes open to angry violet irises, shaky dilated blood vessels punctuate the elder’s sheer frustration with his unruly pet.
“What’re you cockdrunk already? You know the rules. Eyes open, Tomioka”
The words come out low in volume but laced in so much venomous desire a chill runs through Giyuu’s spine.
He brings a hand up to cup him, hefty balls lay heavy and full in his hand as the pads of his fingers knead the soft pliant flesh.
“F-fuck, Tomioka! You fuc-king tease–”
Sanemi roars through clenched teeth.
Giyu, observant as ever, notices the slight tick and twitch in his jaw, the ever-present vein pulsing at his temple signaling he was holding back.
Hungry groans rumble low in his throat as he sets a steady pace, drool slipping from the corners of his mouth, down his chin to the base of Shinazugawa’s swollen, angry cock. With every sloppy drag up, he circles the fat flushed tip with his tongue, savoring the salty, slightly sweet taste of his pre before sinking back down again, throat constricting with every pull at the back of his head.
“AGH, DAMN IT! F-fuck this!”
A second hand comes up to tangle in his hair, fingers gripping either side of his head.
A strangled sound of protest emits from the back of Giyuu’s throat, his own fingers digging into Sanemi’s thighs for leverage.
“Nuh uh don’t fight now. You wanna act like a brat, I’ll treat you like the damned brat you are.”
With an evil grin, Sanemi sets a steady pace, face fucking him so roughly that fat tears fall from Giyuu’s face.
“Hmm yeahh! That’s it—-needed this today. If you hadn't been so busy edging me I’d already be back in time for a sparring session with Iguro. But no— so damn bratty today. What’s with you!”
Giyuu could only whine in response. Face flushed a deep rosey pink, sweat collecting on his forehead as his brows furrow in concentration to keep his jaw relaxed and his breath steady.
Sanemi’s pace is brutal, fingers fisting the now damp strands of sweat-slicked hair, knuckles white from the sheer force of his grip.
With a final thrust, Tomioka’s nose sits flush in Shinazugawa’s bush, the wispy ash-fallen curls filling his nostrils as he struggles to inhale, no choice but to swallow all he’s given.
Giyuu feels his vision start to blur, head feeling full as his sense of hearing starts to fade. His scalp burns from the rough tugs at his hair. Sanemi’s thighs twitch underneath his weak hold, roaring curses as his cock spills thick streams down the constricted walls of Tomioka’s throat.
“Ha! fuck! Fuck! FUCK!”
Giyuu’s eyes bulge, fingers tightening their grip on Sanemi’s thighs as he struggles to take everything he’s given.
Sanemi doesn’t loosen his grip, holding Tomioka flush to him as he continues to lazily pump him full, his composure weakening as the gummy walls of Tomioka’s throat continue to milk him.
Once empty, Sanemi leans back on the desk’s surface, ragged breathing slowing to a steady concentration.
He looks down at Giyuu, mentally memorizing his flushed and fucked-out face as he places a flat palm on Giyuu’s forehead, forcefully pushing him off, soft swollen lips lazily disconnecting with a ‘pop’.
Giyuu—-abused, tired, and sore—thumps against the creaky floorboards, using his uniform sleeve to wipe his tear-streaked sweat and spit-covered face, shakily trying to steady his breathing.
Sanemi straightens, adjusts his uniform pants, gracefully slipping into his button down before walking toward the exit, hand bracing to open the door.
“Ask one of the help for some water on your way out.” He says without a look towards the disheveled Hashira.
Giyu looks up, eyes landing on the back of Shinazugawa’s neck, noting the veins present there. Always protruding in silent impatience and anger. He wondered what it would take for the frustrated wind pillar to finally relax.
Tomioka stands slowly, his stoic, impassive expression resuming once again.
“Same time tomorrow?” Laced in formality dipped in a silent plea.
Sanemi’s head turns slightly, eyes wide, pupils shaky. Keen features contort in a nasty grimace,
“—-Tch! Fuck you, Tomioka! Out! Now!”
Giyuu raises his hands in surrender, following the disgusted Hashira out of the room, padding down the hall in the opposite direction.
Yeah, same time tomorrow.
A/N: this was sh*tty I’m sorry guys, I cannot seem to get back into the swing of things when it comes to writing. I keep starting new fics, realize my writing is crap and then quit, but tryna push through because I really love interacting with everyone on here—you guys are my extended family! xoxo
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