These are links to all of my fanfictions! They’ll take you to AO3: I prefer the organization there, and it helps keep the links from getting too cluttered ♡
Taishō Era AU: This folder contains my Taishō Era fics. Most of them closely follow the Demon Slayer timeline and setting, written as if Y/N is a natural part of the world. It’s structured as a series, so you can rotate between all of the fanfics in this section.
High School AU: This folder features my High School AU, imagining all of the Hashira and the main trio as students. The majority of the Hashira are seniors, the younger ones are juniors, and the youngest three are freshmen. It’s written in the same series format as the Taishō Era AU, so you can rotate between chapters at your own pace.
Smut Collection: This folder contains most of my smut-focused fics. The majority take place within the Taishō-era canon universe, though there may be a few set in the High School AU. Please note that all participating characters are written as being of legal age.
Ripple in Time: A Slow-Burn College AU series where Taishō-Era Giyu Tomioka quite literally falls from the sky and lands in Modern-Day Y/N’s room. What follows is a gentle, emotional slow burn filled with fluff, quiet bonding, and eventual smut! This series is ongoing and updated weekly.
No Strings Attached: An Enemies-to-Lovers College AU slow burn where Sanemi Shinazugawa and Y/N, burdened by unrequited feelings, blur boundaries under the guise of stress relief. It’s messy, tender, and doomed to unravel. This series is ongoing with weekly updates.
Heartbeats & Hashira: An ongoing series dedicated to fulfilled requests, all collected into chapter format. Each chapter is clearly marked by title and emoji for fluff or smut. The series is Giyu & Sanemi–centric, with occasional features of other characters.
All About Me: This space is reserved for anon asks, conversations, and little moments of interaction! Feel free to lurk, ask questions, and have fun !! (✿ꈍ◡ꈍ)
OMDDDDD i just read your affectionate feeding fic. SOOOO GOOD. I GOT LITERAL BUTTERFLIES READING THATTT. giyuuuuu why are you not real i want to feed you food too!!!!, you are SUCH a good writer loveee
stop i am actually going to cry, this means sooooo much to me !! I have actually been feeling really insecure about my writing recently so seeing this rlly lifted my spirits and made me sooo happy, i have much love for you all ₊˚⊹♡
So it would be a Giyuu x reader fic and the reader makes giyuu all these types of treats and his favorite food all the time and when he questions her why she says “to fatten you up so you can run away from me.” Idk id feel like that would be cute and funny!!
Also thank you!!
✨ Prompt: Taisho Era || Affectionate Feeding
🎧 Song on Loop: Heaven Knows || 54 Ultra
🌟 Author's Note: Thank you so much for requesting this !! I’m so in love with the idea of Fem!Reader being stubbornly persistent with Giyu + always talking to him, always including him, & feeding him like she’s decided he’s her responsibility now. I totally see him as a nervous stray cat that you have to keep showing up for until he finally realizes you’re safe. So this prompt was super silly and honestly perfect for my expectations. I tweaked it a little too because I don’t think bold language would freak him out, just startle him, especially when they’re still in that slow-burn, yearning phase where they like each other, but they aren’t openly courting yet ( ꈍᴗꈍ)
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
The Butterfly Estate was always scented with softness, whether it was wisteria drifting in through open shoji or clean linen sun-warmed on the lines.
A faint sweetness of steamed rice lingered in gentle layers, as if the estate itself insisted on tending to people who didn’t yet know how to be tended.
Where others had felt comfort, Giyu Tomioka felt only the absence of knowing how to belong.
The Kakushi bowed and smiled in passing; he returned the gesture with quiet formality, hands folded into his sleeves, his expression unreadable.
He spoke little and refused to reach for warmth.
And yet, lately, warmth had a way of finding him.
It started off as something small.
A folded cloth pressed into his hands after training, still warm from the sun, scented faintly with jasmine.
The quiet appearance of a cup of tea at his side, placed there before he had known that he needed it.
A soft, fondly scolding, “You’ll catch a cold,” when he stood outside too long, the evening wind slipping.
At first, he told himself it was Kanae.
Perhaps even the warmth of the estate.
Then he’d realized it was always her.
Y/N.
The Celestial Hashira belonged to the Corps like starlight belongs to water. She was beautiful and magnetic, and he knew, without question, she was never meant to be something he could ever reach.
She moved with grace, but it wasn’t the kind that made people feel distant. It was the kind that made you feel safe being near her, as if she wouldn’t punish you for your silence or your awkwardness.
She spoke to everyone, comforted everyone, and yet, somehow, she kept finding her way back to him.
Nothing about it was loud or demanding, only the quiet certainty of being included without thought.
The first time she offered food, it was casual.
It happened on a day they’d gathered in the Butterfly Estate’s courtyard after a meeting, the Hashira scattered like pieces of a constellation.
Shinobu spoke with Kanae, her voice balanced between brightness and something sharp beneath.
Mitsuri had been squealing over how cool Obanai was, her cheeks tinged pink and her smile wide.
Giyu stood aside, watching koi drift beneath the water’s surface, their bodies flashing like flames.
He hadn’t realized how obvious his hunger was until she stood beside him, both quiet and unassuming.
She offered a small packet wrapped in cloth, delicate and precise, and he could only blink at it.
“It’s pickled daikon,” she said gently. “Sake daikon. The kitchen had made too much. I know you like it. ”
At first, all he could do was stare; no one ever approached him like that, not without reason.
Least of all with something as intimate as food.
“…Thank you,” he said, quietly and carefully, as if even that much kindness needed to stop there.
She smiled, not to win or diminish him, but with a softness so unguarded it had warmed his ears.
“You smile more when you eat it,” she’d said softly.
Giyu blinked, unfocused, and his eyes began to wander toward the pond, the petals, anything.
He wasn’t used to being perceived at all.
As if she sensed his discomfort, her eyes widened, and then she bowed politely and walked away like she hadn’t just handed him something soft enough to make his chest tighten, unfamiliar and strange.
Giyu wasn’t sure what to do with any of this. The other Hashira had never approached him like this.
Absently, almost hesitantly, he took it to the back of the estate, where no one would see him enjoy it.
The daikon had been crisp and bright with sake sweetness, the flavor clean and comforting.
It left him staring at nothing long after, cheeks warm, belly full, the packet lying empty in his lap.
Then it happened again.
A small bun. Salted fish wrapped neatly. Candied citrus pieces, sweet and bright from a village trip.
It began to feel habitual, like being remembered.
That was the frightening part. Giyu was used to being remembered in ways that had left marks.
As the one who survived when others had not.
As the quiet one, the strange one, the outcast.
The one Shinobu had teased, because it was the only way she knew how to show that she cared.
But Y/N remembered him like a person.
Like a man who might have preferences.
That thought petrified him, and still, it made him want more, even as he told himself he shouldn’t.
He would not allow himself to name that want, and he certainly wouldn’t allow himself to indulge it.
But he found himself slowing his steps near her.
Standing a little closer when she was speaking.
Watching the small grace of her hands as she offered a cup of tea, her sleeves retreating just enough to show the slender curve of her wrists.
He also began to notice things he shouldn’t have.
The way her eyes widened for a heartbeat, lashes flickering like she was trying to catch her breath.
The way she leaned in just a little, patient and sincere, like she had all the time in the world.
It made his throat feel dry.
He told himself it didn’t mean anything, she was simply kind. Kind to everyone, not just him.
So why did it feel like she was kinder to him?
He forced himself not to analyze her intentions. He was simply thankful she’d come near him so easily.
But then again, maybe it was his own weakness, his own selfishness, praying her kindness was a sign.
Y/N was kind, but she was also unmarried, and it was impossible not to notice what that meant.
A trainee spoke in a hush, certain he couldn’t hear the shape of her words. “The Celestial Hashira always talks to Tomioka,” she murmured, voice warm with intrigue. “Isn’t it strange? He doesn’t talk to anyone… why court him, out of all people?”
Giyu slowed, then tilted his head just a fraction.
He turned his gaze toward her, a quiet question tightening in his chest. Was Y/N… courting him?
The trainee stopped breathing for a heartbeat, then went pale. Her whole body shook as she bowed repeatedly, apologies tumbling out without sound.
He didn’t respond, didn’t even let his expression change, but the words stayed with him all day… because they weren’t wrong.
Y/N did talk to him.
And she was still a young lady, after all.
And he, an unmarried gentleman, found himself letting her in little by little, without ever meaning to.
He couldn’t name the moment it shifted, only that he began to anticipate her, softly, instinctively.
He’d step away from training and, without even realizing it, start looking for her before his mind could scold him. Will she bring something today?
He would return from a mission barely holding himself together, and his body would brace for the quiet, for the nothingness… but she would show up anyway, carrying tea and something warm, her voice gentle as she asked, “Are you hungry?”
Sometimes she didn’t even ask.
She just placed food in front of him like she was anchoring him to the world with rice and salt.
And he chose the scariest option, again and again.
He stayed. He lingered, as if he belonged there.
He sat longer than necessary. He let the silence stretch between them without running from it.
He didn’t understand how it was happening.
He’d be wandering the estate grounds with his hands tucked into his sleeves, thoughts far away… and then, like his body sensed her before his mind could, he’d look up and find her walking toward him.
Some days she arrived with something tucked in her hands. Other days, she came with nothing at all.
But she always looked at him like it was a small joy, seeing him there. And it shouldn’t have mattered.
Yet it did.
It mattered enough that one afternoon, when the sun felt gentle against the skin and autumn hovered at the edge of the air, Y/N halted in front of him and murmured casually, “Will you eat with me today?”
Giyu’s mind went blank.
His body answered first, eyes blinking slowly, head tipping just a fraction, while his heart started beating louder, as if it couldn’t pretend anymore.
“With you?” he repeated, almost disbelieving.
Y/N held up a bento box as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “By the koi pond. It’s quiet there.”
He should’ve said no before his heart could get involved. It was too intimate, too warm, too much.
He should’ve stepped back into the comfort of obligation: claimed he had a report, a briefing, training to run. He should have done the safe thing.
Instead, he found his mouth moving.
“…Alright.”
Y/N’s eyes softened, her smile warming like sunlight as she lowered the bento. “Good,” she said in that gentle voice of hers, and then she turned and walked ahead, trusting him without hesitation.
Giyu remained where he was for a fraction longer than necessary. Then, quietly, he followed.
Behind the Butterfly Estate, the koi pond lay nestled in quiet seclusion, half-hidden beneath flowering greenery and tall grasses that moved in slow waves.
The water was so clear he could watch the koi glide beneath the surface, unhurried and graceful, their bright scales flickering like firelight.
Y/N was perched on the wooden ledge of the koi pond like it was her quiet little corner of the world, her skirts tucked neatly beneath her, back straight yet at ease. When Giyu approached, she lifted her gaze and patted the spot beside her in invitation.
He sat down, careful to leave a respectful distance.
Y/N’s eyes flicked to the careful gap, then back to him, her mouth curving like she was trying not to smile too much. “Are you afraid I’ll bite you?”
Giyu’s ears warmed despite himself. He glanced away, the answer barely more than a murmur.
“No.”
The amusement in her eyes melted into something more tender. “Then come closer,” she whispered.
He didn’t know why that made him move.
He should have remembered propriety. Distance. That she was a lady before she was a Hashira.
But he shifted, closing the distance by a few inches.
Y/N’s eyes danced, delighted, like she’d won something she didn’t even have to ask for twice.
She set the bento down between them, fingers deft as she unlatched it. Warm steam and the soft scent of rice drifted up, comforting in the gentlest way. Pickled vegetables. Thin slices of meat cooked in soy and sugar. A portion of fish, glossy with sauce.
And there, nestled in one corner, was sake daikon.
Giyu stared.
Y/N watched him quietly from the corner of her eye, acting as though she didn’t see his attention catch.
“I wasn’t sure it was to your taste,” she said lightly.
He looked up at her. Her expression was too sweet to be real, lashes downcast, wisteria shifting softly.
His voice came out low. “You knew.”
Y/N laughed softly, breathy. “Maybe.”
They ate without rushing, the hush between them settled and calm. Not awkward. Not sharp. Just… soft. Y/N was always thoughtful like that, always making space for him without making it obvious.
Giyu ate with quiet restraint, but his attention kept betraying him. Her shoulder was near enough to feel warm. Her sleeve brushed his arm when she reached for her tea. He caught the soft sound of her breath when she swallowed, the sweet little sounds she made when she tasted something she liked.
He tried to focus on the koi.
But then he noticed it: whenever he paused, whenever he lingered uncertainly before taking something, Y/N would gently move it closer to him, quietly filling his side of the bento without a word.
Not dramatically.
Just… a little more rice placed near him.
A slice of meat laid gently on his portion.
A piece of pickled vegetable moved into the space near his chopsticks, both subtle and deliberate.
And whenever he lifted his gaze, she’d be taking a quiet sip of tea, as though nothing had happened.
Giyu paused, the faintest crease forming.
His eyes lingered on her hands, and he swallowed as if bracing himself. She did it again, daikon slipping over to his side with gentle precision.
He didn’t speak right away, because he didn’t know how to name it. It wasn’t unpleasant. Not at all.
It was heavy and warm, and he was tired of pretending he didn’t know what that meant.
Finally, he set his chopsticks down carefully.
Y/N looked at him, blinking. “Are you full?”
He lingered in the silence, then finally asked, quiet and careful, “Why are you giving me everything?”
Y/N paused, and for the briefest moment, eyes widening just a little.
It was gone as soon as he noticed, and an almost mischievous expression slipped onto her face.
She leaned in ever so slightly, gaze dropping to the bento before lifting back to him, soft and intent. It was dangerous in the way it made his chest ache.
“I’m feeding you,” she answered, soft and steady.
Giyu stared and hesitantly squeezed out, “why?”
Y/N leaned a little closer, her voice slipping into something teasing as she whispered just inches from him. “I want to fatten you up,” she said softly.
Giyu blinked slowly, caught off guard, and then warmth rushed to his face before he could stop it.
Y/N’s smile grew, soft and pleased, as if his stunned innocence was the cutest thing she’d ever seen. “That way, you never leave me,” she added lightly, as if the words didn’t steal the air from his lungs.
Giyu froze, gaze sliding away as if looking at her too long would undo him completely. He blinked rapidly, searching for something steady. He couldn’t speak. This was all unfamiliar territory, too warm, intimate.
He swallowed hard, his throat tightening, and his eyes slid back to her as if he couldn’t tell whether she was teasing him or offering him something real.
Y/N laughed gently, breathless and warm, her eyes crinkling as she covered her mouth with her sleeve.
“Oh, Tomioka,” she whispered, voice bright with amusement as she tipped her head, hair slipping softly over her shoulder. “You’re so cute like this.”
“I’m not—” he started, voice sharp with reflex, but the words died on his tongue. He didn’t know what he was denying, only that he was suddenly burning.
Y/N smiled at him, sweet and sure, and lowered her voice as if it was meant only for him. “You truly are.”
He watched her, lips parting like he was about to deny everything. But his eyes found her mouth, and suddenly he couldn’t remember how to speak at all.
Y/N leaned in, eyes warm and bright, her voice dropping like a secret confession. “Tomioka,” she whispered, “if you’re full, then you have to stay near me. So I can keep feeding you. That’s how it works.”
His eyes flicked away, toward the koi, because he couldn’t hold her gaze and keep breathing at the same time. Her teasing was too gentle. Too pretty. Too intimate. And it made something in him ache.
“You don’t need to do that,” he said quietly.
Y/N let out a quiet, pleased hum. “Do what?”
“Feed me,” he murmured, a faint heat in his tone despite himself. “You don’t have to… really.”
Y/N smiled to herself, gaze turned to the water. “Of course I know that,” she whispered. “But I want to.”
Giyu looked back at her. “Why?”
Y/N blinked slowly, lashes fluttering.
For a single heartbeat, she looked almost unsure, like answering honestly would give too much away.
“To let someone take care of you,” she said, like it was a truth she’d been holding for a long time. “To rest. To just be here. You get so caught up in duty, in being alone, in the scars of what you’ve survived.”
Giyu’s teeth grit, and when he spoke, it was softer than he meant it to be. “How do you know that?”
Y/N lowered the cup slowly, and her eyes met his with a steadiness that felt like an answer on its own.
“Because I’m observant,” she answered simply. “And when you truly care, it’s not hard to tell.”
Giyu’s chest felt too tight to breathe, and the koi stirred beneath the surface, orange and white slipping past one another like soft, living flame.
Y/N reached for another piece of daikon, nudging it toward him again, as if she couldn’t help herself.
Giyu watched the koi for a moment longer, then his eyes lifted to her lips as she murmured, “Eat now, please,” like it was a quiet order meant only for him.
Then, before he could swallow it back down, he asked in a whisper so small it nearly vanished, “Why do you watch me? Why do you notice me like that?”
Y/N stilled, her fingertips hovering over the bento like she’d forgotten what she was reaching for.
The world seemed to hold its breath, the air shifting in the gentlest way. Y/N’s lips parted, just barely.
“Because I have eyes,” she said, almost teasing.
Giyu’s brow tightened. “That’s not an answer.”
Y/N’s eyes brightened with amusement. “It is.”
He didn’t shift or flinch. He didn’t even blink.
Y/N looked at him for a moment longer, then sighed quietly and stared off, like she’d been cornered.
“Because you’re always alone,” she said gently. “And whether or not it’s a choice… I don’t like it.”
Giyu froze, and his throat tightened painfully. He turned his eyes away, because what she’d said reached a place he didn’t know how to protect.
He didn’t mind the solitude. He had lived inside it long enough that it almost felt like home. And deep down, he thought it was punishment he’d earned, because he didn’t understand why he was here when so many others had been more worthy.
Y/N noticed the shift in him and looked away, fingers worrying gently at the hem of her haori soothingly.
Y/N’s voice lowered into something tender. “I don’t mean to push. I’m not asking for selfish reasons, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“You… don’t,” he whispered, careful and sincere.
Y/N tilted her head, a soft smile touching her lips as if she could read him too well. “Then why do you look like you’re about to run away,” she murmured.
Giyu’s jaw worked once, the muscle ticking. He didn’t have an answer that wouldn’t sound cruel.
Because he didn’t want to run from her. Not her.
It was the feeling she pulled out of him, the kind he didn’t know how to hold. Warmth. Hope. Possibility.
From the way her kindness coaxed wants out of him—wants someone like him had no business having.
Y/N’s gaze lingered on him, thoughtful and steady, as if she could read him without needing words. Then she asked softly, “Do I bother you, Tomioka?”
Giyu looked back at her, eyebrows pulling together like her question had taken something from him.
“No,” he answered instantly, too fast to be careful.
Y/N blinked at him, caught off guard, and then her smile returned small, sweet, and quietly delighted.
Giyu’s ears warmed again. “…Troublesome,” he whispered softly, as if he didn’t mind trouble at all.
Y/N laughed softly. “Is that a bad thing?”
“It is,” he said, then hesitated, gaze slipping away. His voice dropped anyway. “But… not from you.”
Y/N’s laughter died down, and her inhale caught, barely there. The first fracture. The first time she looked anything less than perfectly composed.
Her cheeks warmed with the faintest bloom of color, pretty and unguarded. Her lashes fluttered, she swallowed once, and then she turned her gaze to the koi, pretending she was simply admiring them.
Giyu stared, because he had never seen her like that. He had seen her elegant. Serene. Poised.
He’d seen her carve through demons with chilling precision, expression honed into something lethal.
But this… this pretty, startled warmth in her cheeks, the way her voice disappeared for a moment. It happened because something he’d said to her.
Giyu’s chest tightened so sharply it almost hurt.
He thought, with quiet dread, that something must be wrong with him. Something he couldn’t fix by himself. Something he’d have to ask Shinobu about.
He was wanting things he shouldn’t, and he couldn’t explain it. It didn’t feel logical. It felt impossible.
He wanted to take that moment and tuck it away inside his chest. To keep it selfishly, the way she kept nudging more food toward him without asking.
He wanted to see how much more he could tease out of her, the way she teased reactions out of him.
He breathed out shakily, inching closer, his voice coming out low and quiet. “Why are you flustered?”
Y/N looked at him again so fast it betrayed her, eyes widening, lashes fluttering. “I’m not,” she insisted.
Giyu blinked slowly. “You are,” he said simply.
Y/N’s flush deepened, and she clicked her tongue softly, determined to recover. She lifted her teacup, eyes fixed stubbornly anywhere but him. “Don’t look at me,” she said, almost scolding. “Eat your daikon.”
Giyu didn’t move an inch. He just watched her, quiet and intent, eyes steady like he was memorizing her.
He should have done the polite thing and looked away, given her room to breathe like she’d asked.
But he didn’t. He stayed there, watching, and it felt strangely wicked. Something was wrong with him.
Y/N’s fingers tightened around the cup, knuckles paling faintly. “Giyu,” she said quietly, voice tender in a way that sounded almost hesitant, like she didn’t know if she was allowed to call him that.
His stomach twisted, heat and dread all at once. He liked hearing it. He hated that he liked hearing it.
Something was truly wrong with him.
Y/N took a slow breath, her gaze dropping to the bento. Then, carefully, she said, “I was only joking. About fattening you up… to some extent, at least.”
Giyu’s eyes didn’t leave her. “I know,” he said.
Y/N blinked, surprised by his certainty. “Really?” she asked, studying him carefully, trying to understand.
Giyu fell silent for a second, as if weighing the words. His voice was still quiet when he spoke again. “But… I think you meant something else.”
Y/N blinked slowly, then tipped her head to the side.
Her look was almost painfully innocent, confusion written plainly across her face, and he didn’t like it.
Giyu’s throat constricted, panic and warmth twisting together. It was all beginning to feel too real. He wanted to take it back the instant it left him.
Y/N’s voice trembled into a whisper, her gaze searching his steadily. “What do you mean?”
Giyu hesitated, fingers clenched in his sleeves until the fabric creased around his knuckles. He looked away, toward the pond, then returned his eyes to hers. His gaze didn’t waver, but his voice did.
“I think you don’t want me to disappear,” he said, quiet and careful, like the words scared him.
Y/N held his gaze, stunned. And then she smiled, slow and quiet, soft with something that hurt, like she’d been holding her heart with both hands for years, and at last someone had touched it gently.
“That’s a beautiful way to say it,” she whispered.
Giyu’s brows furrowed, his heartbeat pressing against the fabric of his uniform. “Am I… wrong?”
Y/N shook her head quickly. “No. You’re right.”
Giyu’s eyes stayed fixed on her face, drawn to the blush at her cheeks, the softness at her lips, the way her lashes shook faintly with every blink.
He felt something low and quiet in him shift.
A want stirred in him, soft and relentless. To be nearer. To be chosen the way she kept choosing him, again and again, in quiet ways that made him feel like he could finally breathe. His voice dropped.
“Y/N… you don’t have to do that,” he repeated, voice low and careful now. “Because I wouldn’t leave you.”
Y/N stilled, her eyes opening wider. The flush on her cheeks deepened instantly, blooming across her face like sunrise. Her lashes fluttered rapidly, and she swallowed, her throat working like she didn’t trust her own voice. Giyu watched, completely still.
He hated the thought, but he couldn’t ignore it anymore. Because this was his own selfish desire.
Because this was the version of her he couldn’t stop wanting. This shy, undone softness. This moment where she looked almost human, almost vulnerable.
Y/N’s voice came out thin. “…You wouldn’t?”
Giyu exhaled, voice low and certain. “No.”
“But…” She swallowed again, words unsteady.
“Why? That is … what you’ve always done.”
Giyu’s chest tightened, but he didn’t take offense. He knew what she meant, because it was true.
It was his disappearing acts, how he slipped away without warning, how he chose quiet over comfort.
How he retreated whenever emotions threatened to drown him. How he kept distance from the other Hashira, as if distance could keep everyone safe.
“If you asked me to stay,” he said softly, “I would.”
Y/N held his gaze, quiet and stunned. Then she placed the cup down with care, like she needed both hands to breathe through the moment.
“I didn’t know that was something I could do,” she admitted, almost like she was afraid to believe it.
Giyu’s eyes gentled, like he was offering her something simple and real. “You can know now.”
Y/N’s mouth parted as if she meant to speak, but she only looked away, cheeks burning, like she couldn’t take being witnessed in this softness.
It hit him like a quiet fever: something possessive and aching. He wanted to be the only one who made her blush. The only one she got flustered for. The only one allowed to see her composure break, even for a heartbeat. It left him lightheaded.
He didn’t know what to do with that feeling, so he did the only thing he could manage, he reached for the bento and lifted a piece of daikon between his chopsticks, steadying his hands with the motion.
Y/N blinked, caught off guard, her gaze dipping to the daikon before lifting back to him, cheeks warm.
Giyu’s voice came out low and steady. “Eat.” His gaze didn’t leave her. “You’ve been feeding me,” he murmured, like it was obvious. “Now… you eat.”
Y/N swallowed, her gaze flicking to the chopsticks and then back to his face. Her lips parted, hesitant.
Giyu’s breath stuttered as she leaned closer and took the daikon from his chopsticks. The movement was small. Simple. But it made his pulse go loud.
The soft press of her lips as she accepted it had his ears warming immediately. It shouldn’t have meant anything… and yet his throat tightened like it did.
Y/N chewed, then leaned back with a quiet, almost reluctant breath. “This won’t do,” she murmured.
Giyu blinked, head tilting the slightest bit. “Why?”
Y/N’s eyes narrowed a fraction, teasing blooming back into her voice. “You’re trying to fatten me up.”
Giyu’s voice stayed quiet and steady, a ghost of a smile appearing at the corners of his lips. “So?”
Y/N stared, then sighed dramatically, almost theatrical, like she was losing on purpose. “You’re so…” she started, then halted, as if the word she wanted to say would give her away completely.
Giyu simply waited, patient and still, as the breeze stirred wisteria petals into the air. Y/N melted at once, her mouth curving into a soft, helpless smile.
“…Sweet,” she finished softly.
Giyu’s body tensed, ears warming as he looked away, but the reaction had already betrayed him.
Y/N’s eyes sparkled, delighted by the crack in his composure. “Oh,” she teased, leaning closer again.
“Are you flustered now, Tomioka?”
Giyu’s jaw flexed as he glanced at her. “No.” His gaze returned to her, serious enough to make her teasing feel dangerous. “You’re the one flustered.”
Y/N’s lips parted in offense, but she stopped. She was still warm-faced, still flustered… and he could be dangerous when he chose. She closed her mouth again, clicking her tongue under her breath.
Giyu kept his eyes on her, something warm and quietly dangerous blooming inside him. And he realized, a little dazed, that he was enjoying this.
That he liked the quiet back-and-forth between them. That he liked being close to her enough that his life didn’t feel like something he had to endure.
Y/N leaned back, eyes fixed on the pond again, and fanned her face with a small, embarrassed motion.
Giyu spoke in a low voice, earnest enough to make her breath catch. “I… like when you talk to me.”
It wasn’t poetic, it wasn’t grand. Just simple words that somehow sounded like a confession anyway.
Y/N froze, her lashes fluttering, her mouth parting in quiet shock. For a moment, she looked like she didn’t know how to live inside something so gentle.
Then she smiled, so beautiful it almost hurt. “Good,” she murmured. “Because I like talking to you too.”
Giyu’s chest tightened, and he wanted to say more.
He wanted to tell her he liked her hands, the way they moved with quiet kindness. That he liked the softness in her voice when she spoke his name. That he liked the way she fed him with unspoken devotion, like he was worth remembering tomorrow.
But his throat tightened too much to let the words through, so he chose something smaller instead.
He reached into the bento again, picked up another piece of meat, and placed it gently onto her side.
Y/N blinked down at it, then lifted her gaze to him, her smile turning small and shy at the edges.
“Mm. How coy of you.” she teased, the warmth in her voice giving her away. “Still fattening me up?”
Giyu’s eyes didn’t leave hers. He didn’t smile, but the softness in his gaze felt like an answer anyway.
“Yes,” he said, calm and low. His voice dipped, nearly a whisper. “So you don’t leave either.”
Y/N stared at him, frozen. And then she broke, laughter slipping out soft and breathless as she hid her smile behind her sleeve, cheeks burning bright.
“You’re quite the womanizer, Tomioka,” she laughed, but there was no accusation in it, only fondness.
Giyu blinked, almost scandalized. “… I’m not.”
Y/N lowered her sleeve, her eyes warm and teasing. “You are,” she said softly. “You don’t even realize what you do to women when you get like this.”
Giyu leaned in a fraction, brows pinching as if he truly needed to understand. “… What do I do?”
Y/N held his gaze for one breath too long, and then she turned away again, shy all over, voice quiet.
“Don’t worry about it.”
The koi drifted beneath the surface, quiet and unhurried, as if they were witnessing something too tender to be spoken aloud. Giyu’s throat tightened.
He didn’t know how to respond.
He wanted, so badly, to do things a gentleman of his status shouldn’t even be thinking of doing.
He eased closer, just enough that their shoulders nearly met, the distance between them thinning.
Y/N turned her head slightly, startled. Giyu’s gaze stayed on hers, steady as a vow, until they were inches apart. “Is this alright?” he asked gently.
Silence.
Y/N’s lashes trembled, her eyes glassy with emotion she was trying to swallow down. Her lips parted, and she whispered, delicate and unsure, “…Yes?”
Y/N’s chest lifted with a slow, trembling breath. She leaned closer, barely an inch, but it was enough, enough for her hair to brush his cheek, enough for her voice to feel like warmth against his skin.
“Okay…” she murmured, voice gentle, almost shy.
“We should keep eating.”
Giyu blinked, and Y/N’s gaze warmed with mischief, like she was steadying herself through playfulness. “If you starve, you can’t stay,” she teased gently.
Giyu’s gaze softened, almost tender. “…Alright.”
He shut his eyes like it was the most natural thing in the world and opened his mouth, absent and quiet.
Y/N froze for a heartbeat, then carefully set a piece of meat in his mouth and withdrew her chopsticks.
It was shameless, in the sweetest way. Scandalous, but right. The koi would not gossip. They returned to their meal, quieter now, the teasing gentler, like it had softened into something that wanted to stay.
Y/N still nudged food toward him, though not as boldly. And Giyu still moved pieces back onto her side when he realized she was giving him too much.
And for the first time in a long time, Giyu sat next to someone and didn’t feel like an intruder in their kindness, borrowing warmth he had no right to.
He didn’t know what to name this feeling. Not yet.
But when Y/N laughed softly, caught off guard by his words, her cheeks blooming pink again, he felt something selfish settle in him: an instinct to keep this softness where no one else could touch it.
Not the bento. Not the tea. Not any of it. Just her.
And if it meant sitting here by the koi pond, letting her fill his hands and his stomach and his chest with something softer than duty, then he would let it happen. He would stay. He would learn how to stay.
Giyu’s gaze lingered on her, softer than he intended.
“What is it, Tomioka?” she asked quietly.
Giyu blinked slowly, eyes shifting away as his ears tinged pink. “…Nothing,” he murmured, too soft.
Y/N’s smile softened into something tender. “You’re a terrible liar,” she murmured with fond amusement.
And this time, for the briefest moment, Giyu smiled.
So subtle the world would’ve missed it completely.
But Y/N saw, and her breath stalled: sweet, startled, like she’d been given something she didn’t deserve to ask for. Then she laughed softly, eyes shining, and slid another piece of daikon toward him softly.
No Strings Attached || Chapter 1 || Collision Course
🎧 Song on Loop: Everyone Here Wants You || Jeff Buckley
🌟 Author's Note: Sanemi x Fem!Reader || 3.6K Words || MDNI
🌪️ Summary: What happens when two people who can’t stand each other keep getting thrown together by a mutual friend? When both are hiding unrequited crushes and a storm of pent-up tension? When the lines between anger, want, and need start to blur? The messiest situationship ever, that’s what.
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
It was a quiet day, unremarkable at a glance.
The quad lay careless beneath a stained-glass sky, heat rising from the bricks in slow, patient breaths.
Sanemi shouldered through it like a dare.
He moved as though the campus belonged to him, sharp-edged, his steps loud, and his voice louder.
An oversized white tee and baggy jeans, a silver tag chain glinting at his throat in the right slant of sun.
Heads turned toward him and then away just as quickly. Throats were cleared. Steps adjusted.
He wasn’t stupid. He knew why.
He knew his resting face looked like trouble.
Knew the scars, the stare, the way he walked.
People moved around him like weather, giving him space the way you do a storm: careful and wary.
It was fine. It was useful.
Inosuke matched his stride, practically vibrating with the thrill of being outside and loud and unpunished. Zenitsu flailed behind them in a panic orbit, clutching a smoothie like it could ward off bad luck.
“Dude, don’t...don’t walk backward again,” Zenitsu begged, voice cracking on the word backward.
“Remember last time?”
“I remember you screaming,” Sanemi said, stepping off the path just to ignore the idea of paths. “Same difference.”
“It is not the same difference!”
Sanemi turned to grin at Inosuke. Then impact. His teeth flashed, Inosuke’s eyes widened, and he crashed into her like a moving wall.
The impact wasn’t catastrophic; it was clean and stunning, the way cue balls strike and choose new lines. It stole time from the world for half a second.
Sound dulled. The quad blurred.
She went down hard, hand striking brick, breath knocked from her chest in a startled, painful rush.
The star at her throat flashed in the sun and settled crooked: one bright, humiliating betrayal of grace.
Sanemi came to a stop.
Not because he was kind.
Because physics forced him.
For a single beat, the part of him that knew how to be decent rose up, quick and instinctive: Say sorry.
It made it to his throat and died there.
He’d been mid-step, mid-joke, mid-heat.
He was already irritable with the day, with Zenitsu’s voice drilling into his skull. The collision landed like proof the world was determined to test him today.
He didn’t offer a hand.
“Watch it,” he said.
She shot him a glare, brows furrowed, lips curling like she was a second away from scowling outright.
He blinked, surprise flickering across his face.
The world had taught him people flinched at his voice, at his height, at the way anger lit his bones.
The world had taught him people apologized with their eyes before their mouths ever caught up.
But she didn’t.
She scoffed and pushed to her feet without taking what he didn’t offer. Dirt powdered her palm; she wiped it on her jeans with a neat, composed swipe.
Her hair had fallen forward with the impact; she tucked it back with two fingers, precise. Her nails, perfectly manicured, looked indecently calm for someone who’d just been knocked to the ground.
Zenitsu was already in motion, gawking, frantic, abandoning Sanemi’s shoulder to scoop scattered papers with trembling hands.
“Oh my god! I’m so sorry, he…he’s…Shinazugawa, dude?!?” Zenitsu pivoted to her, hands up in useless prayer. “Are you okay? Do you need water? Are you injured? Do you need me to call campus—”
“I need people to look forward,” she smiled.
It wasn’t loud. It didn’t have to be. It cut anyway.
Sanemi’s mouth curled without a smile.
“It was an accident.”
She laughed quietly and asked, “An accident?” The softness felt wrong as if brittle, edged with ice.
She stepped in, close enough that the fabric at her wrist brushed the cotton of his shirt, and pressed one manicured finger to the center of his chest.
It wasn’t hard.
“Then perhaps,” she said evenly, every word deliberate, “you should be the one to watch it.”
Sanemi stared at the finger like it had broken a rule.
Heat threaded the back of his neck: anger or embarrassment, he wasn’t checking which.
The chain at his throat suddenly felt too tight.
“Maybe you should try not standing in the middle-”
“It’s a walkway,” she cut in, voice going flatter.
Kinder.
Scarier.
Zenitsu made a sound like a kettle coming to boil, then clamped his mouth shut with both hands as if physically stopping himself from making it worse.
Sanemi’s chin tipped a fraction.
The calm in her eyes, the unimpressed certainty of it, undid him more thoroughly than defiance ever could, stirring something restless beneath his ribs.
Irritation.
Interest.
The long, thin wire that connects both.
“How cute,” he said, grin sharp enough to hide the apology. “You always talk like that after you trip?”
“I didn’t trip,” she said. “You—”
Zenitsu thrust a stack of papers at her, breathless.
“Here you go, I think this is all of them…please don’t sue us, he has no money, his credit score is…”
“Shut up,” Sanemi snapped.
Up close, she was annoyingly pretty.
Not in a loud, obvious way. Pretty in the gentle way that made noise hate itself. A soft babydoll top over jeans, star pendant catching light, lashes dark enough to make her eyes look impossibly deep.
His brain betrayed him, curiosity tipping him forward like it had permission. He stepped closer before he could stop himself. “Say it again,” he said, low.
The way he asked for a rematch.
Her lashes lowered, then lifted.
“You should watch where you’re going.”
The words slid into his skin and stung.
“You good?” Inosuke boomed, head appearing from nowhere, upside down where he’d bent to retrieve a pen cap with his teeth like some kind of deranged trophy.
“I was,” she said mildly. “Until three seconds ago.”
Sanemi’s smile went thin. “It’s not that serious.”
She blinked once and he felt it like a slap.
“It doesn’t have to be serious to be your fault.”
He should have walked away.
He should have done a thousand things that weren’t standing here letting a stranger make his pulse pick up.
Zenitsu looked from one to the other, eyes wide.
“People usually say sorry when they knock someone over!” Zenitsu squeaked, fear crackling in his voice.
“People usually pay attention,” Sanemi shot back.
He flicked his gaze to the papers in her hands, to the neatness of her posture like she’d never been on the ground at all. “Campus isn’t some brochure.”
At that, something in her expression actually moved.
“Incredibly ignorant,” she said, and the words were a scalpel: light, sharp, definitely cutting. “Go yell at a bench or something. I don’t have time for this.”
Sanemi’s jaw clenched, reflex hard enough he felt it in his teeth. He’d expected a flinch or a flirty dodge.
He got none.
The only two people who hadn’t learned to fear the weather he carried were Kanae and this stupid girl.
It made the underparts of him bristle.
“Big word for a sidewalk,” he scoffed.
“Small thought for a man your size,” she returned.
Her phone started ringing, the tone far too gentle for someone so sharp. Cute. Annoyingly so.
She met his eyes for a heartbeat longer, then reluctantly let her gaze slide back to her phone.
“I really don’t have time,” she murmured to nobody in particular, already stepping past. “Excuse me.”
She didn’t thread delicately around him.
She pushed through, her shoulder thudding his with a satisfying, calculated knock. His body shifted because physics insisted.
Jasmine and vanilla lingered faintly around her, and for reasons he couldn’t name, it felt calm. Graceful.
“Princess,” he said without meaning to.
It came out like a reflex. Like a mistake.
She pivoted half a step, just enough to let him see the line of her profile under the harsh noon light.
“Don’t call me that,” she said.
Then she was gone into heat and noise.
The afternoon rearranged its weight.
The brick underfoot felt wrong somehow, the air too light, and Zenitsu produced a drawn-out squeak.
“What,” Sanemi snapped.
Zenitsu flapped the abandoned smoothie like a fan.
“She just…you just…are you okay?”
Inosuke popped upright, triumphant with the rescued pen cap. “SHE DID NOT FEAR YOU!”
Sanemi rolled his eyes so hard it felt like exercise.
“Congratulations. You found a person.”
“Two,” Inosuke cut in. “Kanae doesn’t fear you.”
The name hit him like a thrown pebble to the ribs: tiny, accurate, unwanted. His jaw loosened, then set again.
“She’s different,” he said, and tried to sound bored.
She was.
Kanae’s gentleness took his edges and sanded them down, turning the worst parts of him obedient.
Kanae taught him carefulness without shame. Her kindness was sunlight: warm, constant, unearned.
This girl, whoever she was, took those rough edges and reflected them back at him without bleeding.
She made him meaner, louder, made him see all the parts of himself he preferred to pretend didn’t exist.
It was not the same.
He didn’t like that his bones knew the difference.
Zenitsu craned his neck to see down the path where she’d gone. “That was Y/N, right? The peer mentorship, Delta Theta, nice to everyone Y/N?”
Sanemi didn’t look. “How am I supposed to know.”
“Because she helped Inosuke find the counseling center that one time and he swore fealty to her?”
“I SWORE WEDNESDAYS,” Inosuke corrected.
Zenitsu ignored him, eyes still tracking the empty path like it might give him answers. “And because everyone knows her,” he added, tone soft in the dangerous way. “Also because you got humbled.”
Sanemi grimaced and turned. “Say that again.”
Zenitsu hid behind the smoothie. “No thanks.”
They continued chatting, the moment smoothing itself over until it felt like nothing had happened.
A booming cheer carried across the quad as Rengoku waved. “SHINAZUGAWA! SPLENDID!”
He breathed through his nose and waved him off.
“Yeah, yeah. Give me a second.”
They went. The day resumed its show.
But the moment had lodged a splinter under skin: impossible to ignore once you knew where to press.
Sanemi’s problem was that his brain didn’t know how to shut up. He tried to outrun it anyway.
Apparently, that girl was some kind of angel.
And somehow, he was the one exception.
She was some peer advisor named Y/N, and, to his annoyance, she was kind of famous on campus.
But the problem was this: he didn’t get the gentle version everyone else did: the girl who smiled politely, listened quietly, patience made human.
The version he got was sharper. Icy. Beautiful in a way that made his temper feel embarrassed.
Sanemi hated defiance in general. He hated it when people tried to challenge him just to see if the scars had teeth. He hated it when people used tone like a weapon because he’d been raised by weapons.
But hers wasn’t performative.
She wasn’t playing with him.
She’d looked at him like he was simply wrong.
Like his volume didn’t impress her, like his face didn’t scare her, like the storm didn’t get special treatment just because it had chose to arrive loud.
He tried not to think about her mouth.
The worst part was the comparison.
Kanae was beautiful. Kanae was kind. Kanae was… good. She was the kind of girl you didn’t ruin with your messy hands. She was the kind you looked at and thought, I should be better. I should be worthy.
Y/N didn’t make him want to be worthy.
And then, as if his brain wanted to punish him, it offered up the most treasonous thought of all:
She might be prettier than Kanae.
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
[04:47 PM] kanae: Can you come with me to grab coffee? I’m picking up trays for the sorority meeting!
Sanemi stared at the message like it was a lifeline.
Kanae was safe.
Kanae was quiet relief.
Kanae was the one person who could take the edge off his day without asking him to explain why he had an edge to begin with. She was the soft hand on his forearm that made his temper sit down and reflect.
So he went.
Kanae stood with her tote bag tucked against her hip, hair half-up, cheeks faintly pink from walking in the sun. She looked like summer’s gentler version.
“Hello Shinazugawa,” she said brightly.
“Hey,” he answered, immediately calmer.
Inside, the café was cool enough to feel like mercy.
The line was long, full of students who looked like they were being held upright by caffeine alone.
Kanae stood beside him, rocking gently on her heels, scanning the menu. Sanemi watched her.
She was pretty in a way that made the world feel less sharp. Her laugh was soft, her eyes kind.
Her existence felt like forgiveness.
So why did his mind insist on tucking Y/N’s face into the space beneath his ribs, like a joke gone wrong?
Kanae ordered first. “Two iced lattes: one with vanilla, one plain,” she told the barista, then added, “and three trays of coffee for pickup, please.”
The barista blinked. “Three trays?”
Kanae smiled sweetly. “Sorority things.”
Sanemi stepped forward to pay without thinking. Kanae glanced up at him. “You don’t have to…”
“Yeah, I do,” he cut in, already tapping his card.
“Thank you,” she said softly, low enough not to draw attention. “You’re always taking care of things.”
He shrugged, because praise made him itchy.
They moved to the side to wait. Kanae took out her phone and started checking off names on a list.
Sanemi tried to quiet his brain. It didn’t quiet.
Kanae didn’t ask immediately. She just watched him, patient as a sunrise, as if she’d learned long ago that his storms didn’t like being stared down.
Then she asked, softly, “What’s wrong?”
Sanemi blinked and looked down at her. “Nothing.”
Kanae’s lips curved. “That was not convincing.”
“I’m fine,” he insisted, because he was stupid.
Kanae’s eyes softened. She chuckled under her breath, then tilted her head like a big sister about to say something gently devastating. “Shinazugawa…”
He groaned. “What.”
“You know you can’t hide things from me,” she said softly. “Your face gives you away every time.”
“My face is always like this.”
“Exactly,” she said, amused. “So when you look more worn than usual, it doesn’t slip past me.”
A quiet tension settled in his chest, immediate and unwelcome, because she didn’t know anything.
Not the depth of it, not how easily he bent to her voice, how one word could render him undone.
She saw him as he meant to be: loyal and watchful, roughened by life, but gentle where she held him.
The irony was sharp enough to make him laugh.
Kanae blinked at him. “Why are you laughing?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly tired.
“Because you don’t know anything.”
Kanae’s smile didn’t shift. “Then tell me something.”
He should’ve shut up. He should’ve nothing.
He should’ve kept it buried, let the words sour and die before they ever reached the air.
Instead, softened by the café’s cool stillness and the warmth of Kanae’s voice, he found himself talking.
“I bumped into this girl,” he said, blunt.
Kanae’s eyes brightened with interest.
“Don’t get excited,” he snapped, then immediately regretted it because Kanae didn’t deserve snap.
“She’s annoying.”
Kanae tilted her head, thoughtfulness softening her gaze as she looked up at him. “Annoying how?”
He scrubbed a hand over his face.
“She talks back. She acts like she’s above me.”
Kanae hummed softly. “Is she above you?”
“Kanae,” he muttered, a frustrated sound slipping.
Kanae smiled. “Does she scare you?”
He looked down at her, expression tightening. “No.”
Kanae let out a thoughtful hum, gaze lowering.
“Then why does she bother you so much?”
Because she’s pretty.
Because she’s defiant.
Because she pulls at something inside that won’t stay contained, and I hate how badly I want it to be mine.
He did not say any of that.
“She’s just irritating,” he said, like the word could grind the truth down to something manageable.
Kanae nodded slowly. “I see,” she said softly.
Sanemi frowned, the café noise pressing in.
“That’s all? No clever comment?”
Kanae laughed under her breath. “I’m thinking.”
“Don’t think too hard,” he said, tone edged.
She looked up at him, thoughtful. “So this girl… she’s mean to you?”
“She’s rude,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”
Kanae’s eyebrows arched in quiet surprise.
Sanemi sighed, like he was being asked to confess to a crime. “We ran into each other. And she looked at me like I was… dirt. Like I’m some ignorant brute.”
Kanae’s expression shifted, her brows furrowing.
“Did she call you that?”
“She didn’t have to,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the ground. “It’s the look. The tone. I’m not stupid.”
Kanae hummed thoughtfully, eyes downcast, fingers fidgeting with her hair. “And how did you handle it?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
The truth cut deeper than he liked.
“I told her to watch where she was going,” he said, which was technically true and morally incomplete.
Kanae smiled, knowing, and tipped her head.
“Sounds like you started it.”
“I did not—”
“And yet you did,” Kanae said gently, like she was soothing a barking dog. “You always do.”
Shame flared hot and tight beneath his ribs.
His eyes narrowed. “Are you taking her side?”
Kanae blinked, surprised. “I’m simply curious.”
“About what.”
Kanae inclined her head, innocent in tone if not in intent. “About why she’s even crossed your mind.”
Sanemi’s stomach dropped. His face heated.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Stop.”
Kanae laughed, eyes crinkling as she softened. “Okay,” she said kindly. “I won’t tease you.”
He looked away, annoyed at how grateful he felt.
After what felt like an eternity, the barista finally called Kanae’s name, and she moved to collect the trays, balancing them carefully in her slender arms.
Sanemi sighed, his expression soft despite himself, and stepped in to take most of the trays from her.
He almost passed for a gentleman.
Kanae didn’t argue. She just smiled.
The sun flared the second they stepped outside, blinding them. Kanae laughed through a squint, tucking a strand of hair back with her free hand.
The gesture held his attention for a beat too long. Then, inexplicably, Y/N surfaced in his thoughts.
He wondered if she could be soft in the same way, hair tucked back, lashes lifting, something gentle.
Or if she’d do it sharply instead, tucking her hair back with a glare, looking at him like an idiot.
He groaned under his breath.
Kanae peered at him, fingers skimming his forearm.
“Still thinking?”
“I’m always thinking.”
Kanae hummed, eyes forward. “If she gets under your skin, maybe she’s more than just annoying.”
His jaw locked, a sudden weight sinking in his gut.
Kanae had no idea.
No idea that he wanted to tell her, over and over, that she was the only one who crossed his mind.
Instead, he scoffed and shut his eyes. “Don’t start.”
Kanae didn’t push. She never did.
After a beat, she spoke absently, as if she was thinking out loud. “She sounds like someone I know.”
Sanemi grunted, jaw tight, and thought of Y/N.
Kanae was warmth and patience, gentle in every way. Y/N was cold, defiant, and all sharp words.
He couldn’t imagine the two of them knowing each other, much less sharing the same social circle.
“I doubt it,” he replied, exhaling through his nose.
Kanae let out a soft chuckle and nodded.
They dropped the trays off at the sorority room.
Kanae thanked him with a quick, warm squeeze of his forearm, her small ritual of affection, and then disappeared into a flurry of planning and laughter.
Sanemi watched her go, huffed out a breath, then shoved his hands into his pockets and walked off.
He hadn’t confessed anything that mattered.
The conversation was supposed to close the loop.
His mind stayed occupied all the way home.
His phone lit with a couple messages: Rengoku shouting about a meeting time, Inosuke sending a photo of a cat, Zenitsu spiraling about a quiz. He answered with the appropriate amount of irritation.
Then silence returned.
And just like that, his mind slid back to that wretched woman again. It wasn’t fair.
He imagined her on the floor again, hair disheveled, glaring up at him, and hated how clearly he could see it.
He tried to tell himself it was nothing.
That she was just a girl who talked back.
He told himself he’d never see her again, that she was just some girl he’d bumped into, nothing more.
But as he stared at the ceiling, he found himself thinking about her top, about how it hugged her upper body before falling away, light and deliberate.
The way she’d moved like elegance was a weapon.
“Stop,” he told himself, like he was talking to a dog.
His phone lay silent on the coffee table, and he fought the growing ache urging him to look her up.
What was that club Zenitsu said she was in…?
He opened the fridge and stared, hoping hunger would do what willpower hadn’t. It didn’t. He shut it.
He tried to ground himself by thinking of Kanae: sweet, gentle Kanae, with soft lips and kind eyes.
He wouldn’t see her again, Y/N was nothing more than a passing moment. That was the end of it.
Outside, the quad’s bells chimed, laughter rose and faded, a dog barked and Sanemi heard it all.
He didn’t know it yet, wouldn’t admit it for weeks, but the reason he couldn’t stop thinking about her wasn’t because she was defiant.
It was because she was defiant with him.
And his world, apparently, had other ideas.
He passed out on the couch with his phone untouched and his pride stubbornly intact, ignoring Inosuke’s hooting and Zenitsu’s wailing entirely.
The sun would come up in the morning, and he would see her again, because fate was cruel like that, and because “never” had never listened to him anyway.
🎧 Song on Loop: Any Time, Any Place || Janet Jackson
🌟 Author's Note: Omega-Verse || 14k Words || MDNI
🍡 Summary: Caught in simultaneous heat, Mitsuri and Fem!Reader seek comfort in each other ᯓ★
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
The mist didn’t burn off until noon.
They followed the rumor into a little mountain town: talk of a demon haunting the raven fields. No blood, no bodies, just couriers returning shaken, insisting the air was sweet enough to make them weak willed.
Before the ridge came into view, Y/N already knew what they were dealing with : a pheromone demon.
She felt it the moment they crossed the torii.
The wind thickened, syrupy and strange, while the terraces were silent and steeped in a scent she didn’t recognize.
“Do you smell that?” Mitsuri whispered, her braid slipping over her shoulder like a pale green ribbon.
The words came out breathless.
“I do.” Her tone didn’t change, but her fingers were already at the stabilizer hidden beneath her collar.
“Don’t breathe too deeply.”
They moved together down the path, close and unhurried, two women with haori trailing in white and silver, the sun warming their edges as they went.
The terraces unfurled in tiers of water and sky, dragonflies sewing light between flooded paddies.
Beneath it all lay a wrongness, vivid and bright.
They found it coiled in an irrigation tunnel, eel-slick with a grin too wide and pupils dark as spilled ink.
It hissed at first, then smiled, a welcoming thing.
A subtle shimmer peeled away from its skin and rode the warmth. Both girls flinched instinctively.
“Kanroji,” Y/N said under her breath. “Now.”
They moved, and the fight was over in moments.
Love Breathing carved a bright arc; Celestial Breathing answered with a clean, moon-sliced line.
The head fell one way, the body another, and the shimmer burst and vanished like steam off a kettle.
The wrong sweetness stayed, swelling in the air.
It grew heavier, and when a breeze rose from the terraces, it caught the scent and carried it over.
Mitsuri’s steps wavered. “Oh,” she said softly, as if surprise had turned warm where fear should be.
Her lashes fluttered; her lips parted. Color bloomed across her cheeks like sakura caught in the wind.
“That’s… a very rude smell.”
Y/N regulated her breath, slow and measured.
Still, something tightened low in her belly.
“It will fade,” Y/N said, choosing her words.
She kept her scent tucked away, shoulders squared, her expression serene : discipline as habit, as ritual.
But as they climbed back toward the empty town, an ache unfurled low and bright, tugging memories to the surface without her permission.
A quiet man, strong forearms steadying her.
A quiet voice that asked before it took space.
They reached a shuttered tea house by the shrine and stopped beneath the eaves to take stock.
No villagers. No second demon. Only the heat of a sun that hadn’t yet decided whether to forgive the morning haze.
Mitsuri leaned against the wooden post and exhaled in a trembling rush, pressing a palm to her sternum as if to keep her heart from climbing out.
“This is… this is very bad,” she said again, cheeks flushed, her voice bright with the effort not to cry or laugh. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m trying to be brave, but I-”
The words broke as her voice rose. “I need him.”
Y/N didn’t ask who.
Everyone knew who.
“You’re all right,” Y/N said, stepping closer.
Her own breath came perfectly measured, but her hands wanted the familiarity of tending. “Here.”
She loosened a small satchel, wet a cloth in the rain barrel, and dabbed Mitsuri’s pulse points as though soothing a fever. “There’s shade in the back room,” she murmured. “We can wait out the worst of it.”
Mitsuri hummed weakly, the sound barely there, and together they slipped through the shoji into a storehouse scented with old straw and tea dust.
They stepped inside, and light drifted from a high window, pooling in a quiet square on the tatami.
She laid their sword, opened the vents to draw a gentle breeze, then folded down onto the tatami.
Mitsuri drew her knees close for three measured breaths, then slowly unraveled, folding sideways until her head came to rest on Y/N’s lap, as if gravity itself had decided she was done holding herself up.
“Sorry,” she murmured, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, her smile just a little unsteady. “I am being silly.”
“You’re not,” Y/N said softly. Her hand hesitated, then slipped into Mitsuri’s hair, gentle beyond measure as she smoothed the stubborn strand back into place.
The air was heavy with sweetness, pheromones clinging so thickly it became harder to breathe.
Y/N brushed a hand through Mitsuri’s bangs, her fingers lingering in the braid as she explained softly, “It was a pheromone demon. We’re just responding.”
Mitsuri made a small, breathy sound as she drifted, instinct carrying her forward until her nose grazed warmth.
The wanting between them had grown thick and undeniable, and they both tried to swallow it down.
Her scent sharpened at the edges before softening again, hazy with comfort. “Y/N,” she whispered, the way one might confess to stealing something sweet.
“Do you ever dream about being mated?”
Y/N hummed under her breath, her hand remaining still. “I try not to,” she said evenly. “I have my duty.”
Her voice softened just a touch. “But sometimes I wake up gentle….” A pause. “That’s how I know.”
“Gentle wakeups are the best,” Mitsuri sighed, the sound trembling like a glass on a tabletop as a train passed. “I miss the way Obanai looks at me, like…”
She searched the ceiling for the right word and found none that didn’t make her cheeks warm.
A knowing smile touched Y/N’s lips. “I understand,” she murmured. “It’s all right. You’re hurting. It is natural your instincts would reach for an alpha.”
“You’re hurting too,” Mitsuri blurted softly, her voice loose and sincere. “But you seem to be handling this much better than I am…”
The ache flared for a brief heartbeat. Y/N inhaled, then breathed through it slow and disciplined.
Against her will, her mind reached for an alpha.
Without realizing it, Mitsuri scooted again, close enough that her cheek grazed Y/N’s inner thigh.
Her heat lapped at her composure, lending an unwanted sheen to her eyes and a softness to her voice.
Y/N straightened a fraction, grounding herself.
Mitsuri leaned in and nuzzled into the soft hollow at her hip, the comfort settling so naturally it surprised her.
Y/N startled just a little, a soft breath slipping into a laugh. “Kanroji…” she murmured gentle, but firm.
“It’s just…” Mitsuri murmured, eyes slipping shut as she breathed in at her thigh, then rose slowly, drawn to her shoulder, then the graceful curve of her neck.
Y/N’s lashes fluttered as she tilted her head, a brief jolt passing through her before she stilled again.
Jasmine. Cashmere. Vanilla.
Without realizing it, she nudged the bridge of her nose closer. “You smell… really good,” she breathed.
Y/N trembled, delicate as the last ring of a bell. “It…” She swallowed, a tiny laugh slipping free. “It tickles.”
Mitsuri froze, then pulled back a breath’s width, dazed, green eyes bright with equal parts apology and awe. “Oh… I’m sorry,” she said softly. “You’re just…you’re so cute.”
The compliment landed and unfurled in Y/N like a spark under silk. She knew how to endure praise from elders, how to bow under accolades like rain.
Maybe it was the sweetness of their pheromones.
Maybe the slow mingling of two omegas’ heat.
But this soft, curious, awed struck someplace unguarded. Her gaze dipped; her lashes quivered.
Mitsuri noticed the warmth blooming through Y/N’s restraint and she dared to press a touch further.
She leaned in again, slow and careful, as if soothing a startled creature, her breath brushing the graceful line beneath Y/N’s ear until Y/N’s shoulders relaxed.
Her hands came to rest at her hips, uncertain fingers brushing the softness at her thigh slits: a touch that felt as much like a question as it did a caress.
“Kanroji,” Y/N breathed, the name anchoring them both. The room listened. The wind held its breath.
“I’ve never…”
“I know,” Mitsuri murmured, sincerity bare in her voice. “But being close to you makes it easier… and I miss him so badly it aches inside.” She swallowed.
“I don’t want either of us to hurt alone.”
The warmth deepened and Mitsuri’s sweetness bloomed until it pressed close, almost suffocating.
“Okay,” Y/N said softly, her voice soft and cooling.
They met each other’s gaze at last, two omegas shaped by a world that had only ever named their closeness as sisterly sweetness - nothing more.
The taboo remained, outdated and weightless.
How did one do something no one ever spoke of?
Something that had never been allowed to exist?
“Do you think kissing would help?” Mitsuri asked, confusion in her eyes, earnest rather than shy.
Y/N studied her expression as though trying to read something written too softly, her eyes flickering. “I’m unsure,” she said, truthful, faintly bashful. She was practiced in teasing men, not in kissing women.
“I can be gentle,” Mitsuri babbled. “I just need…” She leaned in, the hem of her skirt whispering over her legs as her uniform shifted with the motion.
She shifted onto her knees until their knees touched, the space between them thinning. Her breath smelled sweet, like mochi, and her eyes darted to Y/N’s lips before returning to her gaze.
Y/N angled her head ever so slightly.
Just like that, Mitsuri’s hand came up to Y/N’s cheek, cupping it with a softness that felt almost laughable for someone who could cleave stone and smile.
“If you don’t like it,” she said, pulse fluttering as she inched closer, “I’ll stop.” A beat. “I promise.”
“Alright…” The word left Y/N in a breath against Mitsuri’s lips, her gaze turning shyly aside.
Their lips met only briefly, tentative and unsure, less a kiss than a breath, warmth brushing warmth.
They eased back a breath, a tiny laugh shared between them at how ordinary and gentle it felt.
“Again?” Mitsuri murmured, barely there.
Y/N’s answer was only a soft sound. “Mm.”
The second time was an actual kiss.
It felt nothing like kissing men in crowded training halls at New Year, when sake turned sentimental, nothing like the few careful moments they both pretended hadn’t happened. This was quiet.
Round at the edges.
Sweet in a way that let their shoulders loosen, their breaths settling into the same unhurried rhythm.
Comfort that knew exactly where comfort lived.
A small sound slipped from Mitsuri, part gasp, part hum, and Y/N echoed it back, their breaths aligning.
She pulled back just enough, and what she saw undid her with wonder: Y/N’s eyes already dazed, lashes fluttering as if she’d been kissed beneath a paper lantern; her lips parted, faintly swollen, the dignity she wore like a veil suddenly translucent.
“Oh wow…” The words left Mitsuri in a breath as she eagerly gathered herself and leaned in once more .
The kiss gathered warmth like snow gathers light: tender and unhurried, but braver now, tilting shyly until their mouths fit, and whatever panic had been pacing inside them both finally lay down.
Y/N let her hand slide from Mitsuri’s hair to her jaw, holding her there with quiet care, thumb pressed lightly at the hinge, balance shared between them.
Mitsuri’s fingers tightened at Y/N’s hips, sinking into the softness there and drawing her a breath closer.
When Y/N gasped softly into the closeness, lashes fluttering shut, whatever restraint Mitsuri had been holding onto finally gave way.
She moved forward without quite realizing it, her knee sliding along the tatami, and then she was in Y/N’s lap, her skirt fluttering, her braid tipping.
The jolt of being so close felt wrong in the world’s rules and right in every other way: soft, warm, real.
The give of Y/N’s body was different, not hard, not sharp, but warm and curved and kind, and it reset Mitsuri’s sense of what safety could ever feel like.
“I… oh…” Y/N breathed, composure fraying into something softer, her fingers tightening in Mitsuri’s sleeves as though the room itself had tipped over.
She wasn’t afraid.
It startled her, how deeply she liked it: being kissed like this, cradled and adored, known in a quiet way.
Mitsuri kissed her again and again, studying her every breath with a wonder so intent it edged into reverence.
That breathy little sound, her shoulders relaxing when a hand held her nape, the delicate stutter as Mitsuri kissed from the center to the corner, as if learning where her smile lived.
“You’re so cute,” she murmured helplessly between kisses, giddy and dazed, her senses blurred by heat. “I just want to knot you… I want to so bad.”
Y/N made a scandalized sound and whimpered into her mouth, utterly ruinous. “Kanroji,” she scolded.
Mitsuri hummed softly and pressed in, her tongue grazing her bottom lip in a tender, lingering touch.
The room kept the small sounds and sent the bigger ones drifting downhill with the wind, leaving behind only soft gasps, kisses, and the rustle of motion.
One kiss came down a shade too eager, and they froze together, eyes opening, hands softening.
“We should stop,” Y/N breathed, gentle even now.
Mitsuri lingered close, breath light and sweet.
“Do you want to?”
“No, it’s just…” Y/N breathed.
Mitsuri didn’t let her finish.
The kisses grew gentle once more, two girls learning that tenderness could be curative, that their bodies understood how to comfort and steady one another.
The heat had dulled from pain to pulse, still present between them , a steady thrum asking for release.
Mitsuri’s fingers slipped further, shaking slightly as they found warm skin through the opening of Y/N’s hakama, the touch light, careful, and full of wonder.
Her hand pressed gently at Y/N’s shoulder, guiding her down until she lay back fully against the wall.
Y/N’s lashes fluttered as she met the Hashira’s gaze. Mitsuri straddled her, steady and warm, leaning closer as her braided hair fell around them.
Her breath caught when Mitsuri’s fingers started their slow path, circling with deliberate patience, inching closer to the place that made her ache.
Her grip tightened in the fabric below, her breathing quickening when Mitsuri kissed her again, softer than frenzy, but closer to desperation than restraint.
It grew messy, breath against breath, Mitsuri tracing Y/N’s lip in passing before leaning back into the kiss.
Y/N made a small, vulnerable sound, her body restless beneath her. Mitsuri felt the instinct take shape then: to keep her safe, to give, to be the steady place where Y/N could finally let go.
Her fingers finally reached their destination, rubbing gently against the damp fabric covering Y/N’s core.
The breathy sound Y/N made was music in Mitsuri’s chest, and she kissed her more fully, quieting the little sounds between them as her touch steadied.
Y/N’s hair spread around her in loose strands, the soft spill striking against the pale tatami mats.
Mitsuri's fingers tangled in her hair, soft strands wrapping around delicate fingers, and the touch was everything at once: gentle yet unyielding.
Mitsuri could feel every tremor that ran through her body: the way those hips arched desperately into her touch, seeking more friction, more pressure.
Each soft, breathy sound that escaped those kiss-swollen lips sent a thrill straight through Mitsuri's core, making her own arousal pulse insistently.
Her fingers moved with renewed purpose, circling with the kind of devoted attention that came from knowing exactly what would drive someone wild.
It was intoxicating the way she responded so completely, so openly, yet with that endearing contradiction that made Mitsuri's heart squeeze.
She could feel the instinctive way Y/N tried to lean back, to escape the overwhelming intensity, that shy retreat that spoke of being utterly overwhelmed.
But even as she pulled away, her body betrayed her, hips pressing forward into Mitsuri's touch, seeking more of that delicious friction, chasing the pleasure.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Mitsuri breathed against her lips, the words spilling out before she could stop them, heavy with wonder and adoration.
Mitsuri held her there, savoring it all, every tremor that rippled through that pliant body, every breathy moan that spilled from those kiss-swollen lips.
“Mitsuri…” Y/N whispered, softened by breath.
The protest was barely a whisper, threaded with doubt even as her hips rolled shamelessly into Mitsuri's touch. “It won’t work. We’re omegas.”
It was reason’s last, faint knock against the haze, a thought they both recognized, and gently let pass.
Mitsuri didn't answer with words.
Instead, she surged forward, capturing those trembling lips in a kiss that was deep and seeking and absolutely unrelenting.
Her mouth moved with purpose, swallowing that fragile protest, dissolving it against her tongue.
Y/N’s hands were fisted desperately in the fabric of Mitsuri's sleeve, knuckles white with the force of her grip as though holding on to the only solid thing in a world that had tilted completely off its axis.
"Please," Mitsuri breathed, her hips settling perfectly and giving a slow, involuntary roll.
The movement was instinctive, her body taking over where logic failed. The friction sent sparks racing up her spine, and she gasped against Y/N’s mouth.
The fabric, damp with arousal and clinging to heated skin, only seemed to amplify every roll of hips, every desperate press of their bodies together.
Mitsuri felt it everywhere: the drag of wet fabric against her own aching clit, the way their bodies aligned so perfectly despite everything that said they shouldn't.
Her thighs trembled with the effort of holding herself up, of maintaining that delicious pressure even as pleasure threatened to buckle her knees.
Her hips rolled again, seeking more of that devastating friction, and she felt the answering tremor that ran through the body beneath hers.
"I need…" Mitsuri's voice cracked, desperation bleeding through every syllable. "Anything."
Two girls shouldn't satisfy each other like this.
But here she was: solid and real and right here.
The scent of jasmine wrapped around Mitsuri like silk, threading through the air between them.
The warmth of her scent curled into her lungs with every ragged breath, settling deep in her chest before sinking lower, pooling in her belly like honey.
It made her dizzy.
Then Y/N sighed.
A sound that was small and yielding, and it hit Mitsuri with the force of something tangible.
The warmth in her belly ignited, spreading outward in waves that made her thighs tremble and her hips roll down harder, seeking more friction, more, more.
Mitsuri pulled back just enough to really look at her.
Her face was flushed a deep, lovely color, the warmth spilling from her cheeks down her throat.
That usually serene expression, the one that could calm even the most chaotic situations, was gone.
The conflict was written across every feature: the way her brows drew together, the slight shake of her head as if she could deny what they both felt, the way her fingers still clutched at Mitsuri's sleeve like a lifeline even as she seemed to push her away.
Mitsuri wanted to drown in that look.
Her hand trembled as it moved lower, fingers seeking out the familiar slit along the side of her hakama once again. The fabric whispered against her knuckles as she found the opening, her heart hammering so hard she could feel it in her throat.
The skin beneath was impossibly soft, and she felt the muscles of her thigh jump and tense beneath her palm.
Mitsuri's own breathing had gone ragged, her fingers splaying wider against that silken skin, mapping the curve of her thigh with exploratory touches.
The breath that answered her was a sharp, sudden, hitching intake that seemed to echo in the hushed stillness of the room. It sounded impossibly loud.
Her fingers traced a slow, tentative path upward along the inside of that trembling thigh, each inch gained feeling like both a question and a prayer.
"Do you want me to stop?"
She felt the shudder that ran through the body beneath her, watched through half-lidded eyes as those beautiful features twisted with conflict.
Then her eyes fluttered shut, long lashes casting shadows on flushed cheeks, and she gave one almost imperceptible shake of her head. No.
‘Please don't stop.’
The words weren't spoken aloud, but Mitsuri heard them anyway in the thundering of her own heart, in the way the air between them seemed to crackle.
Then a hand came down: trembling, hesitant, but determined, covering Mitsuri's own. But the hand didn't push her away. Instead, it pressed down.
Mitsuri leaned down, closing the distance between them until there was nothing left but heat and want.
Her breasts met Y/N’s own, and even through the thin layers of their uniforms the sensation was overwhelming.
It was pressure: constant, maddening, perfect but not the kind she'd ever experienced with an alpha.
This was yielding.
The friction of fabric between them was both a barrier and a tease, the thin material doing nothing to hide the heat of skin, the way both their bodies trembled with the same desperate need and want.
It was intoxicating.
The intimacy of their shared femininity, the knowledge that they were the same in all the ways that mattered, made everything feel more intense.
She dipped her head, capturing those lips in a kiss that was nothing like the tentative, questioning ones from before.
This was deeper. Hungrier.
Her initial shyness melted away, replaced by a desperate need that had been building since the moment their scents first mingled in the air.
Her tongue traced the seam of those kiss-swollen lips, a silent plea, and when they parted for her on a shuddering sigh, she felt something inside her chest crack wide open.
She delved inside, tasting warmth and a hint of natural sweetness that was uniquely hers.
The kiss grew wetter, messier, all pretense of control abandoned as Mitsuri poured everything she felt into it: every confused emotion, every desperate need, every ounce of heat that burned through her.
Their tongues tangled together, sliding and stroking in a rhythm that mimicked what their bodies craved.
Her hips began to move again, no longer involuntary rolls but something deliberate. Purposeful. Needy.
A slow, rhythmic grind that pressed her aching core against the heat building between Y/N’s thighs.
The wet heat between them grew more pronounced with each passing second, soaking through fabric.
Where an alpha's thick, twitching cock would have been: that hard, demanding pressure they'd both felt, there was only softness meeting softness.
Wet heat against wet heat.
No rigid length to fill the hollow, aching emptiness inside them, just the maddening slide of slick folds through dampened fabric, the desperate friction of two bodies that needed something, anything, even if biology said it shouldn't be enough.
But god, it had to be enough. It had to be.
Y/N’s hands slid from Mitsuri's back down to her hips, fingers curling into the fabric of her uniform.
Her neat nails dug in through the layers, anchoring herself, claiming purchase. And then, tentatively at first, almost shy, she began to move too.
Her hips lifted in a shallow, hesitant roll, meeting Mitsuri's next grind with reciprocation instead.
The change was electric.
The friction doubled, intensified, and they both gasped at the same moment, the sound mingling in the heated space between their lips.
"Yes," Mitsuri breathed, the word coming out as half-plea, half-encouragement. "Just like that…"
The next roll of their hips was deliberate.
They found a rhythm together, grinding and rocking, chasing the friction that made them both tremble.
They were both soaked now, the evidence of their arousal making every slide easier, more maddening.
When Mitsuri finally pulled back for air, her chest heaving with ragged breaths, her vision swam.
Her green eyes, usually so bright and cheerful, were blown wide with a lust that made her feel reckless.
A thought flickered through her heat-fogged mind.
Her fingers traced idle patterns on the soft skin of Y/N’s inner thigh, feeling the tremors that ran through her. "Has an alpha ever touched you like this too?"
Y/N’s brows knit gently as her soft eyes lifted, searching Mitsuri’s with quiet uncertainty.
Her throat worked as she swallowed hard, and then, so endearing it made Mitsuri's heart clench, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying it as color flooded her cheeks in a mortified blush.
She shook her head. Just once.
Something inside Mitsuri shattered.
With trembling fingers, bold yet hesitant, Mitsuri brought her hands to the front of her own uniform.
The first button slipped free with a soft pop that seemed impossibly loud in the quiet intimacy of the the room.
Then the second.
Each one revealing more of the crisp white undershirt beneath until her jacket hung open, the fabric sliding off her shoulders to be forgotten.
Adjusting her position slightly, Mitsuri settled her weight more firmly in the cradle of those trembling thighs.
The friction made them both gasp, but she forced herself to focus, to be brave.
With two fingers, she caught the crisp white edges of her undershirt and slowly, deliberately, pulled them apart.
She didn't undress completely, couldn't quite bring herself to be that bold, but she revealed enough.
The soft, pale swells of her breasts spilled free from the parted fabric, full and heavy and aching to be touched.
Her nipples, a delicate shade of dusty pink, were already soft and puffy, the sensitive tips visible.
Wide eyes stared up at her, breath catching audibly in a throat that worked around words that wouldn't come. "Kanroji...What are you…"
Mitsuri caught her lower lip between her teeth, looking down at the flushed face beneath her.
Her own heart hammered wildly against her ribs.
Before she could second-guess herself, before fear could steal her courage, she chose to lean forward.
She felt the sharp intake of breath, felt the way those doe eyes went impossibly wide beneath her.
The sight was devastating - those overwhelmed eyes staring up at her from beneath the generous swell of her breasts, pupils blown wide with arousal.
Lashes fluttered against the underside of her chest, and she could feel each shallow, desperate breath.
Her body jolted, hips jerking down involuntarily, and suddenly they were grinding together again: harder this time, with none of the gentleness from before.
With trembling fingers, Mitsuri shifted her weight, adjusting until she could guide one soft, aching breast toward those parted lips. The first touch was feather-light, but it sent a shockwave through both of them.
The body beneath her went rigid.
Emboldened by need, she pressed more firmly, easing the soft, warm weight of her breast against those parted lips. “Y/N … Can you…”
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then-
A shy, tentative lick.
The wet heat of that tongue dragging across her sensitive nipple made Mitsuri's entire body jolt.
"Oh…" The sound escaped her as a broken gasp, her free hand flying to brace against the tatami.
Her nipple was already sensitive, puffy and swollen from arousal, and that single shy lick sent sparks racing down her spine to pool between her legs.
Those eyes slid shut, dark lashes fanning across flushed cheeks. Then those lips parted wider, and..
Oh god.
A tentative, suckling kiss pressed against her nipple, soft and exploratory and devastating.
The wet warmth, the gentle suction, the way that mouth seemed to be learning the shape and taste of her was too much and not nearly enough all at once.
Mitsuri felt her nipple harden further under the attention, pebbling into a tight, sensitive nub that seemed to pulse with every heartbeat.
The sensation that tore through Mitsuri was so sudden, so overwhelming, that she couldn't contain the sound that ripped from her throat: a high, sharp shriek that shattered the quiet intimacy of the room before melting into something lower and breathier.
A moan that seemed to come from somewhere deep in her chest, she didn't know existed until this very moment.
Her entire body shuddered violently, trembling from the crown of her head down to her curled toes.
It was like every nerve ending in her breast was connected directly to the aching emptiness between her legs, and each pull of those lips made her throb with need.
Was it because they were both girls? Both omegas?
Was it the taboo of it, the forbidden nature of two women tangled together like this, seeking pleasure?
Or was it something else entirely: the tenderness, the vulnerability, the way those lips worked her with such careful, devoted attention, as if worshipping?
Mitsuri didn't know.
Could barely breathe.
"Yes…" The word came out barely coherent.
She pressed herself more firmly into that warm, willing mouth, offering more of herself, silently begging for more of that devastating suction.
"It feels…oh god, it feels so…"
The sentence dissolved into another breathy moan as her tongue swirled around her sensitive peak, as lips sealed more firmly and pulled.
Y/N glanced up at Mitsuri through her lashes, her body thrumming with a tension that was equal parts anxiety and overwhelming arousal.
She'd never been on the giving end before.
Never had someone's pleasure rest so completely in her hands, or in this case, her mouth.
The weight of that responsibility made her hesitate, made her wonder if she was doing this right.
But then Mitsuri gasped, a sharp, eager sound that shot straight through her and something shifted.
Emboldened, she suckled more firmly, her tongue flicking against the hardened nipple with growing confidence.
She experimented with different pressures, different rhythms, cataloging each breathy moan and shudder that her efforts drew from Mitsuri's lips.
The rightness of it settled deep in her chest, chasing away the last of her uncertainty.
Her own hips lifted of their own accord, arching up in search of friction, of relief from the throbbing ache that had built between her legs.
A soft, desperate sound escaped her throat, muffled against Mitsuri's breast but no less needy.
Her hips ground down harder, the rhythm she'd been trying to maintain completely falling apart.
What had been slow, deliberate rolls became frantic, desperate grinding. She couldn't help it.
The need was too great, the ache between her legs too insistent. She could feel how wet she was, the slick heat soaking through her hakama, making every movement slippery and obscene and hard.
Every grind of Mitsuri's hips sent another pulse of need, making her cunt clench around nothing, making her whimper and arch and seek more friction even though she knew it wouldn't be enough.
Not like this.
Not through their clothes.
"Do you…" Mitsuri's voice broke on a gasp, her words coming out in ragged, breathless pants.
"Do you feel it?"
She could barely form coherent thoughts anymore, let alone sentences. Everything had narrowed to the wet heat between them, the desperate friction of their bodies moving together, the devastating pull of that mouth on her breast.
"We're both so…ah…so wet..."
The confession tumbled out raw and shameless.
She could feel it, the slick evidence of their shared arousal soaking through the fabric between them, making every movement slippery.
With trembling fingers, she tugged at the other side of her undershirt, pulling the fabric aside to bare her other breast.
The cool air hit her flushed skin for only a moment before she leaned down again, offering herself with a desperation that would have embarrassed her if she'd had any capacity left for shame. "Please…"
The word came out a whimper.
"I need…I need you to…"
She didn't have to finish.
Y/N understood immediately, turning her head with an eagerness that made Mitsuri's heart stutter.
Those soft lips found her neglected nipple, and the first pull of suction drew a broken cry from Mitsuri's throat.
That slick tongue flicked and swirled, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp, and Mitsuri felt her hips jerk forward involuntarily, grinding down harder.
Her world narrowed to a pinpoint of sensation.
Nothing existed beyond the wet heat of that mouth working her breast, the soft whimpers vibrating against her sensitive flesh, the building pressure coiling tighter and tighter in her belly.
Her thighs trembled where they bracketed Y/N’s hips. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps that she couldn't control.
"Don't stop…please don't stop…" The words spilled out in a breathless rush, her voice roughly strained.
Her fingers tangled in soft hair, holding that perfect mouth against her as her hips moved in increasingly frantic circles. "I'm so close…I'm…oh…please…"
She was right there, teetering on the edge of something that felt too big, too overwhelming.
The sounds of sucking filled her ears, mixed with broken moans and helpless whimpers coming from beneath her.
Mitsuri arched into it, her spine bowing as her body moved instinctively, seeking more, always more.
Those hands, those wonderful, restless hands, roamed across Mitsuri's body with increasing boldness.
They traced the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, the soft curve of her stomach. Each touch was exploratory, almost reverent, as if mapping out new territory.
So different, Mitsuri thought hazily as those hands cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing over nipples that weren't currently being worshipped by that sinful mouth. Her body is so different from mine.
And it was.
But somehow, impossibly, they fit together perfectly.
Like pieces of a puzzle that shouldn't work but did.
Strange and yet so right it made her chest ache with something more than just physical pleasure.
One moment Y/N was cupping the generous fullness of Mitsuri's breast, her thumb circling the hardened peak in slow strokes that made them both shudder.
Then her hands were sliding lower, tracing the soft curve of Mitsuri's sides, feeling the way her body moved and shifted with each roll of her hips.
Her fingers slipped beneath the bunched fabric of Mitsuri's skirt, gripping the plush warmth of her hips with a need to anchor herself to this moment.
Her palms smoothed over the generous swell of Mitsuri's thighs: the skin like silk beneath her touch.
She squeezed gently, feeling the firm muscle beneath the plushness of her skin, and Mitsuri gasped above her, hips stuttering in their rhythm.
Emboldened, her hands explored further, sliding around to cup the roundness of Mitsuri's ass.
But it was when her fingers brushed against the inside of Mitsuri's thighs that she felt it: the unmistakable slickness coating her skin, warm and wet and proof of just how aroused Mitsuri was.
The discovery sent a jolt of pure want straight through her, making her clench around nothing, making her whimper around the nipple in her mouth.
Her hips lifted in a slow, deliberate roll that ground her aching core against Mitsuri's, seeking friction.
Her hands gripped tighter, pulling Mitsuri down against her, urging her to move faster, harder, to give them both what they so desperately needed.
Mitsuri's head fell back as she rocked against Y/N.
Her hips moved with increasing urgency, grinding down in frantic, seeking rolls as she chased the feeling coiling tighter and tighter in her core.
"You're so good at this," Mitsuri whimpered, her voice breaking, fracturing into breathless gasps.
The sensation of that clever mouth on her breast was overwhelming: the wet heat, the suction, the way her tongue flicked and swirled with increasing confidence. "So good…oh…you're so good to me."
Her fingers tangled deeper in Y/N’s hair, not pulling but guiding, gently but insistently pressing her closer, holding her exactly where Mitsuri needed.
And the way she responded, god, the way she responded so eager, so devoted, sucking harder made Mitsuri's praise dissolved into broken moans.
Her thighs trembled where they bracketed her hips, her body drawn taut like a bowstring about to snap.
Her mind was a haze of sensation: soft skin, warm weight, the scent of Mitsuri’s arousal mingling with her own.
It was too much.
It was everything.
"Mitsu…" The name broke from her lips between desperate kisses, cracking on the syllable as her entire body trembled. Her eyes squeezed shut, tears of overwhelming sensation gathering at the corners as the tension coiled impossibly tighter in her core.
"I can't…I want to…please…"
The words dissolved into incoherent whimpers, her body arching up into Mitsuri's grinding hips as if seeking something more, something deeper than the friction through their clothes could provide.
Mitsuri’s green eyes were unfocused, hazy with a need so intense it bordered on pain: terrifying in its magnitude yet exhilarating in its promise.
Then her gaze lifted, meeting those beautiful, desperate eyes: pupils blown wide, face flushed a deep pink, lips swollen and parted around shallow breaths.
"I want to feel you more," Mitsuri whispered, her voice coming out husky and raw, thick with desire and something deeper that made her chest ache.
Her fingers traced a feather-light path higher, a question written in touch. "Can I? Please?"
Y/N couldn't find words for the desperate ache that had taken up residence in her core, whimpering.
"Mm," Mitsuri soothed, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead, tender and sweet, a stark contrast to the heat burning between them.
When she pulled back, her green eyes were warm despite the desire clouding them. "I want to help," she whispered, her voice carrying a hint of apology.
"Please? Let me touch you properly?"
Her thumb traced the curve of Y/N’s jaw.
"Yes," she breathed, the word barely audible but carrying the weight of absolute certainty.
That was all the permission Mitsuri needed.
Her fingers hooked gently into the waistband of her hakama and undergarments. The touch was careful as if Mitsuri was unwrapping something precious.
With a gentle tug, she began to pull the fabric down.
Y/N hesitantly lifted her hips to assist, helping her slide the layers of fabric down her trembling thighs.
The hakama and undergarments slid lower, inch by revealing inch, until they pooled around her ankles.
Mitsuri's breath caught audibly, a sharp inhale that seemed to steal all the oxygen from the room.
Mitsuri stared for a long, breathless moment, completely mesmerized. The sight before her was so intimate, so vulnerable, that it made her chest ache with something fierce and tender all at once.
Y/N lay bare beneath her, flushed and trembling, and she had never seen anything more beautiful.
With clumsy, eager fingers, Mitsuri grabbed the hem of her uniform top and bunched the fabric upward.
She pulled it over her head in one swift motion, her hair tumbling messily around her shoulders as the garment fell forgotten to the tatami mats.
Her breasts bounced free, nipples still peaked and sensitive from earlier attention, and she felt her face burn hotter.
Her hands moved to her skirt, fingers fumbling with the ties in her haste. She wriggled her hips, working the fabric down over the curve of her ass, past her thighs, until it pooled around her knees.
She kicked it away impatiently, leaving herself bare, save for the stockings that clung to her legs: a flimsy barrier that somehow made her feel even more exposed.
Mitsuri's heart hammered against her ribs as she positioned herself above Y/N once more.
But this time, there were no barriers.
No layers of fabric to dull the sensation.
Just skin against skin. Heat against heat.
The moment their cores met, Mitsuri's world narrowed to that single point of contact.
The sensation was so intense it stole the breath from her lungs. So overwhelming it made her vision blur.
So devastatingly right that her mind went blank, every thought scattering like leaves in a storm.
Mitsuri began to move again: a slow, deep grind that made their bodies slide together in a rhythm that felt almost as natural as breathing.
The sounds filling the room were obscene.
Wet, slick noises that echoed off the walls with every movement, the unmistakable sound of two bodies joined in the most intimate way possible.
For two Hashira, two elite demon slayers who were supposed to maintain dignity and composure at all times, the lewdness of it should have been embarrassing.
But Mitsuri couldn't bring herself to care.
Not when it felt this good. Not when every slide of slick flesh against slick flesh sent waves of pleasure crashing through her that threatened to pull her.
Beneath her, Y/N’s hands suddenly flew up to cup Mitsuri's breasts. The touch was electric, sending jolts of sensation straight to her core.
Those nimble fingers found her nipples, still sensitive from earlier attention, and gave a gentle, hesitant tug that made Mitsuri's entire body jolt.
"Ah.."
Her head fell forward, burying itself in the crook of Y/N’s neck as a long, low moan vibrated through her chest.
"Don't stop," she gasped against sweat-dampened skin, her voice breaking. "Please…touch me…"
Each tug sent another pulse of pleasure straight to Mitsuri's throbbing core, making her cunt clench.
Mitsuri could feel it, the way they were both dripping, both aching, both desperate for release.
The way Y/N’s brows drew together, the way her lips parted around broken gasps, the way her eyes squeezed shut as if the sensation was too much.
It was the most gorgeous thing she'd ever seen.
Their eyes met for a heartbeat, green meeting Y/N’s own in a silent question, and she managed a tiny nod despite the way her heart was hammering.
With a look of pure determination, Mitsuri worked the remaining buttons loose with fumbling fingers.
Y/N’s breasts were soft and full, nipples already pebbled tight with arousal, aching to be touched.
She'd never felt so exposed, so seen, and yet there was no shame in it. Not with the way Mitsuri was looking at her.
"So soft," Mitsuri whispered, her voice thick with awe and desire. Her thumbs brushed over the hardened peaks, and they both shuddered.
"So perfect."
For a heartbeat, Mitsuri simply stared, her green eyes dark and hazy with desire, her lips parted.
Her mouth had gone completely dry at the sight before her, at the trust being offered so openly.
After a heartbeat’s pause, she pressed her lips.
The wet heat of Mitsuri's mouth, the exploratory flick of her tongue, the gentle suction that somehow felt like it was pulling pleasure from her very core.
It was so much more intense than she could have ever imagined and so much more intimate than any touch she'd experienced before.
Her fingers flew up, tangling desperately in those distinctive pink and green strands, holding Mitsuri.
But Mitsuri had no intention of stopping.
If anything, the grip in her hair only spurred her on.
Her tongue swirled and flicked, her lips creating a perfect seal as she drew the nipple deeper into the wet heat of her mouth.
And all the while, her hips never stopped moving, that slow, grinding rhythm that kept their cores pressed together, slick and hot and throbbing with need.
When she released that breast with a soft, wet pop, it was only to immediately turn her attention to the other.
Her hands came up to cup and knead the soft flesh, thumbs stroking over the damp, kiss-swollen peak she'd abandoned while her mouth claimed its twin.
When Mitsuri finally pulled back, her lips were swollen and glistening, kiss-bruised and beautiful.
"You…you're so good at this," she breathed, the words tumbling out in a rush of desperation.
Her cheeks flushed pink, darker than usual, as insecurity crept into her expression. "Am I... am I doing a good job? Does it feel good for you too?"
The question hung between them, raw and honest.
Y/N’s reaction was immediate: a shy glance away, those beautiful eyes unable to hold Mitsuri's gaze as a deep blush spread across her cheeks.
"It does..." she whispered, her voice so soft Mitsuri almost missed it. Then, barely audible: "more..."
Mitsuri didn't trust herself to speak.
Her tongue swept past parted lips, swallowing the soft whimpers that spilled from Y/N’s throat.
And her hands, her hands couldn't stay still.
They returned to those perfect breasts, cupping and squeezing, kneading the soft flesh with reverent appreciation.
Her thumbs found the hardened peaks and circled them in slow, deliberate strokes that made her arch and gasp against her mouth.
She alternated between gentle touches and firmer pressure, learning what made those hips buck up to meet hers, what drew out those beautiful, desperate sounds.
Mitsuri adjusted slightly, and her hand slid lower, slow and deliberate, following the line of her body.
Across the trembling plane of her stomach, feeling the muscles jump and flutter beneath her palm.
Until fingers dipped into the wet heat between.
The slickness was overwhelming and coated her fingers instantly. She didn't enter, but found that sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her core.
Her fingertips circled the throbbing clit with gentle, exploratory touches, learning what made Y/N gasp.
The reaction was immediate and devastating.
Her eyes flew open wide, pupils blown so dark they were almost black. A shaky, broken moan tore from her throat, raw and desperate and beautiful.
"Ah…Kanroji…what are…."
The sound of her name gasped out like that, so needy and overwhelmed, sent a fresh surge of arousal flooding through Mitsuri's system.
Her own core clenched and throbbed, empty and aching, but she pushed the sensation aside.
"Shhh," Mitsuri soothed, her voice coming out breathless and trembling despite her attempt at reassurance. "Let me…just let me take care of you."
Her fingers began to move with more purpose now, tracing slow, deliberate circles around that swollen bundle of nerves.
She could feel the way Y/N’s clit throbbed beneath her fingertips, the fresh rush of slickness coating her fingers with each pass.
"I want us both to feel good, together" Mitsuri whispered, her own voice breaking on the words as her hips rolled forward in a slow, grinding motion.
She couldn't help it, her body was moving on instinct now, seeking friction, seeking relief.
She could feel herself getting close, that coiling tension pulling tighter and tighter with each grind.
But she refused to let herself tip over the edge.
Not yet. Not until…
Suddenly hands came up without thought, trembling fingers curling into Mitsuri’s bicep to steady herself.
The touch was hesitant, but the intention was clear.
Mitsuri went willingly, letting herself be drawn down until their bodies were pressed together from chest to hip.
The moment their breasts made contact: soft flesh squishing together, nipples brushing and catching, they both gasped in unison.
Y/N immediately buried her face in the crook of Mitsuri's neck, nuzzling there with desperate, needy little movements.
The new position changed everything.
Each circle of Mitsuri's fingers made Y/N’s hips buck up, pressing their breasts more firmly together, which made their nipples drag and catch in a way that sent electricity shooting through their bodies.
Then she felt it: a trembling hand sliding down between their bodies, fingers brushing against Mitsuri's own before finding their destination.
The first touch against her clit was clumsy, uncertain, but it didn't matter. The sensation shot through Mitsuri like lightning anyway, making her entire body jolt.
"Oh…oh…" A sharp gasp tore from her throat, hips stuttering in their rhythm as those inexperienced fingers began to move.
Frantic, clumsy circles that somehow felt more intense because of their desperation, their earnest need to give back the pleasure they were receiving.
Mitsuri's head fell forward, her forehead pressing against her lover's as pleasure crashed through her in waves. "You're…oh god, you're so…"
The words dissolved into a high, breathy moan.
"So perfect…I just want to…want to eat you up…"
The confession tumbled out raw and unfiltered, her usual sweetness edged with something desperate.
She captured those parted lips in a kiss that was nothing like the tentative explorations from before.
This was messy, all tongue and teeth and breath.
Their fingers worked in tandem with Mitsuri's practiced and purposeful and Y/N’s clumsy.
Each circle against Mitsuri’s clit sent sparks shooting through her body, making her fingers press harder, move faster against the slick heat beneath them.
Then she felt it.
Y/N’s back arched sharply, pressing their bodies even more firmly together. Those clumsy fingers against Mitsuri's clit faltered, then pressed hard as if seeking an anchor in the storm.
The coil snapped.
A broken cry tore from her throat, muffled against Mitsuri's mouth but no less devastating for it.
Mitsuri felt the rhythmic clenching, felt the fresh rush of slickness coating her fingers, felt the way that entire body convulsed and shook beneath her.
The orgasm hit like a physical blow: all-consuming.
Y/N’s back arched so sharply it lifted them both off the tatami, her entire body going rigid as wave after devastating wave of pleasure crashed through her.
A broken, sobbing cry was torn from her lips, the sound muffled against Mitsuri's neck as she buried her face there, seeking shelter from the intensity.
Her fingers trembled uncontrollably.
Mitsuri could feel every shudder, every convulsion that wracked that trembling body beneath her.
"Mitsuri…Mitsuri…" Y/N gasped out like a prayer, repeated over and over between broken sobs.
The sound of it so desperate, so pathetic, sent electricity shooting straight through Mitsuri's core.
The sight of Y/N coming undone: back arched, lips parted around desperate cries, body convulsing with the force of her climax was the most devastating thing Mitsuri had ever witnessed.
The feel of those inner muscles clenching rhythmically against her fingers, the hot gush of cream oozing, the way that entire body shook and trembled beneath her touch it was too much.
Far too much.
"Oh..oh god…" A high-pitched moan tore from Mitsuri's throat as her own release crashed through.
Her vision whited out, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain radiating from her core and spreading through every nerve ending in her body.
Her hips ground down hard against Y/N’s thigh, seeking friction even as the waves kept crashing over her.
Her rhythm faltered completely, her movements becoming jerky and uncoordinated as her body took over.
The pleasure was so intense it stole her breath, left her gasping and shaking and utterly overwhelmed.
"I…I can't…oh…"
Her entire body shuddered violently, wracked with aftershocks that seemed to go on forever.
Every trembling gasp, every broken cry, every rhythmic clench all prolonged the intensity until Mitsuri thought she might actually die from it.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
They just lay there, chests heaving, bodies still occasionally shuddering with aftershocks, fingers still pressed intimately between each other's legs as if neither could bear to break that connection.
Mitsuri's face remained buried in the crook of Y/N’s neck, her lips pressed against that racing pulse.
She could feel tears, when had she started crying?
The only sound in the aftermath was their ragged, syncopated breathing: two rhythms slowly finding harmony as their hearts gradually stopped racing.
But the air stayed thick with heat and scent.
Mitsuri lifted her head just enough to meet those hazy eyes, and felt her lips curve into a smile.
Her body was still trembling with aftershocks, still hypersensitive, but the heat hadn't abated.
That first taste of pleasure made her hungrier.
"Not yet," she breathed, her voice still rough from crying out. Her hands, which had been resting so innocently on Y/N’s hips, began to move with gentle but unmistakable intent. "I need more. Please. "
She guided Y/N upward with careful insistence, urging her to shift positions. Higher. Higher still.
Until those trembling thighs were bracketing Mitsuri's face, until she could see everything: the glistening evidence of their shared pleasure, the way those swollen, sensitive folds were still flushed.
Y/N hesitated, frozen in place, and Mitsuri could feel the tension in those thighs, could see the way her cheeks burned with a lingering arousal. "Mitsuri, I…"
"Shhh." Mitsuri's hands settled on her hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles even as she pulled her down closer. "Let me. I want to taste you properly."
Her breath ghosted over that sensitive flesh, and she felt the answering shiver run through Y/N’s entire body.
Mitsuri's mouth watered.
Her tongue flicked out in a slow, deliberate stroke, tasting the mixture of their combined releases: slick and sweet and utterly addictive.
A sharp gasp, hands flying forward to brace against the tatami for support as pleasure shot through her.
"Mitsuri, you can't…it's dirty…"
The protest was trembling, mortified, but Mitsuri only hummed against that wet heat, the vibration making Y/N jolt. "It's not," she murmured, her lips brushing against swollen folds with each word.
"You taste perfect."
To prove her point, she did it again, a long, slow lick from entrance to clit that had Y/N whimpering.
The flavor burst across her tongue, and Mitsuri moaned softly, her eyes fluttering closed in bliss.
When she felt Y/N try to lift up and pull away from the overwhelming sensation, Mitsuri's grip on her hips tightened, holding her firmly in her place.
"Don't run from me," she whispered, her voice dropping into something darker, hungrier.
Her tongue found that swollen clit and circled it with agonizing precision, drawing a cry from above.
"This is how we pleasure each other," Mitsuri breathed against that sensitive flesh, punctuating her words with soft, suckling kisses. "This is what we can do." Her tongue delved deeper, exploring every fold, every sensitive spot. "So let me. Please."
The plea was muffled against wet heat, but the desperation in it was unmistakable.
Because this was what her body had been craving.
Not the thick knot of an alpha, but the taste and scent of another omega falling apart on her tongue.
Y/N’s legs trembled violently as she surrendered to the position, settling more fully over Mitsuri's face.
The shift in weight pressed her core more firmly against that eager mouth, and breathy moans spilled freely from her lips unrestrained, desperate.
The scent was intoxicating, sweet and musky.
Mitsuri's mouth found her clit again, sucking gently, and Y/N cried out, the sound sharp and broken.
"M-Mitsu…" Her voice broke on a sob, her entire body trembling uncontrollably. "Please…I'm too…"
But Mitsuri didn't stop.
Her hands tightened on those shaking hips, holding her firmly in place even as she bucked and writhed, her tongue working with renewed determination.
Every taste, every tremor of the body above her, every desperate sound that vibrated against her own aching flesh, it all fed the hunger burning.
A muffled whimper escaped her throat, pressed against slick, dripping heat, and the vibration of that sound traveled through both their bodies.
"Ah…!" The soft cry tore from above, raw.
Mitsuri felt those hands suddenly fly to the futon, fisting the fabric so tightly, knuckles turned white.
"M-Mitsuri!" Y/N’s voice cracked like a wave breaking against rocks, desperate and pleading.
"I'm…I'm going to…"
Mitsuri pressed deeper, her tongue flicking in maddening circles against that bundle of nerves.
Each stroke was deliberate, calculated to drive the Celestial Hashira higher toward that inevitable edge.
Those hips began to roll uncontrollably, no longer following any conscious rhythm but moving purely on instinct. The body above her was pleading, begging, for release even as broken attempts at words dissolved into incoherent whimpers.
Mitsuri was equally lost in the storm.
The feel of trembling thighs pressing against her cheeks, the way every muscle tensed and shuddered in response to her tongue ignited something utterly insatiable deep inside her.
Something that transcended heat, transcended biology, transcended everything she'd been taught about what omegas could and couldn't do to each other.
Her own hips ground desperately against the futon beneath her, seeking friction, seeking relief from the ache that had built to an unbearable crescendo.
Each roll of her hips sent sparks of pleasure shooting through her core, but it wasn't enough.
Nothing was enough except the taste on her tongue and the knowledge that she was driving Y/N toward complete surrender.
She was close. So close.
She wanted to feel it, wanted to taste the moment that she came completely undone on her tongue.
And then it happened. The body above her went rigid, every muscle locking tight for one heartbeat.
Then she shattered.
Her back arched violently, a breathy, broken whimper tearing from her throat as the climax crashed over her in endless, devastating waves.
Mitsuri felt it in every tremor, every convulsion, the way her thighs clamped around her head, the gush of fresh wetness against her tongue, the way her entire body seemed to come apart at the seams.
Mitsuri drank her in greedily, her tongue lapping up every drop of release, her own body trembling.
But even as the desperate cries began to subside, melting into shuddering whimpers, Mitsuri didn't stop.
Her tongue kept moving gentler now, but still insistent, drawing out every last aftershock, every final tremor of pleasure from that oversensitive flesh.
"Ah...ah…Mitsu, please…" The protest came out weak and broken, barely more than a whisper.
Trembling hands pushed weakly at Mitsuri's head, trying to create distance, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation. "I-I came already..."
The overstimulated distress in that voice should have made Mitsuri stop. Should have made her pull back and give Y/N a chance to recover. Should have.
But the heat burning through her system, the insatiable hunger in her chest, demanded more.
Finally, with tremendous effort, Mitsuri forced herself to pull back. She was panting, dazed, her lips swollen and glistening with evidence of what they'd just done. Her chin was wet, her face flushed, and when she looked up the view stole what little breath she had left.
Y/N’s pussy hovered just above her face, swollen and glistening, still trembling with aftershocks.
The soft folds were flushed a deep color, slick with arousal and cream, and Mitsuri could see the way her entrance still fluttered eagerly around nothing.
It was the most intimate, vulnerable sight she'd ever witnessed, and it made her heart ache with want.
Her green eyes were dark, pupils blown wide as she stared up at the evidence of what she'd done, what they'd done together. "I wish I was an alpha."
The confession tumbled out before she could stop.
Wish I could impregnate and fill you properly.
Wish I could knot you and make you mine.
Wish I could give you everything you deserve.
But she wasn't an alpha.
She was just another omega, and no matter how much pleasure they gave each other, there would be that hollow ache where a knot should have been.
Above her, Y/N made a soft, exhausted sound and slowly shifted position. Her body was still trembling, muscles weak and uncoordinated from the intensity of her climax, but she managed to turn and slump forward until she was lying fully along Mitsuri.
Mitsuri's own body was spread out beneath her dazed gaze, completely exposed and vulnerable.
Mitsuri could feel those eyes on her taking in the soft curly pink curls she kept neatly trimmed, the glistening wetness that had soaked her inner thighs, the way her entrance clenched and throbbed with desperate, unfulfilled need.
Her thighs trembled uncontrollably, the muscles jumping and twitching as anticipation coiled tighter in her core.
She was so wet it was almost embarrassing, she was dripping down and dampening the tatami.
Y/N’s heart hammered so violently against her ribs she was certain Mitsuri could feel it through the trembling of her thighs where her hands braced.
The position made her hesitate, a quiet shyness settling in as she searched for what came next. This wasn’t something she’d ever learned how to do.
She was utterly exposed, her back arched in a way that left nothing hidden, her own slickness a blatant offering that made her cheeks burn with arousal.
But the sight below her, god, the sight below her, was an equal temptation that made her mouth water and her cunt clench with renewed need.
Mitsuri was spread out like a feast, swollen and glistening and so beautiful it made her chest ache.
The soft thighs beneath her palms were warm and plush, trembling with the same nervous anticipation.
She could see everything: the way Mitsuri's entrance fluttered and clenched, the wetness that had soaked her completely, the swollen bundle of nerves that peeked out from between slick folds.
Slowly, so slowly her muscles screamed in protest, she lowered herself. Her hands pressed more firmly against those soft thighs, using them for balance as she brought her face closer to Mitsuri's heat.
The first lick was hesitant. Tentative. A question written in the shy stroke of her tongue through slick folds.
Mitsuri's answer came immediately a sharp, desperate gasp that seemed to echo through the quiet room.
Her hips lifted off the tatami mats, pressing up into her mouth as if seeking more. "Yes," she breathed, her voice shaking and raw. "Oh…yes…please…"
Emboldened, she did it again, longer this time.
She dragged her tongue through the slick heat, exploring every fold with growing fascination.
It was nothing like she'd imagined during those rare, shameful moments when she'd let herself wonder.
"You're sweet," she murmured against the swollen flesh, the words leaving her in a breath of pure awe.
The confession seemed to hang in the air for a heartbeat before she dove back in, shyness melting away under a wave of desperate hunger.
She licked and explored with growing confidence, learning what made Mitsuri gasp, what made her hips buck and roll.
Her tongue circled that swollen bundle of nerves before dipping lower to taste her entrance, and the throaty moan that earned made her own core throb.
Beneath her, Mitsuri sighed, a sound so full of pleasure and contentment that it vibrated through her entire body like a physical touch.
And then she felt it: the soft, wet pressure of Mitsuri's tongue against her own aching center.
“Wait Please…" The sound tore from her throat, high and desperate. Her head dropped forward, her forehead pressing against Mitsuri's inner thigh as pleasure shot through her in sharp, electric pulses.
Mitsuri's tongue was gentle but insistent.
Each stroke sent sparks racing up her spine, making her hips roll and seek more of that devastating warmth.
Her own movements became more urgent, more desperate. She sucked Mitsuri's clit between her lips, flicking her tongue against it in quick, teasing strokes that drew the most beautiful sounds from below.
And Mitsuri responded, her mouth working with renewed fervor, tongue delving deeper, tasting more thoroughly.
They moved together in perfect synchronization: each lick answered with another, each moan vibrating through sensitive flesh to draw out more pleasure.
Her thighs trembled on each side of Mitsuri's head, body caught between the dual sensations of giving and receiving pleasure.
She could feel herself getting wetter, could feel the way her entrance fluttered against Mitsuri's tongue.
Each whimper she drew out felt like a small victory.
Her tongue traced uncertain patterns, sometimes too light, sometimes too firm, but always trying.
In contrast, Mitsuri's technique was devastatingly confident. Her tongue moved with firm, deliberate strokes that mapped every sensitive fold and curve with the precision of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
She circled Y/N's clit with maddening accuracy, applying just enough pressure to make her vision blur and her thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm.
Her hips began to move without permission from her conscious mind: a slow, instinctive grinding rhythm that rubbed her swollen flesh against Mitsuri's lips and nose.
Her body knew what it needed even as her mind struggled to keep up.
The feel of soft, wet heat against her mouth.
The sounds Mitsuri made: those breathy moans and desperate whimpers that vibrated through her core.
Slowly, she pushed herself up, her back arched slightly as she looked down over her shoulder.
The position made her acutely aware of how exposed she was, how her body was presented, spread open and glistening. But she needed to see.
Her gaze traveled down the length of her own soft body to find Mitsuri's face in between her thighs.
Her cheeks were flushed a deep pink, and the look on her face was one of pure, unfiltered hunger.
"Am I doing it right?"
The sight stole every coherent thought from Mitsuri.
Y/N, poised above her in the most vulnerable position imaginable, back arched in a perfect, desperate curve that made every line of her body a work of art.
The soft curves of her ass and the glistening pink of her pussy were presented like a trembling offering, so close Mitsuri could feel the heat radiating.
And her face, turned to look back with those wide, uncertain eyes, cheeks flushed a deep rose, lips parted around shallow, soft breaths.
A low, wanting groan tore from her throat, a sound she'd never made before, primal and desperate.
"God, yes," she managed, her voice coming out rough and wrecked.
She could barely form words, could barely think past the overwhelming need to taste and touch and claim. "You're perfect. Don't stop, please don't."
With a soft, determined sound, Y/N lowered herself back down and dove in with renewed purpose.
Her tongue plunged deeper this time, no longer tentative or questioning. She explored with intent, seeking out the source of those sweet, desperate sounds that made her own body throb with need.
At the same time, she arched her back further, the curve of her spine deepening as she pressed her own dripping cunt more firmly against Mitsuri's.
The dual sensations were overwhelming.
Giving pleasure while receiving it, tasting while being tasted, the perfect synchronization of their bodies moving together in this intimate dance.
Beneath her, Mitsuri whimpered, a muffled, desperate sound that vibrated against Y/N’s sensitive pussy and sent sparks of electricity.
Her hands began gripping her trembling hips with sudden urgency, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks.
She held on like an anchor, guiding the rhythm and grinding Y/N down harder against her hungry mouth.
Y/N was drowning in sensation, completely overwhelmed by the onslaught of pleasure.
The slick slide of her own tongue through Mitsuri's sensitive folds, learning every fold and curve.
The incredible, devastating pressure of Mitsuri's mouth on her, that clever tongue circling her clit with maddening precision, those lips sucking and pulling her in ways that made her vision blur.
Her breaths came in ragged, broken sobs, each one catching in her throat as pleasure threatened to steal her ability to breathe entirely.
Her hips moved in increasingly frantic circles, grinding down harder, seeking more of that perfect friction even as her body trembled desperately.
"Mitsu…" The name came out broken, desperate, barely more than a gasp. "I'm…I'm close…I want to cum…please…."
The confession tumbled out between gasping breaths, raw and unfiltered. She needed Mitsuri to know, needed her to understand that she was teetering right on the edge, that one more perfect stroke of that tongue would send her spiraling over.
Mitsuri's answer was immediate and devastating.
Her teeth closed around that swollen, throbbing bundle of nerves, not hard, but with just enough pressure to send a shockwave of sensation exploding through Y/N’s entire body.
The gentle nibble was followed instantly by her tongue flicking mercilessly fast, the strokes pushing her right over that precipice she'd been teetering on.
Her climax crashed over her with the force of a wave, stealing the breath from her lungs and tearing a broken, keening cry from her throat.
The sound was raw and desperate: part gasp, part whine, part sob as pleasure detonated through every nerve ending in her body.
Her back arched, thighs clenching around Mitsuri's head as wave after devastating wave rolled through her.
Her hips continued to stutter against Mitsuri's face, a rhythm she'd been maintaining completely falling apart as she was swept away in the undertow.
Her movements became erratic, uncoordinated, grinding down one moment, jerking away the next.
Y/N pressed her mouth hard against Mitsuri's clit, sealing her lips around that sensitive nub and sucking with desperate intensity.
Her tongue swirled even as her own body shook, even as her vision blurred and her lungs burned.
She was determinedto drag Mitsuri over that edge with her and make them both fall together into that beautiful oblivion.
And the vibrations, oh god, the vibrations of her own cries and moans and broken sobs against Mitsuri's most sensitive flesh…
It worked.
Mitsuri's entire body went rigid beneath her, every muscle locking tight for one suspended heartbeat.
"Oh…oh god…" The cry tore from Mitsuri's throat, high and desperate. Her hips bucked up violently, grinding against Y/N’s relentless mouth as her climax crashed through her with devastating force.
She could feel herself clenching rhythmically, could feel the fresh flood of arousal coating Y/N’s chin and lips, could feel every devastating aftershock as that clever tongue continued its work.
They came together, overlapping, feeding into each other, their mutual pleasure amplifying and echoing until neither could tell where one climax ended and the other began.
Her fingers dug into Y/N’s soft hips with bruising force, holding her in place as if afraid she might disappear.
Her body went limp, boneless with every muscle trembling with exhaustion until she felt Y/N slide off to the side and heard the soft thump as she collapsed onto the tatami beside her.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
The air around them was heavy, saturated with the mingled scent of their releases and pheromones.
Jasmine softened by sakura blossoms.
Even as the aftershocks of pleasure still pulsed through her core, even as her body sang with satisfaction, there was something... missing.
The knot.
The realization settled over her like a weight.
No thick knot swelling inside to plug and claim.
Just this persistent, hollow wanting that even the most intense pleasure couldn't quite satisfy.
Mitsuri stirred first.
Her body was still trembling with aftershocks, every nerve ending singing with oversensitivity, but the hollow ache in her core refused to be ignored.
She pulled, gentle but insistent, until their bodies aligned completely. Chest to chest. Hip to hip.
The soft, generous curves of her breasts pressed flush against Y/N’s, warm and yielding. The contact drew gasps from both of them, the sound mingling in the space between their lips.
Mitsuri buried her face in the crook of Y/N’s neck, breathing in the sweet, heady scent of jasmine and satisfaction that clung to sweat-dampened skin.
Her lips found the racing pulse point there and pressed a reverent kiss, then another, beginning a slow, worshipful trail along the line of her jaw.
Each kiss was a confession.
I'm not done with you yet.
Her mouth traveled higher over the sharp angle of her jaw, the delicate crest of her cheekbone, the flutter of a closed eyelid that trembled beneath her lips. She mapped every inch with tender devotion, committing the taste and texture to her memory.
"Mitsuri..." The name came out a hushed whisper, hoarse and rough from all the crying she'd done.
A hand came up to cradle the back of Mitsuri's head, fingers tangling in the silken pink strands that had come loose from her braids. The touch was gentle, grounding, and it made Mitsuri's eyes flutter closed with contentment.
Mitsuri captured her Y/N’s mouth in a slow, deep kiss. Their lips were swollen and oversensitive from all that had come before, but that only made the contact more intense.
She kissed her thoroughly, languidly, sharing breath and heat and the lingering taste of each other.
When she finally pulled back, just enough to speak, their lips still brushing, her confession came out raw.
"Im not done."
The admission hung between them, vulnerable and desperate. Mitsuri's heart hammered against her ribs as she waited for a response, suddenly terrified that she'd asked for too much. That Y/N would push her away, exhausted and overwhelmed.
But instead, Y/N’s eyes opened, hazy and dark with renewed arousal, and she kissed Mitsuri back.
Their need built again, but differently this time.
Not with the frantic, clawing hunger of heat-driven desperation, but with a deep, swelling tide that rose slowly and inexorably. It was patient. Thorough.
A promise that they had all the time in the world to explore each other.
Mitsuri's hand, which had been splayed possessively across Y/N’s hip, began to drift.
Her palm slid over the generous swell of her ass, fingers tracing the sensitive crease where thigh met cheek with deliberate slowness. She felt the muscles tense beneath her touch, heard the sharp intake of breath that made her smile against lips.
With gentle but insistent pressure, she spread Y/N open, just enough to make her gasp, to make her squirm, before her hand ventured around to the front.
Her fingers drifted higher, higher, until finally, they brushed through sensitive folds that were already slick with renewed arousal.
A sharp gasp broke their kiss, and Mitsuri felt those hips twitch forward involuntarily, seeking more contact before conscious thought could catch up.
"Wait…Kanroji…let me…" The protest came out breathless, as trembling hands reached down as if to reciprocate.
"Shh," Mitsuri soothed, capturing that mouth again in a deeper, more demanding kiss. Her free hand caught Y/N’s wrist gently but firmly, guiding it back up to tangle in her hair instead.
Her finger didn't enter, not yet.
Those hands clenched desperately in her hair, neither pulling her closer nor pushing her away, just holding on as if she were the only solid thing in a spinning world.
"Please…" The word was torn from her throat when she finally broke the kiss, her forehead pressing against Mitsuri's as her eyes squeezed shut.
Her hips rolled forward, trying to increase the pressure, trying to guide those teasing fingers where she needed them most. "Please, Mitsuri."
The careful circles continued their maddening path around her entrance, up through her folds, circling but never quite touching her clit.
It was torture of the sweetest kind, and Mitsuri could feel the way Y/N’s body trembled with the effort of not simply grinding down onto her hand.
"Please what?" Mitsuri breathed, unable to resist. Her finger dipped lower, pressing just barely against that entrance,not entering, just there, a promise of what could come.
She broke off with a whimper as Mitsuri's finger circled her entrance again, so close but not giving.
"Just put it in. Please put it in."
The desperate plea sent a bolt of pure arousal straight through Mitsuri's core. Y/N: usually so composed, so careful, was falling apart, begging to be filled, begging to chase that full, aching feeling.
A soft, breathy giggle escaped Mitsuri's lips before she could stop it, her green eyes opening to meet Y/N's desperate gaze. “Oh my," she cooed, her voice dropping into something fond and utterly delighted.
She shifted their position slightly, leaning over just enough to get a better view.
Her gaze traveled down the length of Y/N’s trembling body: the heaving chest, the flushed skin, the way her thighs were spread so willingly, before settling on where her hand rested.
Her free hand came up to cup the soft weight of her soft breasts, thumb finding the peaked nipple and rubbing slow, deliberate circles over the sensitive flesh.
"You're so cute when you're like this," Mitsuri breathed, unable to keep the wonder from her voice.
A broken whimper was her only answer.
Y/N turned her face away, burying it in the crook of Mitsuri's neck as if she could hide from the intensity.
But even as she tried to hide, her body betrayed her, hips arching up, pressing herself more firmly into Mitsuri's teasing hand, silently begging for more.
"Okay, okay," Mitsuri whispered, her own breath hitching as she felt the Hashira tremble against her.
Her thumb continued its maddening circles on that peaked nipple while her other hand stilled between those spread thighs. "I've got you. Are you ready?"
She felt the tiny nod against her neck, felt the way her breath came in shallow, anticipatory pants.
Mitsuri's circling finger stilled completely, resting just at that entrance. Then with agonizing, careful slowness she pressed the pad of her index finger forward.
The heat was immediate and overwhelming, wet and welcoming and so incredibly tight. She pushed in slowly, just to the first knuckle, feeling every clench and flutter of those inner muscles.
"Ah…!" The cry that tore from Y/N’s throat was sharp and breathless, her entire body going rigid.
"Oh..." Mitsuri breathed, her eyes going wide with fascination and arousal. "It's so tight. You're so…"
She swallowed hard, her own body throbbing in response to the incredible heat clenching around just the tip of her finger. "Does it hurt? Should I…"
"No…don't stop…please…" The words tumbled out in a desperate rush, broken and needy.
Her hips shifted, trying to take more, and Mitsuri felt her heart clench at the raw want in that movement.
Slowly, carefully, Mitsuri pushed deeper.
She felt every inch of that tight, velvety passage yielding around her finger, felt the way those inner muscles fluttered as if trying to pull her in further.
"Wow..." Mitsuri breathed, her voice shaking.
The grip around her finger was incredible: desperate and clinging, an insatiable heat that pulsed with each rapid heartbeat. "You're gripping me like you'll never let go."
She began to move, not thrusting, but curling.
A slow, shallow curl of her finger that made Y/N's entire body shudder violently against her.
The reaction was immediate and beautiful: a choked gasp, trembling thighs, fingers digging harder into her shoulders.
The sensation of being filled like this was so different from what an alpha's knot would provide.
There was no thick, swelling pressure locking them together, no overwhelming stretch that bordered on too much. Instead, this was precise. Exact. Intimate.
A spreading ache that radiated through her pelvis with each careful curl, making her toes curl against the tatami mats.
"Does it feel good?" Mitsuri whispered, leaning down to press her lips against a flushed shoulder.
She sucked gently, feeling the skin heat beneath her mouth as she worked a mark into the tender flesh.
Her tongue traced a path up the column of that trembling neck, tasting salt and arousal. "Tell me it feels good."
Her inner walls clenched down hard around Mitsuri's finger, fluttering wildly.
"Ah! There it is," Mitsuri breathed, her own arousal spiking at the violent reaction. She curled her finger again, pressing firmly against that spot, and was rewarded with another choked cry.
"Oh, you're dripping all over my hand."
It was true.
Each curl of her finger seemed to draw more, until the obscene wet sounds filled the quiet room.
Y/N couldn't form words anymore.
Could only gasp and tremble, jaw hanging open as desperate, incoherent sounds spilled from her lips.
Her hips moved instinctively, meeting each slow, deliberate curl with a shallow roll that sought more pressure, more friction, more.
"You're doing so well," Mitsuri murmured, pressing kisses along her jaw, her cheek, anywhere she could reach. "Taking my finger so perfectly. Do you want more? Can you take more?"
The answering whimper was all the permission she needed.
Carefully, Mitsuri withdrew slightly, just enough to press a second finger alongside the first.
The stretch was immediate, the resistance making her pause. "Breathe," she whispered, her free hand coming up to stroke soothingly along a trembling thigh. "Just breathe for me."
She felt Y/N try to relax, felt those inner muscles flutter and release just slightly. Then she pushed forward, slowly working both fingers inside.
"Oh…oh god…Mitsuri…” The words came out strangled, broken by gasping breaths.
The stretch was exquisite.
Not painful, but full, a deep, spreading pressure that made stars burst behind tightly clenched eyelids.
Two fingers was so much more than one, filling her in a way that made every nerve ending sing.
She could feel herself being opened, stretched around that careful intrusion, and it was overwhelming in the best possible way.
Mitsuri watched with dark, hungry eyes as her fingers disappeared inside that tight heat.
The sight was intoxicating: the way Y/N's body accepted her, the way slick arousal coated her knuckles, the way those hips rolled desperately seeking more.
"You're so beautiful," Mitsuri whispered again, her voice trembling, not with her usual bright sweetness, but with raw, desperate arousal.
Her fingers quickened their pace, curling and stroking with increasing urgency while her thumb found that swollen bundle of nerves and began rubbing firm, tight circles that made her body jolt.
"Tell me it feels good," she breathed, her green eyes dark and hazy as she watched every reaction, every tremor. "I love how I can feel every little shake and quiver inside you. You're so warm and soft, so perfect, and you're squeezing my fingers so tight."
The crude words, so different from Mitsuri's usual bubbly, innocent demeanor, sent a shock of heat straight through her core.
This wasn't the sweet Love Hashira who blushed at compliments and giggled over sweets. This was someone else entirely. Someone desperate and shameless and utterly consumed by desire.
"Y-Yes…" The admission tore from her throat in a broken sob, her hips bucking up to meet each thrust of those fingers. "It feels…oh god, Mitsuri, it feels…"
She couldn't finish.
The words dissolved into incoherent whimpers as her body responded to that filthy praise, clenching down hard around the fingers moving inside her.
"Oh…oh…" Mitsuri's rhythm faltered for just a moment, her eyes going wide. "Gods, you're going to make me cum just from feeling you do that."
And then she shifted, pressing her own throbbing, aching cunt against Y/N's thigh and grinding down hard, seeking friction even as her fingers continued.
"Please," Mitsuri gasped, her voice breaking on the word. "Please cum on my hand. I need to feel it, I need to feel you come apart. "
Y/N’s head threw back, a breathy moan tearing from her throat as her hips bucked wildly against her hand.
Her inner walls clenched and fluttered around those fingers, wave after wave of devastating pleasure washing through her until she was sobbing, actually sobbing, from the intensity of it.
Oversensitive and utterly spent, her body trembling uncontrollably as the orgasm seemed to go on and on.
"Oh…feeling you…I'm…I'm…!" Mitsuri's words dissolved into a choked, high-pitched cry as her own release crashed over her.
Her body shuddered violently, her hips grinding down hard against Y/N's thigh as she rode out the waves of pleasure.
Her fingers remained buried deep inside that clenching heat, feeling every flutter and pulse of Y/N’s continued aftershocks, and it only made her own climax more intense. More devastating.
Slowly, so slowly it felt like a physical ache, Mitsuri's fingers began to withdraw.
The movement was reluctant and hesitant, as if her body itself was protesting the separation.
Each millimeter of retreat sent a fresh shiver through them both: Mitsuri feeling the desperate flutter of inner muscles trying to hold her in place, Y/N feeling the devastating emptiness that followed.
When those fingers finally slipped free completely, a soft, broken whimper escaped into the quiet room.
The sound was small and vulnerable, a wordless protest against the loss of that intimate fullness.
Her body clenched around nothing, still seeking what was no longer there, and the hollow ache that remained felt almost unbearable.
Mitsuri felt it too, that profound sense of loss.
Her hand trembled slightly as she brought it up between them, fingers glistening in the soft light.
For a moment she just stared, mesmerized by the physical evidence of what they'd shared.
Then, with infinite tenderness, she nuzzled into damp hair, breathing in the mingled scent of sweat and arousal and something uniquely hers.
Her breathing was still ragged, coming in shallow pants that gradually began to slow and deepen.
She could feel Y/N's chest rising and falling against her own, their rhythms slowly synchronizing like two pendulums finding harmony.
The frantic desperation that had driven them was fading, replaced by something softer. Warmer.
For a long moment, they simply existed in that space tangled together, skin against skin, heartbeats gradually slowing from their frantic pace.
The silence between them was thick and heavy, weighted with everything they'd just done.
Two omegas shouldn't be able to satisfy each other like this. Shouldn't be able to bring each other to such completion without an alpha's knot.
But they had. God, they had.
Then, as if drawn by some invisible thread, they shifted. It wasn't conscious, wasn't planned.
Just an instinctive need to be closer, to see each other, to acknowledge what had passed between them.
Their foreheads came together, a gentle press of damp skin against damp skin, and suddenly they were breathing the same air.
Sharing the same space.
Her eyes fluttered open to find Mitsuri already watching her, those green eyes soft and hazy and filled with something that made her chest ache.
Wonder, maybe. Or tenderness.
Or perhaps just the same overwhelming emotion that was threatening to spill over in her own heart.
Their breaths mingled in the narrow space between their lips, shallow and warm, gradually falling into perfect synchronization.
In, out. In, out. Like their bodies had learned a new rhythm, one that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with simply being together.
She could feel Mitsuri's heartbeat against her chest, strong and steady, gradually slowing to match her own. Or maybe hers was matching Mitsuri's.
It was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began anymore. They were tangled together, legs intertwined, arms wrapped around each other, fingers still clutching at sweat-slicked skin as if afraid to let go.
Mitsuri's hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing away a tear she hadn't realized had fallen.
The touch was so gentle it made her throat tighten with emotion. When had anyone ever touched her like this? With such tenderness? Such reverence?
“Is this wrong?” Mitsuri asked quietly, after a long while, forehead resting against Y/N’s temple, breath calm again.
Y/N thought, then shook her head, the motion gentle enough not to dislodge the peace they’d built. “No,” she said. “…I would say it’s kind.”
Mitsuri smiled, eyes closing, tears caught in lashes and going nowhere. “Kind is my favorite thing.”
They sat like that until the square of light moved and the wind remembered how to be cool.
Eventually, the syrup in the air thinned, and their scents folded back into themselves, tidy and sweet.
Mitsuri stayed curled against y/n longer than either of them would ever report. Y/N let her.
When they finally separated, it was with shy little noises and fingers that didn’t want to leave skin.
Mitsuri was the first to laugh properly, wiping at her eyes. “Shinobu would be fascinated,” she said, scandalized and delighted. “She’d make a chart. She’d ask us so many questions.”
“She would,” Y/N agreed, serene again, lips still pink. “We’re not telling her.”
“Never,” Mitsuri vowed, and then broke immediately with a giggle. “Maybe later, after she makes tea and promises not to write anything down.”
They cleaned their faces at the barrel, re-tied sashes, re-braided hair with hands that occasionally bumped and then snatched back with apologies that turned into smiles.
Outside, the light had gentled into late afternoon.
At the gate, Mitsuri hesitated and took Y/N’s hand in both of hers, squeezing with the ferocity of someone who loved too loudly and had finally found the exact volume of relief. “Thank you,” she said, simple.
Y/N squeezed back, equally simple. “Not alone,” she reminded.
They began the walk home.
The world was full of longing; it always had been.
Two girls had only given it softer edges for a while.
As the path narrowed through the cedars, Mitsuri bumped her shoulder into Y/N’s, playful, and then, unable to help herself, leaned her head against it for three steps. Y/N’s hand brushed Mitsuri’s knuckles and stayed.
“Y/N?” Mitsuri said, eyes on the shimmer between branches.
“Mm?”
“If it hurts again,” Mitsuri whispered, “can I kiss you?”
Y/N’s smile came like a lantern lit against evening.
“Yes,” she said, voice calm and warm. “Slowly.”
They walked on, scents clean and light, footsteps matched, the kind of silence between them that felt like the end of a song and the beginning of the next one.
Hello !!! I’ve been cross-posting a series called No Strings Attached on AO3 and Wattpad!!! It’s an enemies-to-lovers || friends-with-benefits College AU following Sanemi × Fem!Reader. I was wondering if you’d be interested in me posting it here.
This would be my first time sharing it in this space, so I wanted to ask if that’s something you’d all like to see! Thank you so much for your patience, it means a lot!
Can I please request a smut of usual poly Giyu x reader x Sanemi where they compete who can make the reader come harder. Also why doesn't Giyu always get to take the cunt, just an observation since it's always Sanemi who takes the reader's pussy unless it's double p
Please disregard if you're not comfortable taking this request, thank you!
✨ Prompt: Taisho Era || Competitive Threesome
🎧 Song on Loop: What You Need || The Weeknd
🌟 Author's Note: Hello, and thank you so much for requesting this! I don’t write smut very frequently, and in the past it was usually based on prompts that didn’t involve penetration, so the dynamics were a bit looser. I usually imagine Sanemi acting on instinct first, while Giyu serves as that deeply intimate point of safety and reassurance. I’ll be more mindful about giving them equal moments moving forward (ᵕ • ᴗ •) ❤︎
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
The day carried the dull ache of an old bruise.
Work had pulled Y/N from them, scattering her across the day until she was nowhere they could reach, nowhere they could keep her for even a breath.
Perhaps that’s how they ended up here in this predicament, half-tangled in longing and pride.
Y/N was gasping and twitching between the two men, hair plastered to her nape and cheeks with sweat.
Her clit pulsed with a desperate, maddening ache, each throb a reminder of how empty she felt, how badly she needed to be filled.
The hunger inside her was a living thing, raw and relentless, spreading heat through her core until every nerve screamed for touch.
It had started that morning when Giyu and Sanemi finally found her, their competitive energy crackling like lightning the moment their eyes landed on her.
Two predators suddenly focused on the same prey.
They'd spent hours trading possessive touches, each trying to prove who could overstimulate faster.
Don’t get her wrong. Her men were kind. Her men were patient. Her men were understanding.
But today… today was something else entirely.
One look, one soft sigh, and restraint fell apart.
From there, everything unraveled. Breathless kisses stolen between petty arguments about turns, about time, about who deserved her attention the longest.
It should have been annoying.
Instead, it made her cunt clench with want.
She was settled into Giyu's lap, the hard line of his cock pressed against her back, each throb leaving a slick trail of precum that marked her skin, a hot, possessive reminder of his barely contained desire.
His calloused hands cupped her breasts, fingers digging into soft flesh with a deliberate pressure.
She hummed encouragement, pressing deeper into his grip, silently begging him to squeeze harder, to maul her tits until she was trembling and desperate.
Sanemi lowered himself between her parted thighs, his calloused hands settling against the tender skin.
His thumb traced idle patterns along the softness, and she felt the heat of his breath ghost over the wet mess between her thighs before anything else.
Then his tongue dragged through her slick folds in one slow, l stroke, starting at her entrance and traveling upward with the kind of patience that felt like cruelty.
The wet heat of his mouth sent lightning through her veins, and when he circled her swollen clit with maddening precision, her world narrowed to just that point of contact, that unbearable focus.
A sound escaped her: soft, breathless, barely more than an exhale. Her head fell back against Giyu's shoulder, finding the solid warmth of him there.
Her fingers found Sanemi's hair without thought, threading through the silver strands and tugging gently, a wordless plea she couldn't quite voice.
She could feel how wet she was, how obscene it must look: his mouth working between her thighs, tongue lapping at her like he was starving for it.
She should have felt embarrassed, dripping and desperate between them. But she wanted more.
Giyu huffed a small breath, eyebrows knit as his hands gripped her tits with bruising force, fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh until it spilled between his knuckles and he found her nipples.
He twisted the sensitive bud between his fingers, tugging and squeezing with relentless pressure.
As if he could wring milk from her trembling flesh.
It was perverted and the thought alone made heat coil low in her belly, made her feel filthy and wanted.
"Do you like that?"
The words came out as a heated whisper against the shell of her ear, his lips dragging along her jaw in wet, open-mouthed kisses that left burning trails across her skin.
A broken gasp ripped from her throat, her spine arching hard as his fingers twisted her nipples.
But Sanemi's rough grip tightened on her hips, holding her firmly in place between their bodies.
His tongue rolled another slow, devastating circle.
A pathetic, broken whimper tore from her throat, the sound so needy it would've embarrassed her if she had any coherent thoughts left.
Her hips bucked desperately against Sanemi's mouth, grinding her cunt against his face with shameless abandon as her body hung suspended between their relentless, merciless attention.
She was nothing but sensation now: caught between Giyu's cruel fingers working her tits and Sanemi's wicked tongue devouring her wet heat.
Sanemi wasn't rushing.
He never did when he had her like this.
He devoured her like a starving man, tongue tracing every trembling inch of her inner thighs.
Each lick a promise of brutal, relentless pleasure.
She writhed against his iron grip, a desperate, broken whine tearing from her throat as he pulled back, leaving her pussy clenching around nothing.
Giyu's hands weren't idle either.
His hands kneaded her breasts like a man starving: rough palms sliding over soft flesh, fingers slick with his own spit, each brutal squeeze designed to mark her as thoroughly as possible.
He rolled the aching buds with practiced precision, tugging and twisting until it became a pulsing point of pleasure that had her arching into his touch.
His other hand claimed her hip with equal violence: fingers digging deep, tracing possessive patterns that promised she would feel his touch for days, a living, breathing mark of exactly who she belonged to.
A soft gasp escaped as she melted into Sanemi’s mouth, quiet laughter brushing against Giyu’s neck.
Sanemi growled against her inner thigh, his mouth a brand of pure, competitive hunger determined to wrench sounds from her that would make Giyu's efforts pale in comparison.
"Don't forget about me…," he whispered, as his tongue finally plunged into her, hot and relentless.
He ate her like she was his last meal, each brutal stroke a calculated assault meant to wrench every single trembling whimper from her body, his only goal to claim victory in who could break her first.
His mouth closed over her clit, tongue flattening against the swollen, desperate flesh and then he looked up.
Soft at first, then harder, each pulse of his mouth a calculated assault that made her thighs tremble.
Giyu watched intently from behind, his hands roaming over her body as Sanemi worked her.
The dual stimulation was maddening: Sanemi’s mouth driving her closer to the edge while Giyu’s hands roamed and teased, heightening every sensation.
“Y/N,” Giyu whispered against her, the vibrations sending shivers through her entire body. “Do you want my mouth too?.”
Y/N whimpered, shaking her head, her face flushed as she squeezed her eyes shut. “Wait…no…I’m…” she breathed, voice trembling between protest and need.
Her climax tore through her like a live wire, body convulsing under their combined assault: every muscle clenching, every nerve ending exploding in a violent, desperate release that left her sobbing and utterly undone.
Her thighs clamped around Sanemi’s head, her back arched violently against Giyu’s chest, and her fingers twisted so tightly in Sanemi’s hair it was a miracle she didn’t pull it out.
Through the haze of her climax, she felt the hot, slick flood of her release coating Sanemi's mouth.
He groaned against her oversensitive flesh, the sound vibrating through her like electricity, his tongue diving back in to lap and suck every single drop as if she were the only thing keeping him alive.
Each desperate stroke of his tongue sent sharp, almost painful jolts through her trembling body.
He didn’t stop, his mouth bordered on prayer and ruin both, a hunger so deep it felt like worship.
She collapsed into a trembling mess, muscles twitching uncontrollably, so hypersensitive that Sanemi's smallest breath against her made her jerk.
And that’s when she felt Giyu shift behind her.
The crude, wet sound of him spitting into his palm cut through her hazy aftermath.
Her lidded eyes caught the movement: his hand sliding down his cock, fingers wrapped tight, that thick vein on the underside pulsing with each deliberate stroke.
Her cunt betrayed her, pulsing in a soft, desperate clench that said exactly the opposite: that she was already wet and aching to be filled. He didn’t ask.
Giyu's hand guided the blunt, slick head of his cock through her drenched folds, each deliberate pass rubbing against her swollen, hypersensitive clit with a precision that made her entire body tremble.
She let out a sharp, keening whine that was half-pain, half-desperate need, her hips trying to jerk away from the overwhelming sensation even as they pushed greedily against it.
"Tomioka, wait…" she gasped, the words a broken plea that dissolved the moment his hands gripped her hips, possessive and unyielding.
"Shhh," he whispered against her ear, voice a low, dangerous rumble that sent shivers down her spine.
"You can take it..."
With that, he notched himself at her entrance and eased her down: one gentle, unforgiving motion that split her open and stretched her impossibly wide.
Her moan shattered the air, breathless and raw, torn from the deepest part of her as her body fought and surrendered all at once, filled completely.
The stretch was brutal: a burning, impossible fullness that made her pussy clench and spasm around his cock in violent, uncontrollable pulses.
Giyu groaned, a deep, ragged sound of pure satisfaction, forehead dropping to her sweaty shoulder as her body proceeded to milk him.
Then his hands tightened on her hips, and he started fucking her: lifting and slamming her down onto him with a punishing rhythm that made her vision blur.
Each desperate thrust drove him so deep she felt him in her throat, each upward pull leaving her empty and desperate before he filled her again.
She was a trembling, incoherent wreck, broken pleas and whimpers spilling from her lips as her head lolled back against him.
Her pussy stretched obscenely around his length, dripping and swollen. A dark chuckle fell through.
"Look at her," Sanemi snarled, voice cutting through the room like a knife: rough, commanding, hungry.
He was on his knees, hand wrapped bruisingly tight around his own thickness, stroking in brutal rhythm with each of Giyu's punishing thrusts.
His eyes were predatory, fixed on where Giyu's cock disappeared into her dripping, stretched-open cunt, watching every inch of that brutal invasion.
“Go faster,” he breathed. “Unless you want me to step in and show you how it’s actually done.”
Giyu's response was immediate: a low, feral grunt that transformed into an even more relentless pace.
His hands gripped her hips, slamming her down so hard the wet, obscene slap of skin echoed through the room, drowning out her broken, desperate whimpers.
Her head rested back against his shoulder, her breasts bouncing and filling the room with slaps.
He would not lose. Not to Sanemi. Not to anyone.
In one fluid motion, Giyu rose to his feet, bringing her up with him: adjusting and filling her completely.
Her legs dangled helplessly over his forearms as he supported her weight effortlessly, and the shift in angle made her gasp.
The new position drove him impossibly deeper, each upward thrust sending sparks of pleasure racing through her core.
Heat bloomed across her skin where their bodies pressed together, and she couldn't suppress the breathless sounds that escaped her lips with each stroke.
A low, appreciative whistle cut through the air.
Sanemi’s footsteps followed behind them, the heat of his gaze tracking every bounce and shudder of her body as Giyu continued to move inside her.
When he finally lowered her down, she felt the reluctant slide of him pulling out and a pathetic whimper escaped her throat before she could stop.
The sudden emptiness was almost painful.
Her legs trembled beneath her, barely able to support her weight, and she would have collapsed if not for Sanemi's strong arm wrapping around her.
He pulled her back against his chest, steadying her even as his free hand roamed lower, palming the curve of her ass with possessive appreciation.
“You really don’t have any patience, do you?” Sanemi drawled near her ear, voice dipped low.
Y/N’s breath hitched into a soft whimper, and she leaned into him as if he were the only steady thing left.
"Leave her alone and bring her here." Giyu's sigh carried across the room, though there was no real annoyance in it, just that characteristic patience.
She watched through hazy eyes as his rough hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly as he watched them with those intense dark eyes.
A low chuckle rolled from Sanemi, humming through her spine where their bodies met. “So demanding.”
His hands firmed at her hips and she was moving, carried forward across the room toward where Giyu was waiting.
Her legs had gone soft, every step a wobble, but Sanemi held her upright as easily as breathing.
When they reached him, Giyu’s hands came up to her waist, steady and sure, drawing her down.
She gasped as he positioned her, straddling in reverse, her back to his chest, and then he was sliding back inside her in one smooth thrust.
The angle punched the air from her lungs.
From this angle, every shift of his hips hit places inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids.
His waist was warm against her thighs, his breathing slow and sure, his hands gripping her waist just firmly enough to keep her balanced.
“What are you waiting for?” The words snapped through the blur, Sanemi’s tone hard and directive.
His shadow crossed her face as he watched with fond amusement, voice low and certain. “Ride him.”
The order sent a shiver racing down her spine.
A small, desperate sound escaped her, her body already moving on instinct before her mind caught up.
Her thighs trembled as she lifted herself up, feeling every inch of Giyu sliding out of her until only the swollen tip remained inside, stretching her entrance.
The sudden emptiness made her ache, longing tugging her forward before she eased back down.
There was nothing graceful in her movement now, no elegance or careful control: only instinctive need.
Her hair fanned out behind her with each rise and fall of her hips. She could feel it sticking to her back.
Giyu's hands weren't just holding her anymore.
They slid down from her waist with deliberate slowness, teasingly tracing the curve of her hips.
When his palms cupped the soft flesh of her ass, she gasped, body tensing at the possessive touch.
His fingers dug into the plush softness and she felt the cool air of the room kiss her most intimate spot.
"Look at that," Sanemi breathed from where he stood before them, his voice thick with hunger.
Giyu's hands kept her exposed and there was nowhere to hide from the desire in Sanemi's eyes.
So lewd and open.
So utterly exposed.
The thought should have shamed her, should have sent her reaching for cover. Instead, it only fed the warmth blooming deep inside her, brighter now.
Her body responded with a fresh surge of arousal, slickness coating Giyu's cock as she sank down onto him harder, faster, chasing sharp pleasure.
The obscene sounds of their joining filled the room: each thrust producing a slick, lewd squelch that made her face burn with mortification and heat.
She could feel the way her cunt made everything slick and easy, the way Giyu's cock slid in and out without any friction, just overwhelming fullness.
She was being so shameless.
Her back arched involuntarily and she gasped at the shift in angle that made him hit even deeper.
His thumbs traced the stretched rim of her entrance with devastating precision, following the place where his cock disappeared inside her, where her body yielded and stretched to accommodate him.
The touch was impossibly intimate, as if he were mapping the exact point where they became one.
She tightened around him involuntarily, her walls fluttering and gripping his length in rhythmic pulses.
"You’re so sensitive here," he breathed, his thumbs pressing just slightly against that rim, making her gasp and arch. "I can feel every time you clench."
The praise sent a tremor through her, before movement above drew her gaze and held it there.
Sanemi stepped closer, positioning himself until he stood directly over her, towering above them both.
Her breath hitched in her throat.
He stroked his cock with slow pulls, his fist gliding over his gleaming head in a rhythm that made her mouth go dry.
She watched, transfixed, as his thumb swept over the tip, spreading the moisture gathered there.
"Open."
The command cut through the haze of pleasure fogging her mind. Before she could fully process, she felt the heated press of his tip against her lips.
She looked up and met his eyes, wide and breathless, and there was no gentleness waiting.
Her body was already overwhelmed, caught between the fullness of Giyu stretching her from below and the building pressure coiling tighter.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, the sensation too much and not enough all at once.
She obeyed.
The tip of Sanemi's cock dragged across her parted lips, leaving a glistening trail that made her wetter.
His hand came up to cup her jaw, thumb pressing against her chin to tilt her face up toward him.
"Be a good girl and clean it up."
The authority in his voice sent a fresh wave of heat flooding through her already overwhelmed body.
Her lips parted, mouth falling open in surrender, and her tongue darted out instinctively to taste him.
It was too much. Everything was too much.
Below her, Giyu's length stretched her impossibly full, each upward thrust driving so deep she could feel him in places that made her vision blur.
"Y/N," he breathed, his voice breathy with barely restrained need. "You just got so tight…does having his cock in your mouth turn you on that much?"
She couldn't answer, couldn't do anything but whimper around the thick length filling her mouth.
Every thrust drove his cock directly against that spot inside her that turned thoughts to static.
The pleasure didn't stay localized. It couldn't.
It radiated outward in waves that crashed through her body: making her fingers and toes curl, making her thighs tremble where they were spread wide.
Her hips moved without conscious thought, grinding down onto him with a desperate, primal hunger that overrode any remaining shred of dignity.
And every time Giyu drove up into that perfect spot, her mouth tightened around Sanemi's cock, her throat constricting in a swallow that ruined him.
"Fuck…" Sanemi's grip in her hair tightened, his hips stuttering forward as he felt her throat work around him. "She just…fuck..every time you hit that spot…"
"I know," Giyu's voice came out strained, rough with the effort of maintaining his pace. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her steady as he drove up again, grinding against that devastating place.
She tried to suck Sanemi properly, tried to work her tongue along the underside of his shaft the way she knew he liked, but Giyu's relentless thrusts from behind made it impossible to maintain rhythm.
Each brutal drive of his hips jolted her entire body forward, forcing Sanemi's cock deeper into her mouth until she gagged, until tears spilled from the corners of her eyes and saliva dripped messily.
Her technique was sloppy, uncoordinated, she was too far gone to manage anything resembling grace.
Somehow, that seemed to drive Sanemi even wilder.
His hand closed in her hair, possessive and guiding her where he wanted her to go with quiet certainty.
Not rough enough to hurt, but commanding enough that she had no choice but to follow his rhythm.
And that rhythm matched Giyu's thrusts perfectly.
When Giyu drove up into her, Sanemi pulled her mouth down onto him, creating a devastating synchronization that left her helplessly trapped.
She was being used. Claimed. Owned. Ravaged.
A moan tore from her throat beyond her control.
The reaction was immediate and devastating.
Giyu's fingers dug harder into the soft flesh of her ass, his grip turning bruising as he spread her wider.
The pressure was intense, but it made her hotter.
Sanemi's hand tightened in her hair, his fist closing around with enough force to make her scalp sting.
There was no room for coherence anymore.
The fullness below, the weight on her tongue above, the hands holding her in place, the eyes watching her fall apart: the pleasure of it all blurred together.
Each pull of her lips along Sanemi's dick sent electric jolts racing through her entire body, the taste of him flooding her senses.
The sounds filling the room were obscene: skin slapping wetly against skin, the lewd squelch of Giyu's cock driving into her soaked pussy, her own muffled moans vibrating around Sanemi's length.
Oh, she thought dizzily, her mind beginning to fray at the edges under the relentless onslaught of sensation. It's so good. Too good. I can't…
Her body couldn't keep up with the intensity.
Every nerve ending felt like it was on fire, pleasure building and building until it became a pressure so immense she thought she might shatter from it.
Her thighs trembled violently where they straddled Giyu, her movements growing erratic and desperate as she chased something just beyond her reach.
I'm going to…oh god…I'm going to….
Her vision blurred, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks as she whimpered around his cock.
She couldn't hold on anymore.
Her inner walls clenched down on Giyu with a ferocity that bordered on violent, squeezing and milking as if trying to pull him impossibly deeper.
She felt him throb inside her, felt the way her pussy fluttered and spasmed around every inch of him.
At the same time, her mouth worked frantically on Sanemi: tongue swirling desperately around his tip, hollowing her cheeks as she took him deeper, swallowing around him as if she could draw every drop of pleasure from his body.
Ecstasy crashed over her again and again.
The dual sensations were too much. Too perfect.
She hung suspended in bliss, the world softening as her body shook, held in the space between them.
"Fuck…" Giyu's voice broke beneath her, rough and strained with desperate need. His hips bucked up harder, driving into her clenching heat with renewed force. "I'm…I'm gonna…"
She could feel him swelling inside her, could feel how close he was, and the knowledge only made her inner walls clench tighter around him, squeezing him through her own shattering climax.
His hands gripped her waist with bruising force, fingers digging into her soft flesh as he pulled her down onto him with each desperate, needy thrust.
He made sure she took every single inch, that she felt him completely, the angle shifting just enough to drag that devastating spot inside her over and over.
The sensation tore whimpers and broken moans from her throat: sounds that were immediately muffled by Sanemi's cock filling her mouth.
She couldn't escape it.
Couldn't do anything but take what they gave her.
"Good girl," he rasped, his voice thick with dark approval. "So good. Show us how much you like it."
She obeyed without hesitation, she always did, hollowing her cheeks and sucking harder, her tongue pressing firmly along the underside of his cock as if she could coax every last drop from him.
Her chin glistened, slick with spit and precum that dripped in thick, glistening strands down her throat, pooling in the hollow of her collarbone.
Sanemi's thumb brushed across her tear-stained cheek, the gesture almost tender despite the brutal way he was fucking her mouth.
One moment she was choking on Sanemi's thick length, the next she was grinding down desperately on Giyu's, another orgasm building impossibly fast despite how wrung out she already felt.
"She's close," Giyu's voice came from beneath her.
"Good," Sanemi growled, his hips rolling forward to push deeper into her throat. "Cum for me. Now."
Her vision went white at the edges, her entire body pulled taut like a bowstring about to snap.
"No, cum for me," Giyu countered immediately, his competitive nature flaring as his hands tightened on her hips and he drove up into her with brutal, claiming force.
Their demands came like twin tides, and her body, needy and disloyal as it was, yielded to each in turn.
She came.
A muffled scream tore from her throat, choked and desperate around Sanemi's cock, as pleasure so intense it bordered on pain exploded through her.
"Fuck…she's coming…" Giyu's voice was strained, almost broken. "She's squeezing me so tight I…"
Her body shook violently, caught in the endless cycle of climax and aftershock, unable to come down from the peak they'd driven her to.
She thought they might give her a moment, just long enough to steady herself, to find her breath again.
She should have known better.
The transition was immediate, their movements aligning with synchronicity that stole her breath.
They already knew exactly what they wanted.
He moved quietly, breath hitching ever so slightly, eyes half-lidded, a quiet swallow betraying him.
His arms wrapped her torso from behind, sure and secure, and with a quiet grunt of effort he lifted her.
The sensation of his cock sliding out of her was obscene and she clenched desperately around nothing, her body already mourning the loss.
A soft, pathetic whimper escaped her lips.
They moved her as if she weighed nothing, their attention wholly fixed on keeping her steady.
Their movements were careful, nudging her deeper into a hazy quiet where thoughts no longer held.
As they eased her onto the tatami, the cool weave met her in a contrast so sharp it stole her breath.
For a brief, blessed moment, the coolness soothed her overheated skin. Then the moment passed.
Giyu's hands were gentle when they found her trembling body, his touch reverent now, almost tender, as he carefully eased her onto her side.
Her limbs felt boneless, heavy with exhaustion, and she couldn't have resisted even if she'd wanted to.
His chest molded to her spine, every ridge of his body fitting perfectly against her smaller frame.
She could feel his heart hammering against her shoulder blade, the way his breath came in ragged pants that ghosted over her dampened shoulder.
His arm slid beneath her, hooking under her knee with practiced ease. The movement was slow, deliberate, giving her body time to adjust as he lifted her leg and draped it back over his hip.
She could feel everything in this new position.
The trembling in her thighs as he held her leg up.
The way Giyu's cock, still hard and insistent, pressed against her entrance from behind.
Sanemi didn't waste a second.
He lowered himself between her splayed thighs with predatory grace, his calloused hands sliding up the inside of her legs, a deliberate path that made her breath hitch.
Behind her, Giyu's arm tightened under her knee, holding her leg up and open, keeping her spread wide despite the instinctive urge to close them.
The first brush of his wild white hair against her inner thigh tickled against skin that was already far too sensitive from everything they'd done to her.
"Shh," Giyu soothed against her ear, his hand splaying possessively across her stomach.
Sanemi moved closer and she felt his hair brush higher against the crease where thigh met hip, then lower, ghosting over swollen flesh that was still slick.
But he didn't dive in immediately like she expected.
He just... looked.
His intense gaze traveled slowly over her glistening, swollen folds with an appreciation that bordered on worship.
Her pussy was flushed a deep intoxicating color, puffy and sensitive, glistening with the creamy evidence of her previous climaxes.
The way fresh arousal leaked from her despite her oversensitivity was the most erotic thing he'd seen.
"Fuck," Sanemi breathed, his voice rough with barely restrained hunger. "Look how swollen you are." His thumbs stroked along her inner thighs, so close to where she ached but not quite touching.
"All this just from getting fucked?"
Behind her, she felt Giyu's chest rumble with a low sound of satisfaction. His arm tightened around her, holding her more firmly as his other hand splayed possessively across her lower belly. "She's perfect."
Sanemi watched, transfixed, as another pulse of arousal made her entrance flutter, fresh wetness leaking down to where Giyu's cock pressed.
"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking.
She didn't even know what she was begging for.
For him to stop looking and just touch her ?
For mercy from the overwhelming sensations?
He dragged a single, calloused finger through her slickness, from her entrance all the way up to her throbbing clit in one slow, deliberate stroke.
Every ridge and callous on his finger felt magnified as it traveled through her slickness, gathering the evidence of her arousal and dragging it upward.
Behind her, Giyu's arms became iron bands around her torso, his grip on her thigh tightening bruisingly.
"Stay still," he commanded, his voice rough against her ear. But she couldn't stay still. Her hips twisted, her body instinctively trying to escape the intensity even as fresh arousal flooded through her, making her even wetter beneath Sanemi's exploring finger.
"Oh, you’re so sensitive," he continued, his lips curving into a wicked smile. "You’re dripping."
Giyu moved behind her, and she glimpsed the clench of his jaw, frustration sharpening his expression as that competitive spark flared.
She felt the blunt, insistent pressure of his cockhead against her entrance, wet with her arousal and his precum.
He didn't thrust, he just pressed there.
The tension between them was palpable: both men vying for her attention, for her pleasure, for the satisfaction of making her fall apart completely.
And then Sanemi leaned in.
His tongue was a brand against her oversensitive flesh, hot and wet and absolutely devastating.
This wasn't the frantic, desperate lashing from before. No, this was something entirely different.
Slower. More deliberate. So much more maddening.
Part of her wanted to push them, but she was so tired and the goodness of it made letting go easy.
Her hips tried to shift, to seek that contact she desperately needed, but Giyu's grip on her thigh kept her pinned exactly where they wanted her.
Sanemi's tongue brushed against her once more.
The flat of it dragged along the outer curve of her folds in one slow, deliberate stroke. The wet heat of his tongue against her oversensitive flesh sent a violent shudder through her entire body.
"Ah…" The sound ripped from her throat, soft and broken, as her thighs tried to clamp shut on instinct.
But Giyu's hand tightened on her leg, keeping her spread wide open despite her body's desperate attempt to escape the overwhelming pleasure.
"None of that," he chided softly, his breath hot.
Sanemi groaned against her cunt, the vibration sending sparks of sensation shooting through her.
Then he kissed her there, actually kissed her, his chapped lips pressing against her swollen flesh before suckling gently, drawing out soft, broken whimpers from deep in her throat.
When he finally delved into her core, it was with one long, deep stroke of his tongue that dragged through her folds and made her back arch violently.
He lapped at her with a hunger that felt endless, his tongue dipping inside her entrance, tasting her so deeply she could feel it in her bones.
Then he retreated, swirling around her clit with a precision that felt like the sweetest torture, each circle calculated to wind her tighter and tighter.
Just as the first coil of a new orgasm began to tighten deep in her belly, she felt Giyu shift again.
The arm hooked under her knee adjusted, spreading her even wider, and she felt him move. Felt the heat of his body repositioning, the solid weight of him.
She was so wet that even the slightest pressure made vulgar sounds, her body weeping with arousal despite how thoroughly they'd already wrung her out.
He pushed into her.
Not with the brutal, claiming thrust she'd grown accustomed to, but with an excruciatingly slow roll of his hips that stole every thought from her mind.
He filled her inch by agonizing inch, the stretch a perfect, burning fullness that made her lungs seize.
She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
Could only feel as he seated himself so impossibly deep, his pubic bone grinding against her ass, his body curved protectively around hers.
Sanemi didn't stop. If anything, he intensified his efforts, his tongue flicking rapidly against her swollen nub as Giyu's cock stretched her open.
"That's it," he murmured against her ear, sending shivers cascading down her spine. "Just like that."
His words were a low rumble that vibrated through her entire body: a primal affirmation that somehow both soothed and inflamed her all at once.
His arms tightened around her torso, holding her firmly against his chest as he began to move with that same slow, devastating rhythm.
Each thrust was deliberate.
A deep, rolling push that dragged against every sensitive spot inside her, making her whimper and shudder helplessly in his grip.
Her body was still trembling from the aftershocks of her previous orgasm, but Giyu showed no mercy.
His hips rolled with an unyielding rhythm, the glide of his cock inside her slick and maddeningly perfect.
"You take me so well," he breathed, voice rough with barely restrained lust. "You're mine, Y/N."
His hands slid down her torso, fingers splaying possessively over her hips before gripping them tightly, guiding her movements as if she were nothing more than an extension of his own body.
Meanwhile, Sanemi didn't let up for even a second.
He didn't need to be buried inside her to make her fall apart. Didn't need his cock to prove he could.
"Ah…Sanemi…Oh…" Her voice was breathy, desperate, and the sound of his name gasped out like a prayer sent satisfaction surging through him.
Behind her, he could see Giyu's rhythm falter, could see the way his fingers dug harder into her hips as her body clenched in response to Sanemi's mouth.
He was determined to keep going until her thoughts tangled so much that words slipped away for good.
Her thighs trembled violently against Sanemi's cheeks, her hips trying desperately to grind against his mouth even as Giyu's thrusts drove her forward.
A low, guttural groan vibrated directly against her oversensitive flesh, the sound rumbling through her clit and sending shockwaves radiating outward.
"Taste so fucking good," Sanemi's words came out muffled by the wet heat of her pressed against his mouth, but the ravenous hunger in his voice was unmistakable.
His hands gripped her thighs, spreading them even wider as he devoured her, his tongue flicking and sucking with a precision that had her toes curling and her back arching desperately against Giyu.
The duality was going to destroy her.
Giyu's movements shifted and became slower, deeper, more deliberate. Each thrust pushing so deep inside her that she felt utterly possessed.
"You're so perfect," he breathed, his voice rough and thick with something that went beyond mere satisfaction. The words ghosted over her ear, making her shiver despite the heat flooding her.
"I love you so much."
His breath was hot against her skin, ragged and uneven, and when he spoke again, his voice dropped to a whisper that somehow felt louder than any shout. "Cum for me. I need to feel you. Please."
And she did.
She'd lost count by now, was this the fourth? Fifth?
It didn't matter.
The orgasm crashed into her anyway, tearing through her body with merciless intensity.
She clenched down around Giyu's cock with a desperate pulsing that she couldn't control, walls fluttering and gripping him like she'd never let go.
"Y/N….fuck…" Giyu's voice broke beneath her, his grip on her thigh turning bruising as he felt every devastating contraction. "You’re…god, you’re…"
She could feel him throbbing inside her, could feel the way he was fighting for control even as she fell.
Sanemi groaned deeply, his hands tightening on her thighs as he drank her in, his own arousal evident in the harsh, ragged breaths he took between each lick.
Giyu pressed his forehead against her shoulder, his pace faltering for the first time as he too was swept up in the intensity of her release.
She whimpered softly, tears staining her flushed cheeks as her head hung low, sobbing from the overwhelming pleasure. "Please… I can't take anymore… it's too much… too much…"
His hand shot out, rough and commanding.
He squeezed, his thumb and fingers pressing into her flushed, sweat-dampened cheeks until her lips parted involuntarily, forcing her face upward.
Her vision swam, still hazy and unfocused from the climaxes they'd already wrung from her body. She tried to blink the blur away, tried to focus, but everything felt distant, except for his solid grip.
His cock twitched violently at the sight of her: eyes unfocused, lips swollen and parted, wrecked.
"Princess," he cooed, the word a rough caress and a command all at once, "you're not done until I am."
Another fragile sound slipped from her, broken, and something in his gaze warmed at the confirmation.
Her strength gave out and she slid from Giyu’s hold, landing face-first on the tatami in sheer exhaustion.
Sanemi’s hands framed her face with surprising gentleness, lifting long enough to kiss her cheek.
“I need you to cum a little harder,” he breathed, his voice barely there against her skin. “Just for me.”
Y/N nodded absently, nuzzling into his hand as her lips parted in a quiet sigh, gaze lifting to Sanemi.
Their eyes met; a nod passed between them. Giyu adjusted on the tatami and opened his arms, an invitation without pressure. “Come here, Y/N.”
She made it to Giyu on unsteady hands and knees before collapsing against him, weak and spent.
A small twitch ran through her as she buried her face at his throat, drawing in his steady scent.
Giyu’s arms came around her at once, drawing her close, one hand moving through her damp, tangled hair with a gentleness that surprised them both.
She realized too late that it was a trap.
Sanemi's hand kneaded the soft flesh, spreading her cheek slightly, and she felt the cool air of the room kiss places that had never been exposed before.
"Ass up." Sanemi's voice was a gravelly whisper that seemed to vibrate through her bones. The command was absolute. "I want all of you."
With trembling limbs that barely felt like her own anymore, she sought refuge in the only safe harbor available to her. She nuzzled deeper into the crook of Giyu's neck, breathing in his clean, familiar scent.
Then slowly, so slowly her muscles screamed in protest, she began to arch her back gently. Every movement felt monumental, her exhausted body fighting against the command even as arousal pulsed hot and insistent through her veins.
Her spine curved, hips lifting and tilting, presenting herself to Sanemi in the most vulnerable, exposed way possible.
"Such a good girl," his palm smoothing over the globe of her ass in a possessive caress. "Presenting yourself so perfectly for me."
Every nerve ending felt raw, hypersensitive from the relentless pleasure they'd already wrung from her body.
Then she felt him.
The blunt head of his cock, so different from Giyu's, rolled over her throbbing slit in one claiming stroke.
It was rough, possessive, slick with her own arousal and his precum. The pressure alone made her whimper, a broken sound of overwhelmed need.
Sanemi was never gentle. He was a force of nature, wild and untamed. He didn't guide himself in slowly.
He didn't give her time to adjust.
Her cunt was so sore, so used, so utterly stretched and yet he filled her completely, the thick girth of him a burning ache of perfection that had her eyes rolling and head falling against giyus neck weakly.
A comforting hum rose from Giyu and his fingers found her chin and guided it away with patient care.
He kissed her before she could think, drawing her choked sounds into the closeness and easing them.
As their lips met, his tongue danced into her mouth, offering a welcome distraction from the steady heat building between them as Sanemi started to move.
And god, did he move.
Each thrust was punishing, a piston-like drive that slammed into her very core with devastating force.
The wet, vulgar sounds of their joining filled the room immediately: skin slapping against skin, the slick slide of him pounding into her messy cunt.
Giyu's kiss became her lifeline.
She clung to it desperately, her mouth moving against his with increasing sloppiness as Sanemi's relentless pace stole every shred of control she had.
Her lips parted on broken gasps, her tongue tangling messily with his as she tried to maintain any semblance of coordination.
"Ah…ah…" Her attempts at kissing Giyu dissolved completely, her mouth falling open against his as helpless moans and incoherent babbles spilled from her lips. "Please…oh god…I can't…"
"Yes you can," Sanemi groaned, his hand coming down on her ass with a sharp smack that made her clench around him. "You're taking me so good."
She could feel Giyu's cock a perfect, long weight pressed against her stomach, flushed and leaking.
She was seeing stars.
"Look at her," Sanemi chuckled, his voice thick with dark satisfaction. "She can’t even kiss anymore."
It was true.
Her mouth hung open against Giyu's, drool sliding down her chin as she gasped and sobbed through each brutal thrust.
She couldn't form words, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but take what they gave her and fall apart.
The stretch was breathtaking, a relentless fullness that hit places inside she didn't even know existed.
Then his hand came down on the back of her neck.
His calloused palm pressed against her nape, fingers splaying possessively as he pushed her down until her face was buried completely in the crook of Giyu's neck, her broken sounds muffled.
She couldn't lift her head.
Couldn't do anything but take it as Sanemi's other hand gripped her hip with bruising force, using the leverage to drive even deeper into her pussy.
The angle was devastating, the fullness unbearable, and she sobbed helplessly against Giyu's throat as her body bounced between them.
"That's it," Sanemi growled, his voice rough with dark satisfaction. "Let him feel every little sound."
And Giyu did.
She could feel the way his breath hitched with each muffled cry that vibrated against his neck, could feel the way his cock throbbed against her.
His arms tightened around her trembling body, holding her close even as Sanemi's brutal pace drove her down onto him again and again.
"She's shaking," Giyu breathed, his voice strained.
One hand came up to cradle the back of her head, not to lift it, but to hold her there, trapped between his gentle touch and Sanemi's commanding grip.
She heard Sanemi curse behind her and felt his grip on her neck tighten as his hips snapped forward.
"Fuck…she tightened," Sanemi groaned, his voice thick with dark amusement. "You like being held? Having no choice but to take everything we give you?"
A broken, muffled sound was all she could manage, something between a sob and a moan that vibrated against Giyu's throat.
Her body moved helplessly between them, bouncing with each thrust, taking everything they gave her with broken sounds that were swallowed by Giyu.
"You hear that, Tomioka?" Sanemi grunted, his voice strained with the effort of his thrusts. The wet, lewd slapping sounds grew louder, more obscene.
"All for me."
The taunt hung in the air, sharp and challenging.
In answer, Giyu's hands slid down to her hips, his grip firm and purposeful. He began to grind against her, angling her body just so, meeting Sanemi's brutal thrusts with an tilt of his own guidance.
The angle changed.
Suddenly Sanemi's thick cock was dragging against her front wall with devastating precision, hitting that spot inside her that made her entire body seize up.
Her body went completely slack between them, all tension draining away as if her strings had been cut.
The orgasm didn't just crash over her, it detonated.
It ripped through her with a violence that stole her breath, her vision, her very sense of self.
"Wait…Please…Stop," The scream finally tore free: loud and broken and utterly shameless, echoing off the walls as her body convulsed uncontrollably.
Her orgasm ripped through her without warning, so intense it was silent at first, her mouth falling open as every muscle in her body locked tight.
She twitched around Sanemi's cock, her inner walls fluttering and spasming, clenching him in a vice-grip that bordered on painful. Then the sound came.
A high, keening whine tore from her throat.
The pleasure was so intense it felt like dying, like being torn apart and remade in the same breath.
His hips stuttered, his careful rhythm completely falling apart as her body wrung him mercilessly.
"Shit…Y/N…Stop…I’m…" Giyu's words dissolved into a strangled groan as his own climax hit, his cock pulsing gently as he spilled against her abdomen.
She could feel him throbbing against her, could feel the exact moment his control shattered completely.
Behind her, Sanemi's rhythm had become brutal, fucking her right through the convulsions, each thrust prolonging the intense, almost painful waves of pleasure that crashed over her again and again.
With a broken curse, Sanemi buried himself to the hilt and came, his cock pulsing as he filled her cunt.
"That's it…fuck….take it all…"
She was sobbing now, actual tears streaming down her face as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, each one more intense than the last.
Hot spurts pulsed into her, filling her in a way that felt almost overwhelming. She could feel Giyu throbbing against her abdomen, each pulse sending another wave of thick warmth flooding her core.
And Sanemi, god, Sanemi was still buried in her cunt, his cock jerking as he emptied himself with harsh, broken groans that vibrated through her entire body.
She could feel it already beginning to leak out despite how tightly her body still gripped them.
Thick, warm liquid sliding down her inner thigh.
The obscene evidence of what they'd done to her, what she'd let them do, oozing out around their softening cocks and dripping onto the tatami mats.
Her eyes, which had been squeezed shut through most of the overwhelming intensity, began to drift.
She was dimly aware of gentle hands stroking her trembling limbs. Of Giyu's soft murmurs against her shoulder, praise or reassurance, she couldn't tell.
Of Sanemi's rough palm rubbing circles on her hip even as he remained buried inside her, neither of them ready to break that connection quite yet.
The warmth continued to leak out of her, a slow, steady trickle that should have been mortifying but somehow just felt... right.
Like proof of what they'd shared.
Her breathing finally began to even out, the violent trembling gradually subsiding into occasional aftershocks that rippled through her core.
Every muscle that had been wound tight as a bowstring slowly, gradually released its tension.
The last thing she registered before consciousness began to blur at the edges was the feeling of being held between them and the warm, sticky evidence of their release continuing to seep out of her.
We all came together, she thought dimly, the realization somehow both terrifying and deeply satisfying. They couldn't hold back either.
❥ His breathing changes first: slower, heavier, like he’s trying to anchor himself
❥ Eyes dart to your lips once, then he looks away, jaw tightening
❥ His hand will hover near yours before pulling back; his restraint is the tell
❥ When he finally leans in, it’s hesitant, like he’s asking permission with silence
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
🌪 Sanemi Shinazugawa
❥ He gets louder to hide it at first: snapping, teasing, calling you “idiot.”
❥ But when it hits him, everything drops: his smirk falters, and his voice gets low.
❥ His pupils dilate, and he’ll lick his lips without realizing it.
❥ If you step closer, he freezes: torn between wanting to run and wanting to ruin.
❥ He clenches his fists like he’s trying to physically stop himself, right before giving up and leaning in anyway.
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
🌷 Mitsuri Kanroji
❥ Starts talking way too fast, compliments spilling out like confetti
❥ Her hands flutter before finding your sleeve or uniform tie
❥ Her cheeks flush up to her hairline: bubblegum pink
❥ She giggles nervously and whispers something like, “You’re just so close…”
❥ When she finally kisses, it’s all warmth and pure serotonin
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
🦋 Shinobu Kocho
❥ She teases more sharply, but her voice drops lower, slower, silkier
❥ Tilts her head, studying you like you're an experiment she wants to fail
❥Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes anymore: it lingers
❥ She’ll brush imaginary dust off your face, fingers lingering along your jawline
❥ The moment before the kiss is always charged: half-challenge, half-surrender
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
☀️ Kanae Kocho
❥ She laughs softly, the kind of laugh that fills the silence instead of breaking it
❥ Leans in under the pretense of fixing something: hair, scarf, lapel
❥ She has this calm patience, like she’s waiting for the right second
❥ Her gaze is gentle but unwavering; she lets you see that she wants it
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
🔥 Rengoku Kyojuro
❥ His energy gets oddly quiet: still passionate, but focused
❥ He’ll compliment you in his booming voice, then mutter something genuine
❥ His hand might hover protectively near yours, ready to pull you close
❥ He laughs, realizes he’s too close, and the laughter stops
❥ Then he exhales, like he’s finally letting himself feel.
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
🕷 Obanai Iguro
❥ Looks down when he wants to look up
❥ His fingers tighten on whatever he’s holding: book, pen, sleeve
❥ His voice turns quieter, raspier, as though every word costs him control
❥ He glances at your mouth mid-sentence and looks mortified he did
❥ The kiss, when it happens, feels like something he’s been dying to do but doesn’t believe he deserves
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
⚡ Zenitsu Agatsuma
❥ You will know. Everyone will know.
❥ He panics, blushes, and narrates his own downfall
❥ He gets jittery, laughs too loud, then suddenly goes dead quiet
❥ The moment before he kisses you, he usually just stares in awe
❥ It’s clumsy, chaotic, but so sincere it’s impossible not to melt
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
🧢 Tanjiro Kamado
❥ Earnest. His eyes soften, smile gentle
❥ He’ll check if you're okay three times before even leaning in
❥ Hands hover respectfully near shoulders or cheeks, cradling
❥ His tell is his patience: a gaze that asks permission a hundred times over
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
🐗 Inosuke Hashibira
❥ He stares, confused, then suddenly realizes what he wants
❥ Gets uncharacteristically quiet, tilting his head like a curious animal
❥ He leans in too close to “inspect” and then freezes when his brain catches up
❥ His tell? The split second where his bravado fades and he goes pink-eared
❥ The kiss is impulsive, wild, and weirdly gentle for him
❥ You won’t hear a word from him, but you’ll feel it
❥ He’ll slide a hand into Y/N’s under the table, grip just a little tighter than usual
❥ His expression barely changes, but his eyes… yeah, they tell the whole story
❥ Jealous Level: 9/10 internally, 2/10 externally. Bottled-up volcano.
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
🌪 Sanemi Shinazugawa (Senior)
❥ If someone even breathes near Y/N too long, he’s already glaring, jaw tight, shoulders tense
❥ He tries to play it off with snark, but everyone can feel the protective rage radiating off him
❥ Later he apologizes quiet, rough, and sincere because deep down he’s scared of losing people
❥ Jealous Level: 1000/10 : Would pick a fight with a locker.
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
🔥 Rengoku Kyojuro (Senior)
❥ Tries to laugh it off, but his smile gets too big, too bright
❥ “How wonderful that you’re so friendly! HOW DELIGHTFUL!!”
❥ He’s burning inside but channels it into more positivity
❥ Later he’ll train until it burns off, then buy Y/N taiyaki
❥ Jealous Level: 5/10, combusts like 15/10.
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
🕷 Obanai Iguro (Senior)
❥ Doesn’t say a word, just stares until the air changes
❥ Everyone suddenly remembers an urgent errand
❥ If someone pushes it, he mutters one quiet sentence
❥ Jealous Level: 8/10, but it’s all in the silence.
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
🌷 Mitsuri Kanroji (Junior)
❥ She pouts, goes pink to her hairline, and clings to whoever she loves
❥ Jealousy never turns mean; needs reassurance and melts when she gets it
❥ Jealous Level: 6/10, but the tears make it look like 12/10.
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
🦋 Shinobu Kocho (Junior)
❥ Her smile never falters, but her words get dangerously polite.
❥ If someone flirts near you, she never lashes out
❥ She dismantles their confidence with a single comment
❥ Jealous Level: 7/10, delivered like an art form.
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
☀️ Kanae Kocho (Senior)
❥ Graceful jealousy: more protective than possessive
❥ She’ll step closer and lightly touch your arm
❥ Her tone stays sweet, but the message lands clear
❥ Jealous Level: 3/10, but her calm tone can freeze a room.
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
🧢 Tanjiro Kamado (Freshman)
❥ Too pure to be outwardly jealous, but he feels it when someone else gets Y/N’s attention
❥ He won’t say anything, just smiles smaller for a bit and trains harder the next morning
❥ Jealous Level: 4/10, wholesome but quietly sad.
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
⚡ Zenitsu Agatsuma (Freshman)
❥ Every time Y/N talks to someone else, he dramatically declares heartbreak
❥ He’s jealous of everyone. Giyu, Sanemi, the cat she petted once
❥ Cries about it loudly, apologizes louder, then writes a love song
❥ “I’M JUST A BACKGROUND CHARACTER TO YOU, AREN’T I?!”
❥ Jealous Level: ∞/10, feels too hard.
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
🐗 Inosuke Hashibira (Freshman)
❥ Doesn’t understand jealousy; just gets mad when someone stands too close
❥ He’ll stand between Y/N and the offender like a growling bodyguard
❥ “WHY DOES MY CHEST FEEL FUNNY???”
❥ Jealous Level: 7/10, zero emotional awareness.
the last chapter of no string attached was so good🤤🤤🤤 i cant wait to see more of sanemi and reader together🫣
I'm really happy you're enjoying it! I've been having the best time with this series and their dynamic + all the endless smut scenes ...... stay tuned in ( • ᴗ - ) ✧
Heyyyy!! I have a request, so basically it’s a Giyuu x reader fic and they have a baby girl together!! One that looks exactly like Giyuu (but with our eye color) and is super adorable, and the only Other hashiras come (it can be one by one or all together) to congratulate us (also can Urokodaki be mentioned?) and yeah that’s pretty much it!! Thank you sososososo much!!
✨ Prompt: Taisho Era || Post Child-Birth
🎧 Song on Loop: My Love Mine All Mine || Mitski
🌟 Author's Note: This was such a sweet little prompt, and it fit perfectly with the one right before it! Funny enough, my flight ended up getting delayed and I was stuck at the airport for another nine hours, so I got to spend all that time pouring myself into this fic. It feels like it was meant to be. (ᵕ—ᴗ—)
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
By the time the knock came at the shoji, the house already carried the quiet scent of warm rice and milk.
It had been only days, and already time no longer belonged to the sky, it lived instead in Suzu’s quiet cries, her pauses, her small, breathy sighs.
Night bled into morning, and evening followed without ceremony, unnoticed and gentle.
The world had narrowed to this house, this room, this futon, and nothing beyond it mattered.
Y/N felt it in her bones.
She sat cradled by cushions, a lavender yukata slipping softly over her shoulders, fastened with deliberate gentleness so it wouldn’t disturb the soreness beneath.
Her hair fell freely, soft waves trailing over her shoulders and onto the pillow, still a little damp from the washing Giyu had insisted on helping her with.
A few loose strands clung to her neck, her skin beneath them still warm and flushed.
Her cheeks were softly flushed, part exhaustion, part lingering heat, her eyes heavy-lidded from too little sleep.
There was a glow there too, quiet and sure, born not of heat but of the small life resting against her chest.
Suzu.
The baby was curled into her arm, swaddled close in a pale cloth printed with the smallest bell shapes.
A faint tuft of dark hair peeked out from the blanket.
Her little mouth was pursed, cheeks round and full, lashes nothing more than faint shadows on her skin.
Every now and then her tiny fingers flexed, searching blindly before loosening once more.
Y/N watched her with the same breath-held wonder she’d felt since the instant she first held her, afraid that if she blinked too long, Suzu might fade away.
Bell, she thought, running her thumb slowly back and forth over the soft edge of the baby’s blanket.
Light. Musical. Innocent.
All the things they had once fought so fiercely to protect were now cradled safely in her arms.
Near the shoji, Giyu hovered.
He insisted he wasn’t hovering, though everything about him suggested otherwise: the dark indigo yukata tied a touch too carefully, sleeves rolled to free his forearms, prepared to reach for either blade or child without hesitation.
His hair was ruffled and soft, a few loose strands slipping free to frame his face in gentle disarray.
His attention drifted between the door and Y/N, like a man uncertain where his duty ended and his heart began.
The knock came again, a bright sound against the hush of the house. “Hellooo? May we come in?”
Y/N’s lips curved.
“Come in,” she called, voice soft but steady.
The shoji slid open and Mitsuri practically tumbled inside in a whirl of pink and green, joy spilling ahead of her, with Obanai a step behind: quiet, watchful.
Y/N!” Mitsuri breathed, eyes shining as her hands pressed to her cheeks. “Oh my goodness, she’s so small. Obanai, look at her. Look.”
“I’m looking,” Obanai muttered, eyes already trained on the tiny shape in Y/N’s arms, unblinking.
His shoulders were more tense than usual, as if he were facing down some new, terrifying enemy.
Mitsuri knelt gracefully by the futon, eyes shining.
“Can I? May I?!” she blurted, holding her hands up like proof. “I washed them five times!” Her fingers twitched, betraying how badly she wanted to reach out.
A quiet, breathy laugh slipped from Y/N. “You can come closer,” she murmured. “She doesn’t bite.”
“Not yet,” Giyu added under his breath.
She shot him a fond look, lips curving. Mitsuri scooted nearer until she was practically vibrating, craning to peer over the edge of the blanket.
“Ohhh,” she whispered, voice full of wonder. “She really does look like you, Giyu, so much.”
“No.” he said at once, color tugging at his ears.
“She does,” Mitsuri whispered, eyes shining. “The brows and that little pout.” Her fingers wiggled softly, careful, like she didn’t want to wake a dream.
“Hello, Suzu.”
The baby shifted, letting out a sound so small it was barely a whimper. Mitsuri’s face crumpled instantly, like she might burst into tears from sheer cuteness.
“Oh, what a perfect name,” she gasped softly.
Y/N’s smile softened.
“After everything,” she murmured, “we wanted to choose something gentle. A sound that carries beauty, not pain.”
Mitsuri looked up at her, eyes gentle and damp.
Obanai cleared his throat behind her. Y/N looked up, their eyes meeting in a brief, weighted pause.
For a single heartbeat, something flickered in his eyes before he shifted his gaze away, as if it had slipped out unbidden.
“Congratulations,” he said, voice rough but genuine.
Giyu inclined his head, blinking once as something quiet and unfamiliar settled in his chest. “Thank you.”
Mitsuri clasped her hands together, voice bursting out of her before she could soften it. “I want one. No, five. At least five.” She turned to Obanai, braids bouncing, hope written plainly across her face.
“Five feels reasonable, doesn’t it, Obanai?” she said brightly. “A full house, full hearts, oh, just imagine it.”
Obanai made a strangled sound that might have been her name, his ears flushing a furious red.
Y/N laughed, breathy and sincere. “Five is… bold,” she said lightly. “I offer my deepest condolences.”
“Y/N, I think it would be fun!” Mitsuri said, sincerity shining as she turned back. “Well…not the… um…”
She fluttered her hands, flushing. “Not that part. But everything else! And you look so, so happy.”
Her gaze warmed, gentle and sure. “You really do.”
Y/N let out a tired laugh. “I’m exhausted,” she said honestly. “But I won’t pretend I’m not happy.” Her lips curved. “That said, I’ll pray for your stamina.”
Mitsuri made a scandalized noise. Obanai looked from Y/N to Giyu and back again, noting how Giyu’s hand had settled at her lower back, unconscious and sure.
“Five is unnecessary,” Obanai muttered, eyes flicking to Mitsuri. “One is already dangerous.”
Mitsuri gasped, half laughing, half mortified.
“That’s not what I meant…” His words trailed off, gaze darting to Y/N as she bit back another laugh.
“You know what I meant.”
“Yes, yes, he’s worried,” Mitsuri cooed, leaning back to bump his arm with her shoulder. “He’s always such a worrywart. But see? Everyone’s safe and sound!”
Her eyes sparkled as she looked down at the baby.
“She’s going to be so beautiful when she grows up. The boys will be lining up outside the estate!!!!”
Giyu’s fingers curled more securely at Y/N’s back, his face betraying a brief, unmistakable flicker of alarm. “They will not,” he replied, tone even, final.
Mitsuri laughed knowingly, and Y/N hid her smile in the blanket, her eyes shining with fond amusement.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, voice low and steady, sincerity threading every word. “Truly.”
Mitsuri’s expression softened at once. “Of course. We wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Her smile trembled just slightly as she added, “I’m really glad we all lived long enough to see something like this.”
There it was again: the weight they’d learned not to linger on, not while there was still so much light.
It hovered between them for a heartbeat.
Y/N met Mitsuri’s eyes, something old and heavy finally turning gentle. “Me too,” she said, voice soft.
They lingered, Mitsuri murmuring sweet nonsense to the baby while Obanai stood close behind her, his hand hovering near her elbow, steady and watchful.
When they finally left, Mitsuri already planning her next visit and Obanai muttering darkly about charms and protection, Y/N sank further into the cushions, breath spilling from her in a quiet sigh.
“May I come in?”
Shinobu’s voice was soft as ever, but it carried. She slid the shoji open without waiting for a reply, violet eyes finding the bundle in Y/N’s arms instantly.
“Well,” she said, lips curling thinly. “I suppose this is what you get when an ethereal princess is paired with a drowning cat.”
Giyu frowned faintly. “I’m not…” He hesitated, gaze flicking briefly toward Y/N before dropping again.
“Shinobu,” Y/N warned, amused despite herself.
“Mm.” Shinobu took him in with a single, measured glance before her attention returned to the baby, her smile thinning into focused calm. “May I?”
With a quiet, practiced motion, Y/N smoothed the blanket down, letting more of the baby’s face peek out.
Shinobu stepped closer, the faint rustle of her hakama brushing the tatami as she knelt. For a moment, she did nothing but observe.
“She really does look like you, Tomioka,” Shinobu said quietly, head canting. “The brows. That little nose.” Her eyes softened when they found Y/N.
“But the beauty is yours,” Shinobu said lightly.
“Those big doe eyes and that serene look you manage to keep, even while you’re furious.”
“I’m not often furious,” Y/N hummed lightly.
“Hm.” Shinobu’s smile sharpened at the corners. “Then I imagine she’ll be terrifying when she is.”
Y/N huffed a laugh.
Shinobu’s gaze softened as she noticed the baby’s fingers curling reflexively around nothing at all.
“She’s healthy,” she said quietly, almost to herself.
“Good color. Steady breathing.” A faint crease appeared between her brows, the smallest fracture in her composure. “It suits you… this domestic life.”
Y/N arched a brow. “Domesticity?”
“You’re glowing,” Shinobu said frankly. “It’s irritating.”
“Thank you, I suppose,” Y/N replied drily.
Shinobu’s lips curved once more. “You’re welcome.” Her eyes lifted to Giyu, thoughtful. “And how are you adjusting to being a father?”
Giyu’s mouth opened, then closed. After a moment, he settled on, “Fine,” as if it were the safest answer.
“Well, well,” Shinobu said pleasantly. “You haven’t relaxed your shoulders once since I stepped inside.”
Y/N looked to him, noticing the way his jaw was clenched, his fingers restless, his hand firm at her back, drawing her closer in a silent, familiar claim.
“He’s doing well,” she breathed. “He didn’t trust anyone else to hold her on the first day. Not really.”
Shinobu hummed. “Predictable.”
Her eyes softened again, a fleeting, almost wistful look crossing them before she tucked it away.
“Congratulations. Truly.”
“Thank you,” Y/N said, the words settling between them with a depth of gratitude she didn’t try to hide.
Shinobu lingered only briefly before duty called her back to the Butterfly Estate. After she left, the room settled into silence once more, fragile and brief.
Then the doorway stirred again, another presence arriving like a breath of wind through an open room.
“You’re walking too fast,” Kanae scolded lightly.
“I’m not,” Sanemi snapped back. “You’re just slow.”
Y/N felt her chest warm before she even saw them.
Kanae entered first, kimono soft and pale, hair pinned with her usual grace. She carried a small woven basket in the crook of her arm, covered with a neat cloth.
Sanemi loomed at her back, arms locked across his chest, eyes flicking instinctively around the space like he was daring something to move wrong.
His shoulders loosened the second he spotted Y/N, but his expression darkened just as fast when he noticed how thin the color in her face really was.
“You look like hell,” he announced.
Y/N snorted. “Hello to you too, Sanemi.”
Kanae laughed softly, the sound like wind chimes.
She edged closer. “What he’s trying to say is that he was worried. He didn’t sleep much at all, kept wondering when we’d finally be allowed to visit.”
“I did not-”
“You did.” Her expression softened as she turned to Y/N, dipping her head. “Congratulations, Y/N. Giyu.”
“Thank you,” Y/N said, warmth blooming where no illness lingered. “Come, sit. You’re welcome here.”
Kanae sank down beside Y/N with practiced grace, setting the basket at her knee and drawing it open.
The basket held its contents in quiet order: jars of herbal salve, rice balls wrapped in cloth, neatly folded linens, a packet of tea leaves, and small paper envelopes labeled with thoughtful precision.
“For the mother,” she said warmly, sliding it closer.
“Healing salves for the soreness. Tea to help with milk and rest. Something sweet, because you’ve earned it,” she said gently. “They always bring things for the baby, but you’re the one who did all the work.”
Y/N stared at the basket for a heartbeat too long.
She blinked, chasing away the sudden warmth, and felt something clenched deep inside her ease at last.
“Thank you,” she murmured, voice catching in a way that made Kanae’s eyes soften even more. “Really.”
Her gaze flicked to Sanemi.
He remained standing, arms crossed, eyes locked on Y/N with the same fierce focus he once reserved for demons.
His jaw flexed once.
Kanae tilted her head, smiling softly. “Well?” she asked. “Aren’t you going to say something?”
“I…” He grimaced, exhaling hard through his nose.
“You okay?” His gaze flicked to her abdomen before snapping away again. “They said everything went fine, but that doesn’t mean shit. Those damn medics always downplay-”
Her gaze warmed, calm and steady. “Honestly,” Y/N said mildly, “it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
All three of them looked at her.
She smiled faintly, exhausted and dry. “You can tell everyone,” she said. “It felt like my soul was trying to crawl out and punch me.”
Kanae burst into delighted laughter.
Sanemi made a rough, broken sound, jaw flexing. “Good,” he said quietly. “Maybe now you’ll stop throwing yourself at death like it wouldn’t take you.”
Y/N arched a brow.
“Interesting criticism from someone who’s attempted to fistfight Upper Moons.”
“That’s different.”
“It’s really not.”
Kanae covered her mouth with her sleeve, eyes sparkling. “You two haven’t changed at all.”
Sanemi looked at the baby at last, and for the first time since he’d entered the room, he went quiet.
He stared at Suzu as if she were a ticking bomb: careful, guarded, and inexplicably mesmerized.
“…She’s small,” he said finally.
“They start that way,” Y/N replied.
“I mean,” He huffed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You fought through hell, and she came out this tiny.”
“You could hold her,” Y/N offered lightly, her gaze dancing with a challenge she knew he’d feel.
He blanched. “Hard pass.” He pointed vaguely at Giyu without looking away from the baby. “Let him.”
“I already have,” Giyu said.
“Your responsibility,” Sanemi said flatly. “I’ll be watching to make sure you don’t fuck it up.”
Kanae bumped him with her elbow, amused. “No,” she corrected softly. “Your job is to bring them vegetables from our garden and make sure our niece doesn’t grow up repeating your language.”
“Niece?” she echoed, eyes bright with amusement.
Kanae’s expression remained gentle. “I’m certain Sanemi will agree one day,” she said pleasantly. “He has a way of convincing himself when it matters.”
Sanemi choked.
Y/N’s laugh was faint but real, threading through the room and softening the tired pull in her muscles, if only briefly.
They stayed, unhurried, Kanae fussing over pillows and posture, quietly checking on Y/N’s comfort while listening to her candid, humor-laced recounting of the birth. Sanemi grumbled about her needing more rest, then ruffled her hair, earning a scoff and a lazy swat that carried no irritation at all.
When they left, the quiet that settled behind them was heavy with warmth, the room somehow fuller.
The afternoon drifted past in a haze of brief visits; Rengoku’s booming praise and the reverent way he cradled Suzu like something sacred; Tengen’s flamboyant promises of the most extravagant kimono imaginable, his wives immediately debating designs while surrounding Y/N with unexpectedly gentle care.
Tanjiro appeared with sparkling eyes, bowing so hard he almost struck the tatami as he shyly offered homemade pickles; Inosuke announced that the baby was “tiny and weird-looking,” then planted himself on the floor in front of her and didn’t move for an hour, utterly mesmerized.
It all blurred together into a gentle collage of faces and voices: warm smiles, hushed congratulations, and a kindness that settled deep in her chest.
Between visitors, Suzu slept.
Y/N dozed in brief, fragile snatches, waking at the slightest shift of weight against her chest: each time to find Giyu there, adjusting blankets, offering water, quietly keeping track of who had come and gone.
As the sun dipped lower, the last of the footsteps dissolved into silence, and the house was finally, truly still.
Y/N turned her head as the shoji slid open.
Urokodaki lingered in the doorway, the tengu mask no longer shielding him but resting at the side of his head, exposing the age-worn lines carved patiently into his face.
His eyes, still keen despite the years, swept the room before softening the moment they found her.
“Pardon my intrusion,” he said.
“Urokodaki,” she said, dipping her head with quiet reverence despite her recline. “Please, come in.”
He stepped inside, the mountains following him in: pine, stone-cool earth, and the echo of distant falls.
He took her in: the lavender yukata, the soft fatigue in her face, the small life cradled against her, and a flicker of quiet satisfaction crossed his expression.
“Congratulations,” he said. “Both of you.”
Giyu shifted upright as his former master appeared, habit guiding him more than thought. “Master,” he greeted, bowing.
Urokodaki looked at him then, really looked, and the weight of that attention made Giyu’s throat tighten.
“Come,” the older man said after a moment, tilting his chin toward the veranda. “Walk with me.”
Giyu glanced instinctively at Y/N.
A soft, reassuring smile curved her lips. “We’ll be right here,” she whispered, warm and certain. “Go.”
He met her gaze for a heartbeat, a question and its answer flickering silently between them. Then he nodded and followed Urokodaki onto the veranda.
The shoji eased nearly shut, leaving a small gap through which Y/N could glimpse their shadows.
The light shifted, growing warmer as it fell across the floor in long bars. Suzu stirred, letting out a soft, mewling sound, her tiny mouth already seeking.
With an instinct that felt both ancient and achingly new, Y/N shifted her hold, guiding the baby to where she needed to be. Pain pulled through her body, dulled and gentled by the warmth that followed.
Outside, Urokodaki stood with his hands loosely clasped behind him, gazing at the garden he’d helped Giyu design when they moved in: every stone intentional, the moss gently guided, the trees chosen with all four seasons in mind.
“You’ve done well,” the older man said quietly.
Giyu’s shoulders tensed. “You mean the house?”
He shook his head gently. “No. I mean your life.”
The words landed like a blow and a balm at once.
Giyu swallowed. “I had… help.”
Urokodaki angled his head a fraction, just enough for Giyu to feel the weight of that attention, even without meeting his eyes.
“Yes,” the older man said. “She is formidable.”
Giyu sucked in a quiet breath, his gaze slipping.
“For a long time,” Urokodaki said softly after a moment, “I was afraid you would never let yourself have this. You believed you were outside of it, as if happiness were a village whose gates were closed to you.”
“I thought I had used up my share.”
“And now?”
He glanced toward the small opening in the shoji, enough to see Y/N’s hair at the edge of it, the curve of her shoulder as she bent over Suzu, the baby pressed close and content against her chest.
“Now,” he said softly, “I’m afraid I’ll lose it.”
“That is what it means to live, Giyu,” he said quietly. After a beat, he added, “Fear is not a curse. It is proof, proof that you are still alive to feel it.”
Giyu turned fully, meeting his master’s gaze.
“I am glad,” Urokodaki said simply, “that you chose not to listen to whatever cruel voice told you this was something you did not deserve.”
His eyes shone faintly at the corners.
“You have grown into a fine man. I am proud of you.”
Giyu’s throat tightened.
He bowed more deeply, the movement careful, restrained by emotion. “Thank you,” he managed, his voice wavering despite his effort to steady it.
Urokodaki placed a steady, calloused hand on his shoulder. “Take care of them,” he said. After a beat, softer, “And allow them to take care of you, too.”
Giyu only nodded, the weight behind his ribs leaving no room for words.
Y/N watched through the narrow gap, warmth blooming in her chest in slow, steady waves.
She couldn’t hear every word, only the cadence of their voices, but the image alone was enough: Giyu bowing, Urokodaki’s hand on his shoulder, not in instruction but in acknowledgment. Her eyes burned before she realized she was blinking back tears.
“You see, Suzu,” she murmured, eyes warm as they lingered on the baby tucked close. “Papa is so very loved.”
Suzu made a small, contented coo, something warm and trusting. Y/N smiled in response, brushing her finger gently along the curve of her daughter’s cheek.
A moment later, the shoji slid open again.
Mitsuri, Shinobu, and Kanae slipped in together, quiet as conspirators. They had waited until the flurry of individual visits had passed, disguising their return as a “surprise girls visit,” when really, they just wanted one more look at Suzu.
“Oh, you’re so beautiful,” Mitsuri breathed happily, settling beside Y/N in a flutter of pastel silk.
“Beautiful?” Y/N repeated, amused.
“Yes!” Mitsuri’s eyes sparkled. “Look at you: the pretty yukata, the baby in your arms, that little soft smile… ahh, you’re going to make me cry.”
Shinobu knelt on Y/N’s other side, her expression composed but her eyes warm. “It’s strange,” she mused lightly. “Seeing you sit still for this long.”
“I do agree,” Y/N replied, deadpan. “But Giyu will make a fuss if I so much as shift.”
Kanae laughed quietly as she arranged the gifts into a neat little pile. “What a devoted husband,” she said warmly.
Y/N breathed out, her attention settling on Suzu again. “Very,” she said quietly, a smile in her voice.
The three women fell into easy conversation: Mitsuri cooing about future playdates, Shinobu making dry remarks about sleep deprivation, Kanae offering gentle advice on herbs for recovery. Y/N listened, occasionally adding a remark, heart full to the brim.
After some time, footsteps returned on the veranda.
Their conversation faded as Giyu reentered the room, Urokodaki pausing briefly behind him to offer a final bow before turning and vanishing down the path.
He crossed the room quickly, and Y/N could see it then: the softness in his face, the faint sheen in his eyes, the way his shoulders no longer held quite so tight.
He stepped to Y/N’s side, no hesitation at all, his palm settling at her lower back with instinctive ease, warmth blooming through the soft lavender fabric.
Mitsuri pressed her hands to her heart, eyes going bright. “Ahh, look at him,” she whispered excitedly.
A small tilt touched Shinobu’s lips. “Who would have imagined,” she said quietly, “that the corner-sulker would grow into a devoted husband and father?”
A hint of smugness touched Y/N’s smile. “He’s very obedient,” she remarked, flicking Giyu a look bright with mischief.
Heat bloomed along his neck as he glared at her, eyes too soft, ears betraying him. Still, he didn’t move his hand.
If anything, his hand held her a little closer, fingers splayed with intent, saying everything he didn’t need to voice.
That alone made her want to sink her teeth into him.
The ache stayed with her, familiar and insistent, but it was gentled by the world holding her: cushions at her back, warmth at her side, delicate new life in her arms, friends surrounding her like soft, living light.
Kanae looked between them, her expression kind. “Have you decided,” she asked gently, “what you’ll tell her about who you were… and who you are now.”
Her gaze dropped to Suzu: to the gentle rise and fall of her tiny chest, breathing on, unaware and at peace.
“We’ll tell her the truth,” she said after a moment.
“That her parents were once swords, that they fought through a long night, and that somehow, within it, they found each other.” Her voice gentled.
“We’ll tell her she is proof the night ended.”
Giyu hummed, his thumb tracing slow circles at her waist. “And we’ll tell her,” he added quietly, “that she owes no one anything, except the life she chooses.”
Mitsuri let out a dramatic sniffle, wiping at her eyes. “I’m crying,” she declared. “That’s so beautiful, you two are absolutely perfect.”
Shinobu made a small, amused sound.
One day,” Y/N whispered, her thumb lingering against Suzu’s cheek, “she’ll fill this house with laughter and tears. She’ll shout. She’ll sulk. She’ll tell us she hates us and that she loves us.”
A quiet pause.
“I want us all to be here for all of it.”
“We will be,” Giyu said simply.
She looked up at him, meeting his gaze.
Whatever Urokodaki had said settled within him like a stone in a river : solid, unmoving, and making the water move more quietly around it.
“Ah… I suppose that settles it,” she said softly, color rising to her cheeks. The girls laughed in response, and Y/N’s smile softened into something bright.
The room settled into a gentle hum after that.
At some point, Mitsuri and Kanae wandered off to help with supper, and Shinobu went back to her patients, pausing only to promise she’d return later.
Eventually, it was just the three of them again.
Suzu had slipped back into that deep, mysterious baby sleep, her breathing even, one tiny fist curled into Y/N’s yukata as if anchoring herself there.
Beyond the shoji, the light had gone golden.
She adjusted her position with care, wincing just slightly. Giyu responded immediately, his hand leaving her back to slip beneath her elbow.
“Do you need to lie down?” he asked.
“In a bit,” she said quietly, eyes never leaving Suzu. “I just want this moment to last a little longer.”
He sat down at her side, close enough to feel her warmth. For a while, words felt unnecessary.
Suzu’s breath puffed against Y/N’s skin.
A breeze slipped in, bringing with it the faint, distant chime from the veranda: clear and light, like a bell.
“Do you hear that?” Y/N murmured.
The chime sang once more, gentle and bright.
“She really is well-named,” he huffed a quiet laugh.
Y/N hummed, a quiet smile in her voice. “Suzu,” she murmured, tasting the name once more. “Little bell.”
He leaned in, lips resting at her temple a heartbeat longer than necessary. “Our little bell,” he breathed.
In the waning light, when the laughter and tears had faded, the house grew still at last, and became a home.
It was no longer a place where warriors prepared for war, but a home for a small family learning how to live in a world that, for once, was no longer burning.
Y/N let her eyes drift closed for a brief moment, Suzu’s warmth a perfect weight in her arms, Giyu’s presence solid and unwavering beside her.
When she opened her eyes again, it wasn’t a dream. The world remained, and they were still there with her.
Can I request for Giyu? I have been swooning over a pinterest picture of him post-final battle where he holds his little baby in one arm and the reader is just watching by the bed, resting from childbirth like AHHHHH I was actually gonna req this anonymously but I wanna show you the pics
Look at his smile at the last pic, oml
Thank youuu!
✨ Prompt: Taisho AU || Post Child-Birth
🎧 Song on Loop: Be That Easy || Sade
🌟 Author's Note: Thank you all for your patience with me !! Christmas break has officially started, and I somehow finished this while sitting in an airport. He is so, so handsome that I fear these pictures may trigger ovulation. There will be a part two coming, since I received another ask with a similar concept. I hope you all have a very warm and merry Christmas 🤍🎄
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
The world was very small when she woke.
It was shaped by the faint rustle of shoji in the morning breeze, by linen clinging to sweat-damp skin, by a dull ache seated deep in her bones: something ancient, finally announcing itself.
It was made of sunlight, too, thin, pale ribbons slipping around the edges of the paper doors to pool in soft bands across the tatami and the futon.
And it was made of breathing.
Her own, slow and uneven; the quiet, steady rhythm of another body nearby; and a third, softer one, so small it almost dissolved into the room’s hush.
Y/N drifted there for a moment, eyes unfocused, caught in the thin space between sleep and waking.
Her lashes fluttered once, twice.
Her body felt heavy, emptied out and filled again with something new, exhaustion, yes, but also a quiet warmth that lingered beneath the soreness.
Her lips parted with a quiet sigh, her tongue thick with cotton and a trace of something metallic, dry at the back of her mouth.
Heat lingered against her skin, hair clinging to her temples and the back of her neck, the thin yukata the healers had dressed her in pressed damply to her collarbone.
For a moment she lay still, letting herself feel it all: the dull, pulling ache low in her abdomen, the tenderness in her thighs, the faint stiffness in her fingers from clutching hands and sheets and air.
The pain lingered in echoes, like distant thunder after a storm, a quiet but constant nagging.
Then she blinked fully awake and turned her head.
The shoji to the veranda rested half-open, parted just enough to welcome the morning in.
Beyond it, the garden lay in gentle light: dew pearled on the hydrangeas, a dragonfly hovering over the pond, mist lingering along the stones they had set together months earlier, when they stepped into this home as husband and wife, not Hashira.
And there, sitting just inside the threshold, his back to the garden, light haloing him from behind was Giyu.
Her Giyu.
His legs were folded beneath him, one knee drawn higher as he cradled the small bundle in his arms, and he looked perfect, in a way that made her chest ache.
The haori he wore, no longer split between scarlet and green but softened into indigo after retirement, had been carefully folded beside him.
He wore only a white yukata, sleeves rolled to his forearms, exposing the familiar lines of muscle that once fought demons and now belonged to gentler work.
Wrapped in a thin cream blanket and held close in his arms, their child slept, small and warm and safe.
With tiny fists drawn to its cheeks, the baby slept, lashes faint against skin still full and untouched.
With each tiny breath, the cloth rose and fell, so slight it was nearly imperceptible, yet to Y/N it felt like the most monumental movement in the world.
Giyu looked down at the baby with an expression that slipped past language altogether. Reverent.
He looked stunned, as if part of him was bracing to wake in some cold barracks and learn that this: this warmth, this family, had only been a dream.
That hand, once deadly as flowing water against steel, now cradled the baby’s head, thumb brushing the blanket with a gentleness that tightened her chest.
For years, she had allowed herself fleeting visions of this, only to hush them the moment they surfaced.
She had been a weapon, a shield, women like her did not expect to be given endings so gentle.
She had made peace with that, or believed she had.
And yet.
Here he was, morning light crowning him, cradling the quiet miracle their survival had made possible.
“…”
Something small and unbidden left her lips, more breath than sound, but enough to give her away.
Giyu’s head turned instantly.
He looked up at her, eyes widening in brief surprise before melting into something tender and warm.
The lines at the corners, worn there by years of quiet endurance, relaxed into something softer.
“You’re awake,” he said quietly.
His voice was deeper, still rough with sleep, and it wrapped around her like something familiar and safe.
She tried to answer and found her throat dry.
She sighed, nestling into the pillow, a soft smile blooming slowly at the corners of her mouth.
He read it as easily as if she’d spoken.
Careful not to jostle the bundle in his arms, Giyu rose from the veranda, every motion slow and mindful, adjusting instinctively to a rhythm shaped by love.
He crossed the room with quiet care, each step chosen deliberately, unwilling to disturb any of the three breaths that made this place feel alive.
He knelt beside the futon and, without conscious thought, bent to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.
The kiss was soft as breath, lingering just long enough to brush a damp strand of hair from her skin.
He smelled of soap and the last traces of herbal smoke from the midwives’ brazier, softened by something that belonged solely to him: cool, clean, like river stones resting in the sun.
“Hello” he murmured against her skin. When he pulled back, his gaze searched her face, worry and awe tangled together. “Did you sleep well?”
Her lashes fluttered again. “Mm,” she managed, a small sound that could mean yes, no, or just I’m here.
She tried to push herself up on her elbows.
The motion sent a flare of ache through her abdomen and a wave of dizziness washed over her.
Her breath hitched.
Immediately his free hand came to her shoulder, gentle but firm, grounding her before she could even think to move.
“Don’t,” he said, the word soft but threaded with quiet alarm. “You shouldn’t move too much. Your body...”
“Is mine,” she rasped, the word barely there, before a soft, hoarse laugh slipped out. “But yes. I know. It’s just… heavier than I thought.”
A pained look crossed his face, tempered by gentle reproach. “You pushed yourself too hard.”
“That is, unfortunately, how babies tend to arrive,” she said softly, the hint of a smile tugging at her mouth.
The way his cheeks flushed made something light flutter in her chest, though she lacked the strength to give it voice.
He averted his gaze for just a beat, lost to memory, before meeting her eyes again with a gentle, almost bashful pride.
“You…” He swallowed. “You were incredible.”
Her chest drew inward, eyes glossing over, not from hurt, but from something far heavier.
“I was loud,” she admitted quietly. “And scared. And… not graceful at all.”
He exhaled, eyes warm. “You were strong,” he said. “You were brave.” A beat. “And I’ve never seen you more beautiful.”
Her face warmed in spite of herself, a tired huff of a laugh slipping out. “You’re biased, Tomioka.”
“I’m your husband,” he said simply. “I’m allowed.”
Her fingers twitched weakly against the sheets, the instinct to reach for him, for them, flickering and fading.
She settled for licking her parched lips, only to suck in a sharp breath as the motion pulled at her side.
Giyu caught it.
“Wait.” He adjusted his stance, the baby fitting neatly against his chest now, his hands sure in a way they hadn’t been days ago, shaped by dawn hours spent alone, learning its weight, its breathing, the language of its soft noises.
He extended his arm toward the clay pitcher set just beyond the futon, sunlight catching faintly along its rim.
“Here,” he said, gentle as everything else.
He poured the water with the same steady hands that had always carried her through danger, then curved his palm at her nape, lifting her gently so she could drink without hurting herself.
The cool rim pressed to her lips.
“Slowly,” he murmured near her ear.
The water slid over her tongue, gentle and cool, easing the dryness and touching the sore, fragile places her body was still learning how to hold.
She closed her eyes, lashes wet with sweat and the unshed tears she’d held back when the pain was at its cruelest.
When she’d had enough, she turned her head a fraction. He drew the cup away with practiced care, set it aside, and let his fingers find her face again.
He smoothed the sweat-damp strands from her forehead and cheeks, his thumb tracing the fragile warmth at her temple as if afraid to disturb her.
His touch was reverent, almost hesitant, as though she might shatter now that the danger had passed.
“You did well,” he said, and his voice wavered just enough to undo her. “You did so well, Y/N.”
She leaned into his touch, eyes closing briefly. “You say that,” she breathed, faint amusement threading the exhaustion, “like I had a choice.”
“You did,” he murmured. “You chose to keep going.”
His voice caught. He looked down at the bundle against his chest, then back at her, eyes shining.
“You brought her here,” he finished. “To me. To us.”
Her gaze followed his.
“Can I…?” The words faltered, small and unsteady.
He blinked, and then it happened: a soft, boyish smile spread across his face, rare and open, wider than the subtle curves she usually had to coax into being.
“Of course,” he breathed.
With painstaking care, he adjusted the baby, palm firm and gentle beneath the small curve of her back. He knelt closer, knee grazing the tatami, turning his body so she wouldn’t need to strain.
“Hold out your arms,” he murmured.
She did, her arms trembling as she raised them.
Pain pulled low in her abdomen as she lifted them, but it faded to a distant ache when he gently settled the precious weight into her waiting embrace.
The baby settled into the crook of her elbow with a tiny sigh, as if it knew instinctively where it belonged.
For a long heartbeat, Y/N could only stare.
The face was so small.
The baby’s nose, still a little misshapen from birth, twitched softly. The lips, just the faintest bow, remained parted. One fist loosened, tiny fingers opening enough to grasp the edge of her yukata.
A delicate pulse beat beneath the soft place at the top of her head, steady and impossibly small.
Her vision blurred. It wasn’t from pain this time.
She wanted to sob.
“It’s real,” she whispered, the words falling from her lips like a prayer she barely dared to speak.
Giyu shifted carefully, mindful not to jostle the futon as he settled beside her. He lay on his side facing her, one hand resting lightly over the blanket at her legs, the other hovering nearby, ready to steady the baby at the slightest need.
“It’s real,” he echoed.
She let out a breath that shuddered on the way out.
“This is crazy. For a moment, I thought…” Her voice caught; she swallowed. “I thought I’d dreamed it. That I’d imagined everything: the pain. Their cry.”
“It wasn’t a dream,” he said softly, eyes warm with an ache of his own. “It was very real. I don’t think I’ll ever forget.”
She huffed out a faint laugh and winced right after. “Don’t remind me. The neighbors must be scared”
“They should be impressed,” he said simply.
She let out a quiet laugh and shook her head.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Rengoku sent word. He said he heard you from his estate and wanted you to know your battle spirit hasn’t dulled.”
She scoffed a laugh, rolling her eyes with a fond curve to her lips. “That man… of course he did.”
Their voices drew a small stir from the baby.
Y/N’s attention shifted immediately. She drew the baby closer, arms firm with instinct but gentle in their hold.
“Good,” he said quietly, his hand lifting, then stilling.
He turned to her. “You’re holding her perfectly.”
“I would hope so,” she murmured, fond but uncertain. “…I feel like I’m doing it wrong.”
“You’re not.” His lips softened as he took them in together, the way the baby rested against her, the way her fingers moved with quiet, instinctive care.
“You look like you’ve done this your entire life.”
Her laugh came softer this time, threaded with something fragile. “How kind of you. I haven’t.”
“I know.” He met her eyes. “But we’ll learn.”
She wanted to believe him.
The question rose quietly, almost shy in its vulnerability: could she be a good mother?
Or would the blood that had once coated her hands stain any child she was brave enough to reach for?
“I wanted this for so long,” she said, the words rising from somewhere very old and very small inside her.
“People like us aren’t supposed to have something like this,” she said. “But I wanted a family. I wanted to be more than a sword. To do good. To be good.”
“You have,” he said, quick and earnest, as if afraid she might doubt him for even a moment. “You do.”
“I kill things,” she murmured, her gaze following the barely-there rise and fall of their child’s chest.
“I’ve killed more demons than numbers can hold,” she breathed. “Everyone said war was what shaped me. What shaped us. And for so long, I was afraid that meant I wasn’t meant for softness, that love would never survive me.”
Giyu’s hand returned to her hair, gently smoothing it from her face and tucking the damp strand behind her ear with a tenderness meant only for her.
“We’re built to survive,” he said quietly. “To endure. To protect people, even when it costs us.” His thumb brushed gently along the edge of her brow. “We’re Hashira. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
She let out a breath that trembled.
“If anything,” he said gently, “it means there’s no one better suited to care for something small and fragile than you.”
A tear pricked at her lashes; she blinked quickly and looked aside, unwilling to let him see.
“What if I make mistakes?” she asked quietly.
He didn’t flinch. “You will,” he said. “So will I.”
She glanced at him, startled, and found his mouth quirking with a soft, self-deprecating humor.
“But we’ll learn,” he added. “We’ll apologize. We’ll try again. And again. And again.” He shifted closer until his forehead nearly brushed hers, their child tucked safely between them. “We don’t have to be perfect,” he murmured. “We just have to stay.”
The word settled over her like another blanket.
Stay.
He had. She had. Against every odd that had once risen like blades at their throats, they were still here.
Breathing.
Holding something that had not existed in the world until last night: something soft. A second chance.
The baby yawned, small and silent, their face scrunching as if dreaming mid-thought, a faint babble escaping before they relaxed once more.
Y/N’s heart clenched so hard it hurt.
“She’s…” She hesitated, breath faltering, then met his eyes. “Or is it… he?” It dawned on her suddenly that somewhere between the pain and the noise, the answer had slipped past her.
Giyu’s eyes softened, almost apologetic.
“A daughter,” he breathed. “You were already drifting when the midwife said it.”
“Ah.” Her voice wavered, thin with emotion. “A girl.”
A daughter.
Their daughter.
The word fit, carrying a quiet, inescapable weight.
“She’s beautiful,” Y/N said softly, her finger trailing down the baby’s cheek, committing the softness to memory.
The baby turned toward her finger, lips pursing softly. She bit back a sound, shaking her head just a little. “Too beautiful,” she whispered. “That’s unfair.”
“Have you seen her mother?” Giyu said softly, the words so simple they stole her breath and lit her cheeks with warmth.
“How bold,” she murmured, warmth blooming in her cheeks despite the lack of conviction in her protest.
His hand shifted under the blanket until it found hers, their fingers fitting together naturally, his touch warm and careful.
“Do you remember,” he asked, hesitant but sincere, “the night I asked you if we could have a family?”
She did.
They’d been sitting in almost this exact spot: the garden younger, the house newer, fear still clinging to them like damp clothing that refused to dry.
They were young and scared, already bowed beneath a duty that had asked too much of them.
He’d said it into her collarbone, mouth warm with soft, desperate kisses ‘we could build something, you could be a good mother’ the words trembling between suggestion and prayer.
“Mm,” she hummed. “I remember thinking I was being greedy… and asking you not to stop.”
A quiet huff escaped him as he shook his head, mouth curving. “You weren’t greedy enough.”
He lingered on her face for a moment before his gaze drifted to their daughter, the tension in his features softening into something quieter, more fragile.
“I never imagined,” he murmured, almost to himself, “that I would be allowed something like this again.”
Giyu wasn’t a man of declarations.
Now retired, the old habits never fully left him.
He kept his grief close.
He kept his joy there too.
For him to say it outright…
“I thought,” he continued quietly, eyes never leaving the small, steady movement of her breathing, “that my life had already been set in stone. That I’d used up my share of warmth.” A pause. “After Sabito. After the Corps.” Another, smaller one. “After… you.”
“After me?” she murmured, puzzled and gentle.
“When you came,” he clarified. “I thought being near you was already more than I was allowed. Enough. More than enough. To fight beside you. To have you. To be your husband.” He swallowed.
“Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll wake up too.”
She turned her head, ignoring the dull protest in her muscles, and studied him: the small, clean tension of his jaw.
The tiny crinkle between his brows, softened by months of marriage, but never quite gone.
The guilt that had once shadowed his eyes had eased, replaced by a calm resolve: gentle.
“You won’t,” she huffed. “I won’t let you.”
His mouth twitched; one brow arched. “You won’t?”
“I’m very stubborn,” she reminded him, eyes bright.
“Ah,” he murmured, smiling. “I remember. Always.”
She shifted her carefully, guiding their daughter closer until her cheek rested against the soft swell of her chest, the quiet thump of her heartbeat pressing through layers of cloth. A small, content sound slipped from the baby before she stilled once more.
The movement opened a sliver of space along the edge of the futon, unclaimed and inviting.
Giyu took it, easing himself down beside her until he was fully settled, one arm draped carefully around her waist, the other curved protectively near their child without touching, as if his presence alone could form a shield.
Sunlight drifted across the floor, unhurried, as if it had all the time in the world to reach them.
“We can teach her,” Y/N said at last, voice low and steady. “About the stars. About rivers. All the gentle things.”
Yes. She can decide,” Giyu murmured. “Who she wants to be. We’ll make sure she has… choices.”
She swallowed, breath hitching once before she nodded. “We’ll give her a world with more choices than we had.”
He lowered his mouth and kissed her hair, gentle and sure, as if grounding himself in her warmth.
“We will.”
She lingered in the quiet, throat working as if the words had to travel a long way to reach her lips. “Do you think,” she whispered, “I’ll be a good mother?”
He leaned closer, voice barely above a breath.
“Y/N. You already are.”
A smile fought its way free, small but real, as his fingers brushed her temples like something sacred.
“I’ve seen the way you look at her,” he said. “The way you looked at her even before she was here.”
He hesitated, remembering those evenings she spent on the veranda, hand over her belly, speaking softly as if the stars themselves were listening. “You love her,” he said. “That’s enough to begin.”
She swallowed, eyes shimmering faintly.
She tilted her head toward him, close enough to share breath. “And you?” she murmured.
“Do you think you’ll be a good father?”
His gaze flickered, uncertainty passing through it like a shadow. “I don’t know,” he admitted honestly.
“But I’ll try,” he said quietly. “Every day. I’ll hold her when she cries so you can sleep. I’ll carry her when she’s tired. I’ll teach her kindness. Strength. How to forgive herself.” His arm drew her in, just a little tighter. “I’ll stay,” he added. “Even when I’m afraid.”
Something long knotted in her chest loosened, slow and careful, as if it had been waiting for this.
More than enough,” she whispered. “For both of us.”
He leaned closer, careful and unhurried, and brushed a kiss against the corner of her mouth.
It was only the lightest touch of lips, innocent and brief, and it held everything they had survived.
“Rest,” he murmured against her skin. “You’ve done everything. Let me take care of you now.”
Her eyes drooped.
Exhaustion seeped back into her bones, but it no longer frightened her. She was tired, yes, but not empty. Not hollow. She was tired, and full, and held.
“The world feels very small,” she murmured, her words already blurring with sleep. “Just us three.”
“For now,” he whispered. “And it will be enough.”
She smiled, voice worn and gentle. “For now?”
Nestled between them, the baby cooed softly, a fragile little sound that felt like agreement.
They stilled together, then laughed in quiet unison, two breathless sounds dissolving into the warm air.
Y/N’s lashes fluttered one final time as she looked down at the child cradled against her, then up at the man beside her, the world narrowing to just this.
At last, sunlight reached them, spilling in a pale band across their legs and catching on the dark of his hair, the gentle curve of their daughter’s cheek.
“We did it,” she murmured, the words barely louder than a breath. “This is everything I’ve ever wanted.”
Giyu watched her, something close to peace settling over him, adoration unmistakable in his eyes.
“We’ll keep it,” he said. “As long as we can.”
Her lips curved, faint and soft and utterly content.
Her eyes slid shut at last, breath smoothing as she sank into sleep again, held not by exhaustion, but by the simple trust that she would wake to them still here.
Giyu stayed awake.
He studied her in silence, following the lines of her face: the sweat-darkened hair at her temple, the warmth still lingering on her brow, the stubbornness etched gently into her mouth even now.
His gaze softened as it dropped to their daughter, the tiny miracle bundled against Y/N’s chest, her fist curled instinctively near the star pendant that had once seen too much blood and now rested in peace.
His heart felt too big for his chest.
He reached up, knuckles grazing the baby’s small, blanket-wrapped back, then let his hand find Y/N’s again, fingers threading together as if by instinct.
“I love you,” he breathed, gaze never leaving her. “Thank you… for choosing this. For choosing me.”
Y/N breathed out in her sleep, her body curling just a little closer, trusting his touch without waking.
Giyu closed his eyes, only for a heartbeat, and let his forehead rest against Y/N’s. Her warmth bled into him slowly, surely, through every quiet point of contact.
Sleep didn’t take him at once. Instead, he listened: to her breathing, to their daughter’s tiny sighs, to the quiet proof of a life he had never dared to hope for.
When drowsiness finally claimed him, it came gently, like a tide easing in along a quiet shore.
Their daughter stirred, a small sound slipping from her mouth before she sighed and settled again.
Y/N’s fingers twitched in his, instinctively squeezing.
Giyu smiled, small and soft and meant for no one but himself, before his eyes finally drifted shut.
The world stayed small.
The world stayed bright.
For the first time in a very long time, the future no longer looked like a battlefield. It looked like this instead: a sunlit room, a woman breathing steadily beside him, a child sleeping between them, and the quiet promise of many mornings yet to come.
will u be more open to writing more giyuu x reader fics I LOVE UR WRITING SMM
Thank you so much, you’re so sweet!! I am more than open to writing more Giyu !!! I fear I need that man biblically... Alpha Giyu. Service Top Giyu. Idol Giyu. Tattoo artist Giyu. Time traveler Giyu. Rent Free. ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧
i hv read your recent fics and i loveeee themmmmm! may i ask if u have a masterlist for me to binge read them all?!?!
You’re so sweet, messages like this genuinely mean a lot to me, so thank you!! I also lowkey didn’t know what a masterlist was until I saw your message, so I went and lurked a bit before making one … Thank you for being so kind and patient with me (!! ´◯`)∑
Giyu x reader where both of them were scared of dogs and is cornered by one tiny fluff of puppy feral enough to make them tremble in fear LOL, please...?
✨ Prompt: High-School AU || Fear of Dogs
🎧 Song on Loop: Show Me How || Men I Trust
🌟 Author's Note: Sorry for the delayed response: it’s the week before winter break and I just got promoted, so things have been a little hectic!!! This was such a cute prompt, and I tried my best to give it a cozy winter feel while still keeping all the little touches you wanted. ♡
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
Snow had started sometime during last period.
It was the gentle kind, the kind that floated more than it fell, catching on eyelashes and blazer shoulders, turning the familiar streets between school and the station into something magical.
Y/N tugged her scarf a little higher as they stepped out of the school gates, breath pluming in the cold air.
Her white knit muffler was wrapped snugly around her neck, the ends tucked into her navy blazer; the cream ribbon of her uniform had been swapped for one a shade softer, almost blending into the scarf.
Beside her, Giyu walked with his hands deep in the pockets of his navy overcoat, school blazer hidden beneath. Snow collected along the shoulders and collar, little flecks melting into the dark fabric.
He didn’t bother to shake them off.
He simply accepted it, the way he accepted most things: in silence, eyes half-lidded, listening to the soft crunch of footsteps weaving through the quiet.
They weren’t talking much.
They never really needed to.
“Your eyelashes are white,” she said suddenly, voice soft against the hush of winter.
He blinked, glancing down at her.
A few flakes had dusted along her lashes too, making her look less like the terrifyingly perfect class rep and more like something out of a snow scene in an old movie.
She turned her head, and the flakes caught the light, glittering once before melting into her warmth.
“So are yours,” he replied.
She huffed a quiet laugh, the sound puffing into the scarf. “That’s not how observations work, Tomioka.”
He didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth pulled, just barely. The street stretched ahead: bare, narrow trees, power lines, old houses with light glowing faintly behind frosted windows.
The cold had teeth; even through her gloves, her fingers began to sting. She flexed them quietly, the wool whispering in protest.
Giyu noticed.
He always did.
“You can go ahead,” she said lightly. “I know you walk faster than me.”
He shook his head. “It’s fine, I’m not in a hurry.”
She looked up at him through her lashes, something warm flickering in her chest. He wasn’t good with words, not like Rengoku or Mitsuri, but he had his own way of saying things.
She knew what sat beneath it: I don’t mind taking the long way, not if it means walking with you.
She smiled into her scarf, letting the quiet settle again.
They turned the corner past the convenience store, the little bell above its door chime muffled by the glass, and that was when they saw it.
A puff of white fur bounded ahead, leash dragging behind in lazy loops across the pavement.
It was all round head and too big paws, tail wagging until it saw them. The sound that came out wasn’t a bark, but a low, uncertain growl.
Y/N stopped so abruptly, breath catching in her throat, that a snowflake landed right on the bridge of her nose.
Giyu stopped too.
For a single suspended beat, the three of them: the stoic kendo captain, the campus darling, and the oversized cotton ball just stared at each other.
The dog’s ears perked.
Giyu’s fingers twitched inside his pockets.
Y/N’s lips parted soundlessly, a thin line of visible breath slipping free. She took exactly one, small step back. Then another, almost imperceptible.
“Is… it… smiling,” she whispered.
It was not smiling.
It was showing teeth.
The growl deepened.
Giyu wasn’t sure when his hand had moved, but he felt it: the soft brush of her glove pressing into his palm, her fingers slipping between his like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She squeezed, just once.
When he looked down, her eyes met his: wide and shining, lashes damp with snowmelt, the tips of her ears blushing pink against the cold. Her lashes fluttered once as she tried to steady her breath.
The dog barked once: sharp, sudden.
They moved at the same time, closing the space between them: her shoulder bumping his chest, his frame instinctively angling to shield her from the beast.
There was a strange moment where they both realized, at the same time, how ridiculous they must look: two honor students frozen in place, trying to stare down a creature with floppy ears and a wet nose.
It didn’t make it any less terrifying.
“…We’ll just… go around it,” Y/N murmured, her voice so soft it nearly dissolved into the cold. Up close, he could see her throat move, the star charm at her neck trembling as she swallowed. “Okay?”
He met her gaze. For all her practiced composure, her eyes were trembling ever so slightly.
“Okay,” he said.
She took a breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped forward, pulling him with her, the two of them edging toward the narrow curve of sidewalk that might give them just enough room to slip past.
The dog’s head tilted.
Its tail flicked once, twice.
Y/N tried for a soothing smile, the same one she used on distraught freshmen and flustered teachers, but it trembled at the edges.
“Good boy…” she coaxed softly, her breath misting in the cold. “Stay….We’re just passing through…”
The dog barked again and its paws crunched against the snow as it stepped forward, inching closer with every breath they took.
Y/N squeaked. Actually squeaked.
Before she could stop herself, she jumped the last bit of distance between them, practically launching into Giyu.
Her arms wrapped around his middle, face burying itself in his overcoat, scarf mashing into his chest.
Her heart was hammering so fast he could feel it through the layers of wool and cotton, a trembling rhythm pulsing against his chest.
His own heart stuttered.
He was terrified of the dog, yes.
Something in his bones flinched each time it barked: a muscle memory older than thought, of teeth flashing and a childhood sound lodged deep in him.
But there was also the sharp, overwhelming awareness of Y/N pressed against him, fingers knotted in the fabric at his back, her breath catching warm and frantic through his shirt.
He tightened his arms around her automatically, pulling her closer, positioning himself between her and the dog.
Even with his pulse thundering and his lungs burning cold, his body knew what to do before he did: shield her, hide her, hold her.
“It’s fine,” he managed, voice lower than usual.
“It is small.”
She shook her head against his chest, voice small and impossibly soft. “That’s not small, Tomioka.”
The dog, for its part, seemed absolutely delighted.
It barked yet again, louder, and started trotting toward them, leash dragging, tongue peeking out.
Y/N inhaled sharply. “Nope,” she squeaked, voice muffled against his chest. “Nope, nope, nope.”
Giyu took a step back, then another, still holding her. Snow slipped beneath his shoes, but he kept his balance: one arm steady around her shoulders, the other guiding her with quiet precision.
The dog barked again and broke into a cheerful jog.
They ran fast.
It wasn’t graceful.
Their shared panic swallowed whatever grace they usually carried. Breath tore out of them in short, uneven gasps, misting the air in frantic clouds.
Bags thumped against their sides, feet slipping on the partially cleared sidewalk as they bolted down the narrow street, turning sharply into a side alley between two apartment buildings.
Y/N clung to him the whole way, half-hidden behind his arm. Her scarf snapped in the wind, skirt brushing against her thighs with every hurried step.
“Why is it following us?!” she hissed, breathless.
“You made eye contact,” he said automatically. It wasn’t accusation or wit, just the flat truth of a man whose bluntness came as naturally as breathing.
“I was being polite,” she snapped back, the edge of her tone blunted by the small quiver in her voice.
They skidded to a stop at the dead end of the alley, a chain-link fence cutting them off from a stretch of snow-covered vacant land.
Giyu turned quickly, pressing his back to the fence and pulling her with him so she ended up half in front of him, half braced between his arms, his hands landing on either side of her shoulders.
The dog trotted in after them, tail wagging like they’d just invited it to play, yipping in pure delight.
In the narrow quiet of the alley, the sound of paws crunching through the snow felt impossibly loud.
Y/N’s eyes were huge, breath hitching in quick, visible bursts. Her fingers fisted the front of Giyu’s overcoat, knuckles pale against the dark fabric, as though the thick wool might somehow keep danger at bay.
The dog slowed, stopping a few paces away.
Its head tilted, ears pricking toward them, tongue lolling as it sniffed the air. A beat passed, then it padded forward, snow crunching beneath its paws.
Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, breath catching as her lashes brushed her cheeks. “If it bites me,” she whispered, voice trembling with sincerity, “I will yell some very unladylike things…”
Giyu couldn’t tell if the tightening in his chest was fear or the ridiculous urge to laugh. “I’ll fend it off,” he murmured.
“With what?” she shot back, not daring to open her eyes. “Our GPA?”
The dog sniffed closer, drawn in by the scent of snow, detergent, jasmine, and the sheer human panic in the air.
It lowered its head, nose hovering near Y/N’s bare ankle where her leg warmers had ridden up just a little.
“Don’t move,” Giyu breathed, voice right by her ear.
His heartbeat thundered. Her body was pressed fully into his; he could feel every tiny tremor, every shaky inhale. The star charm of her necklace scraped lightly against his chest with each breath.
The dog’s wet, warm tongue suddenly dragged across the exposed bit of Y/N’s skin and she jolted.
She shrieked.
The sound ricocheted off the narrow walls, more startled than dignified. She jolted, clutching Giyu tighter as she half-climbed into him, desperate to escape the offending tongue.
She buried her face deeper into his coat, shaking her head like she could physically undo the feeling.
“Nononononono”
Giyu startled as well, shoulders snapping tight, but his grip held. One hand found the small of her back on instinct, palm firm and grounding, while the other pressed harder into the wall beside her shoulder.
His own eyes were blown wide, breath shallow.
This close, with her pressed against him and the world narrowed to cold air, dog breath, and the sound of her panicked breathing, he felt something else beneath the fear: a dizzying awareness of her warmth, the way she fit perfectly into his arms.
The way her hair tickled his chin.
The way she smelled, like vanilla and winter and the faintest trace of strawberry shortcake from the café earlier.
He should not be thinking about that.
Not now.
Not while a dog was systematically dismantling both their pride.
“Hey! Mochi!”
A voice cut in from the mouth of the alley, male and faintly exasperated. “Mochi! Leave them alone!”
The dog’s ears perked.
It gave Y/N’s ankle one last affectionate lick, tail wagging even harder, before trotting out of the alley like nothing had happened, its leash finally caught by a relieved looking college student in a beanie and thick glasses.
“Sorry!” he called, bowing hurriedly toward the shadowed corner where two traumatized high schoolers were still clinging to each other. “He’s friendly!”
The dog barked happily, entirely unrepentant.
“Friendly,” Y/N repeated weakly against Giyu’s coat.
They remained like that for a beat longer than needed, hearts thudding hard while the world eased back into place and their breathing finally slowed.
Snow fell silently around them, collecting along the fence, on the alley floor, and in the threads of her blazer where it peeked out from beneath his coat.
Eventually, the jingle of Mochi’s collar and his owner’s apologetic scolding faded down the street.
Giyu became painfully aware of every inch of her.
Her fingers, curled into his lapels.
Her forehead pressed to his chest.
The rise and fall of her breathing against him. The quiet realization that his hand had drifted to the small of her back, abandoning courtesy without his permission.
He coughed, quietly.
“Tomioka… um.” Her voice was small and muffled against his coat, hovering near the second button.
“We survived.”
“…Barely” he said before he could stop himself.
She huffed, and the familiar, fragile thread of humor wound its way back into her tone. Slowly, she pulled back.
Her hair was slightly mussed where it had caught on his coat, a few loose strands resting against her flushed cheeks. Snowflakes clung to the tips, sparkling faintly.
Her lips were parted just enough to show the soft pink inside as she tried to catch her breath.
Her eyes, still wide from adrenaline, looked up at him through those long lashes, making his chest feel uncomfortably tight.
She stepped back another half-step, the chain-link fence pressing lightly against his shoulders now.
Her hands slipped away, automatically smoothing the creases she’d left behind, an almost futile attempt to gather her composure back into place.
“Sorry,” she breathed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks still flushed. Her star necklace shifted with the motion, catching the faint gray light. “It…seems I used you as a human shield.”
He shook his head at once. “No. It’s fine.”
The words came out hoarse. He cleared his throat and looked away. “I don’t really… like dogs either.”
She blinked once, then slowly her brows softened: the beautiful, subtle curve of surprise easing into understanding, and then into something almost fond.
“Oh,” she breathed. “So we’re both cowards.”
“Yes,” he said, swallowing hard, utterly serious.
A laugh slipped out of her, bright and breathless, chasing away the last of the fear. It echoed lightly off the alley walls, mixing with the soft sound of snowfall.
They edged back toward the street together, steps unconsciously in sync. This time, when their shoulders brushed, neither of them moved away.
By the time they reached the main road again, their heartbeats had steadied. Dusk crept in, streetlights flickering on one by one with a faint buzz.
Y/N exhaled slowly, watching her breath fog in front of her. “That was…” Her lips twitched. “Interesting.”
He glanced at her.
The pink in her cheeks hadn’t entirely faded; he couldn’t tell how much of it was from the cold and how much from… everything else.
She must’ve felt his gaze, because she turned her head, lips quirking. “I felt you trembling,” she said gently.
He looked away too quickly. “It was cold,” he lied.
Her brows arched, amused. “Of course. I know.”
They walked in silence for a few houses, the world hushed by snow. Y/N’s grip on her bag’s strap had relaxed, her shoulders no longer held so rigidly.
Yet a new kind of tension lingered in the air, softer, settling around them like an extra layer against the cold.
At the next intersection, Giyu slowed.
“Can I…” He hesitated, tongue fumbling around words that seemed too forward in his head and too stupid to say out loud. His fingers curled around the phone in his pocket. “…walk you all the way home?”
She tilted her head, regarding him with that soft, unblinking gaze that always made him feel as though she could read the spaces he left unsaid.
“You usually turn left,” she reminded him.
“I know.” He kept his gaze on the pavement, the half-moons their steps pressed into the slush.
“But… there might be… another dog.”
It came out flatter than he’d intended, but the tips of his ears burned. The excuse was badly transparent.
The idea of more barking made his skin prickle, yes, but deeper than that was a softer, truer pulse: I want more time with you. I’m not ready to let you go.
Her lashes fluttered, curiosity bright in her gaze.
“You were scared too,” she said gently, lips curving.
His jaw tightened. “…Yes.”
Her eyes softened, impossibly gentle, before she cleared her throat. Her shoulders relaxed, the final thread of tension loosening. “Then,” she said, thoughtful, “we should protect each other…”
Before he could speak, she reached for him again, fingers slipping into his as if they belonged there.
She squeezed once, warm despite the cold. “Walk me home, Tomioka,” she said softly. “Just in case.”
He stared at their joined hands, throat tight, ears thudding. After a moment, he nodded. “…Okay.”
They turned right together this time.
The neighborhood grew quieter as they moved away from the main road, the snow on the ground less disturbed, crunching softly under their steps.
Y/N let their joined hands sway, just barely, as if testing the weight of the moment between them.
“You were brave,” she said softly, lips curving as her eyes lowered. “That must have been frightening.”
He thought of the dog’s teeth, the lick at her ankle, the way his lungs had closed up for a second.
Then he thought of her voice: whispering threats about cursing, calling him a coward, shaking in his arms while still trying to shield him with her body.
“It was scary. I wasn’t calm,” he said quietly.
She hummed, warm and approving.
“And you held me anyway.”
He swallowed. “Yeah.”
She fell quiet, eyes sliding away, ears tinged pink as she watched the snow pile along the low hedges by the sidewalk.
Her profile looked unreal in the dim light: the clean line of her jaw, the gentle dip of her nose, the soft curve of her mouth. A few stray flakes clung to the ends of her hair, glowing faintly.
“Next time,” she said softly, “I’ll try to look cool.”
He looked down at her, puzzled. “You did.”
She blinked, startled. “I screamed into your chest.”
“You were still… cool,” he said, and though his face stayed composed, his voice was entirely sincere.
Her ears turned pink.
They settled into a quieter silence, not empty but tender, like something held gently between them.
Every few steps, their shoulders brushed.
Once, when a car passed and sprayed slush toward the sidewalk, he tugged her closer without thinking, shielding her from the splash. She bumped into his side and stayed there a little longer than necessary.
By the time they reached her building, the sky had gone fully dark, the world softened by streetlamps and the warm glow from nearby windows.
Her apartment complex wasn’t fancy, just neat and warm, with potted plants and orderly mailboxes.
They paused beneath the awning, snow drifting just beyond its shelter, caught in the warm spill of light.
“So,” she said, turning to face him fully.
The lobby light warmed her skin, turning the cold flush on her cheeks into something gentler. “We’ve survived midterms, committee meetings, and now… Mochi.”
He grimaced faintly at the name. “Don’t say it like that.”
She laughed softly. “What, Mochi? You scared?”
“Yes,” he said. No hesitation. Entirely serious.
She smiled again, but there was something more fragile at the edges now.
Her hand, still in his, gave another small squeeze before loosening.
She didn’t let go yet.
“Thank you for walking me home,” she said, voice soft again. “Even though you were scared too.”
He watched the faint line of snow at her hairline, the way her star charm rested just above the scarf.
I didn’t want to stop holding your hand, he nearly said.
Instead, he murmured, almost shyly, “Mm… text me when you’re inside.”
Her lashes fluttered, as though she were testing whether the words had really been meant for her.
Then that beautifully devastating smile bloomed on her face, and he was certain she could hear his heart.
“I will,” she promised. “So you know I wasn’t kidnapped by another dangerous menace.”
He exhaled, the ghost of a laugh leaving him.
“Good.”
She hesitated, then reached up on instinct, fingers brushing lightly at his coat where snow still clung.
“You should get home too,” she said softly, a hint of a chide in her voice. “I’d hate for you to get sick.”
He nodded, eyes flicking to the door. “I’ll go after.”
She tilted her head, watching him. He saw it then: her lashes lowering to his mouth, lifting back to his eyes, then falling again. He wanted to lean in, to close the space between them.
He shouldn’t be thinking about her like this. He was.
“Thank you, Tomioka,” she whispered, eyes shining.
His fingers flexed where they still held hers, his ears tinged pink, as if electricity had run through them.
“…You’re welcome,” he managed.
She pulled back, cheeks warm, and finally, gently slipped her hand from his. For one absurd second, it felt like something important had been unplugged.
Y/N stepped back toward the door, keys already jangling in her hand. “Goodnight,” she said softly.
He swallowed. “Goodnight.”
She disappeared into the lobby, the door closing quietly behind her. He wanted to chase after her.
He stood there a moment longer, eyes lingering on the faint reflection of his own solemn face in the glass. Then his phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out.
[08:47 PM] y/n: made it inside ♡ no mochi in sight.
[08:47 PM] y/n: thank you for protecting me from the terrifying beast.
He stared at the screen longer than necessary, the ghost of her weight still warm in his arms, the press of her body burning in his mind like a brand.
His thumbs moved before his brain fully caught up.
[08:48 PM] giyu: we protected each other.
There was a pause.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Reappeared.
[08:49 PM] y/n: then let’s keep doing that
He lingered outside her building until the cold bit through his coat, then turned toward home, hands buried in his pockets, cheeks still warm against the winter air.
He was still afraid of dogs.
But if it meant her heartbeat against his chest again, her breath muffled into his coat, fingers clinging to him as if he were the only thing that wouldn’t disappear…
He thought, not for the first time, that maybe some fears didn’t vanish, but they could be endured.
Hiii!! I love your fics sossosososoooooo much, I love the way you write. One request, a Giyuu x reader fic obv lol. But it’s the first time we are saying I love you to each other, like the reader asks Shinobu and Mitsuri to help them confess to him and they help!! A little bit. And we confess to him and boom!! he also loves us back. Sighhh he’s js so dreamy I swear🤤
✨ Request Prompt: Taisho Era || Love Confessions
🎧 Song on Loop: Use Your Heart (Interlude) || SWV
🌟 Author’s Note: I think I might’ve misinterpreted your message a bit when I wrote the fanfic, so I apologize in advance, but I really hope you still like it!! Also, I completely agree… that man is so scrumptious, it’s actually sickening (˶‾᷄﹃ ‾᷅˵)
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
The first time she followed him, it was an accident.
That was what Y/N told herself later.
That she just happened to be walking the outer walkway when Giyu slipped away from the training grounds toward the far gardens, and that her feet simply preferred the sound of water over the sound of wooden swords.
He never said anything when she fell into step a pace behind, never quickened, never slowed.
He only ever glanced back once before continuing on. He carried the stillness of a lake, the kind that shows you your reflection only if you have the courage to look.
After the third time, it was less accidental.
She learned his hours without meaning to: the early ones, when mist wrapped the cedars, and the late ones, when gold light stretched across the stones like memory.
She learned he always paused at the rock with the strip of lichen shaped like a crescent.
She learned the quiet noises he made when he was thinking: the way his breath stretched, the faint click of his tongue as he measured something unsaid.
“Am I bothering you?” she asked one morning, voice soft as she broke their week-long ritual of silence.
The question came out lighter than she felt and it left her feeling oddly bare.
Giyu glanced sideways and then back to the path.
“No.”
His voice was low and even. He meant it like a fact.
She nodded, and they walked.
It went on that way: little adjustments, as if a language were learning how to speak through them.
She began to bring tea in the afternoons and would set two cups without asking if he wanted one.
He would drink without comment and then, sometimes, murmur, “Thank you,” with his eyes fixed on the water’s surface as if afraid to startle it.
Some evenings, he stood at the edge of the koi pond and watched the fish turn the water into quiet punctuation.
On those quiet evenings, she stood close enough for their sleeves to touch and pretended it was by chance.
He started speaking first, once.
“It’s going to rain tonight,” he said.
“How do you know?” she asked.
He tipped his face a fraction, a line softening at the corner of his mouth. “The air goes heavy before it does.”
“Ah.” She lifted her face too, feeling the weight of the weather gathering above them, and hummed.
“Then I’ll steep the strong tea.”
He nodded. It should have been nothing.
It made something inside him ease.
She used to follow him; now he waited for her.
If her steps were late, his eyes flicked toward the corridor where she always appeared.
If she didn’t come, he lingered in the garden until the lamps were lit and then left with a posture that looked like leaving something behind.
She noticed. She never said.
He opened a little, and then a little more.
The sort of opening you only catch if you’re paying attention: the small, wordless permission in the way he didn’t move when she brushed the wind from his hair.
The way he stood a little closer under the awning when the rain finally came, and her shoulder fit against his without friction.
The way his silence no longer felt like an absence, but a room she’d been quietly invited into.
When she didn’t follow him one afternoon, he noticed. He told himself he didn’t, but he did.
The absence left a cool print along his side.
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
That day, Y/N sat with the girls, brushing the dust from her haori. She kept glancing sideways, as though looking long enough might summon him.
Mitsuri was sprawled on her stomach with her chin in her palms, kicking her feet, a picture of delighted scandal.
Shinobu poured tea with the calm of someone who could weaponize any liquid and had chosen honey for the evening.
“Prospects!” Mitsuri announced, voice bright and chiming like a bell at festival time. “It’s been ages since we’ve talked about ours!”
“Some of us have graduated from games,” Shinobu said, eyes narrowing with mischief. “But yes, who’s going to say it?”
“Say what?” Y/N asked, perfectly polite, genuinely convinced they were talking about someone else.
Kanae’s gaze drifted toward the garden, her tone mild enough to draw no warning. “That you and Tomioka are practically married,” she said, as if it were the weather.
The teacup paused an inch from Y/N’s mouth.
She blinked slowly, as if staying still might cool her ears. “We’re not…” She cleared her throat, voice muffled against the rim of her cup. “We aren’t anything.”
Mitsuri sat up so fast her ribbon slipped. “Yet,” she sang, eyes sparkling. “You aren’t anything yet.”
Shinobu hummed thoughtfully, mischief glinting in her eyes. “You do follow him,” she said softly. “And he lets you. I find that fascinating.”
“I don’t follow. I walk. People walk,” Y/N said, too quickly. The heat slid up her neck like a sunrise she had not scheduled. She tried to hide it by sipping.
It did not help.
Kanae tilted her head, soft. “Do you like him?”
Y/N stared into her tea, searching for composure somewhere in the swirl of leaves. It did not appear.
Her cheeks burned; her ears were traitorous fire.
“He’s… kind,” she said, which was true and not enough. “He is good. And quiet. And handsome”
Mitsuri gasped softly, her whole body jolting upright as pink bloomed across her cheeks. “You do,” she whispered, hands clasped tight, eyes shining.
“You like him.”
Y/N made a tiny, helpless sound that wasn’t denial.
Shinobu’s smile sharpened. “Have you confessed?”
Y/N lifted her head, startled as a doe, tilting it in that way that made people say things they hadn’t planned. She looked painfully lovely, hair framing her face, a soft breath caught in her throat.
“No,” she said softly, the word trembling with truth. It was a brave thing, though she didn’t know it. Her eyes dropped to her hands. “I don’t know how.”
Three voices answered at once.
“Directly,” Shinobu said. “You waste less time. Find a quiet place. Choose words with precision.”
“Gently,” Kanae said. “Give him room to breathe and choose. He will need to trust the moment.”
“Romantically!” Mitsuri declared, nearly bouncing where she sat. “A little stumble into his arms, a little ‘oh no, I fell into your broad chest!’ then you look up at him with those big eyes and—”
“—and don’t do that,” Shinobu said mildly, lifting her teacup just high enough to conceal the curve of her mouth. “Unless your goal is to make him faint.”
She breathed out a laugh that wavered just a little. “I’ve never done this before,” she murmured softly.
“Of course you haven’t,” Mitsuri said, eyes shining with sudden emotion. “You’re so beautiful people just confess to you, you never have to!”
“That’s not what I…” Y/N began, then faltered when she caught Kanae’s gentle nod and Shinobu’s amused eyes. She pressed her lips together, cheeks warming, lashes lowering. “He’s… it’s different with him.”
They all went soft at once.
They were Hashira.
They were warriors.
But they were women first. And it wasn’t every day Y/N got to be just that: a woman with a crush.
The teasing didn’t stop. The tips only made it worse, until Y/N’s face was flushed and her laugh came breathless. By the end, all she had left was the sound of her own heartbeat and the foolish hope that maybe, just this once, the world would be kind.
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
Evening fell clean as a blade. The wind moved through the courtyard, and laughter rang against it.
Pathway stones still held pale heat, and the cedars stitched a soft seam of shadow along the training yard wall.
Giyu finished checking the gate, turned, and there she was, standing in the thin seam between day and night.
Her hands were folded, her hair catching the last stripe of sun, a secret smile softening the stern shape of duty.
“Walk?” she asked.
He found that he was already moving toward her.
“Walk.”
They walked the long way, past the wisteria trellis and the shrine with its low string of bells, past the dip in the gravel path that gave underfoot with a small, perfect sound.
Whether it was intention or habit, neither knew.
They were very good at being quiet beside each other.
The silence that evening felt almost festive, like a lantern lit for two and hung where only they could find it.
“Rengoku tried training Sanemi this morning,” she murmured, the corners of her mouth lifting. “The crows are still talking about it.”
“Hn.” The sound could have been a laugh if you were generous and held it in your hands long enough. His mouth softened. “I missed it.”
“I will paint you the picture,” she promised. “Later.”
They reached the outer corridor that edged the barracks: polished wood beneath their feet, the faint scent of cedar and oil rising with each step.
Somewhere a wind chime remembered a note.
She stepped onto the walkway, half-turned to speak, and her heel caught on the threshold.
Only a small slip: barely there.
He reacted without thinking. One hand found her forearm, the other her back: steady, certain. The touch went through her like breath drawn too deep.
His whole body startled at once, an instinctive jolt that tightened his shoulders and widened his eyes for the briefest moment before composure pulled everything back into place. He blinked, a little sheepish, her warmth still pressed against him.
Her palm lay flat against his chest. Solid warmth.
A heartbeat that had just remembered how to run.
They stood there, caught in a quiet pause.
He watched her; she watched everything else.
The way his pupils opened a shade, then steadied.
The single blink like a question; the inhale he forgot to finish. The way his mouth softened and his brows drew together, just slightly, as if holding something fragile between them. His ears flushed pink.
He was not a man many would call cute.
It was foolish the way her lips parted before her thoughts could catch them. “Cute,” she murmured, almost startled by the sound of her own honesty.
His lashes fluttered.
“What?” he asked, soft, as if the word wore no armor.
The heat bloomed so fast she almost laughed at herself. “What?” she blurted, too quick, pulling her hand back from his chest as though it had turned intimate in her absence.
“The plank, ah, the threshold is… treacherous for brutes. I said brute.”
He blinked once, then twice, fringe falling across his cheekbone as he watched her, unreadable as ever.
Something in his eyes flickered before he nodded.
“Ah. Noted.”
Her lashes fluttered fast, a tell she couldn’t hide. Instinct made her step back. Instinct made him follow.
She moved one step farther, as though distance itself could hush the sound of her own heart.
He didn’t touch her, just followed, his presence rolling close like the tide, quiet and certain.
Her breath faltered with every inch he gained.
Each step she took back seemed to invite him closer. His frame eclipsed the light: broad chest, straight shoulders, eyes steady on hers.
The corridor narrowed, and the wall found her shoulder with quiet certainty. Only then did she realize, too late, that she’d cornered herself, and he had let her.
“Cute?” His voice was closer than she expected.
Her composure faltered, and something almost innocent shaped itself in her expression. “I… you misheard, remember, brute—”
“Y/N.”
Her name came like a stop.
Quiet, deliberate.
Her breath caught like he’d touched her.
It felt like standing in the perfect place, only to realize the ground beneath her feet was made of questions. His gaze made her feel seen, too seen, and suddenly the mantle of Hashira slipped off her shoulders.
“Tomioka, please,” she murmured, and the softness in her voice undid the title.
Heat coiled low in his belly, sharp and quiet all at once. His hand rose, deliberate, until his palm rested flat on the post beside her head, close enough to feel her breath but not her skin.
A brace. A boundary. To be close, not confine.
The warmth of him found her anyway: gentle as a flame held in cupped hands. Near enough that every breath felt shared.
Too close for colleagues.
“Don’t lie to me,” he said, and the words struck somewhere soft. She heard echoes; Shinobu’s sharpness, Mitsuri’s warmth, Kanae’s calm.
A part of her thought of sharp words.
Of maybe even stumbling into his chest.
Everything about it felt stupidly human.
She swallowed, pulse hammering against her throat so loud it felt indecent. This wasn’t ladylike. Not brave or strong or anything a Hashira was meant to be.
You startled,” she said quietly. “And your eyes…”
She stopped, pinned in place by her own sincerity.
“You were cute,” she said all at once, like a secret escaping. Her eyes squeezed shut, shoulders tightening, as if the honesty itself might hurt when it landed.
Silence.
And then a sound.
Soft, almost startled.
She recognized it as a laugh only because it carried his breath. Which was strange. He never laughed.
She hesitantly peeled one eye open.
A faint, helpless smile tilted his mouth, and his eyes had gone soft. His brows drew together, gentle rather than tense, and the sight made her blink in disbelief.
His ears were, unmistakably, pink.
With his free hand, he gave her cheek a light tap of his knuckles: awkward, careful affection disguised as composure. His expression slipped back into calm, but it was different now, gentler somehow.
“Good,” he said, quietly.
Her lashes fluttered, breath catching somewhere between ribs and reason. “You… what… good?”
“Yes,” he said simply. “Cute.”
There was the smallest lilt in his tone, just enough to tease. “When you’re flustered.”
“Cute,” she managed, strangled and disbelieving.
This was not in her dignity’s survival plan for the evening. Her hands trembled, soft and visible, like a startled rabbit unsure which way to flee.
His smile deepened by some fraction he likely didn’t know how to stop. He wanted so badly to keep this image: her face, her breath, the air between them pressed into memory.
“And…” He looked down, the smallest concession, swallowing hard as if the next words were heavier than anything he’d ever dared to lift aloud.
“I would like to court you.”
Everything in her went still. Then bright. Then soft again, like a candle sheltered between two hands.
Her eyes widened; warmth climbed her cheeks; her heartbeat threaded and hammered all at once.
She drew in a breath she hadn’t meant to take, thin and trembling, and he watched it as if it were a change in the air itself.
A sound slipped from her: small, surprised, shaped like his name though it held no letters.
She’d never been clumsy with happiness.
It didn’t know what to do with her, either.
She thought about all the ways she’d planned to behave: serene, composed, elegant and realized, with faint horror, that none of them applied to what was actually happening.
Giyu… confessed?
It seemed so. Maybe.
He was smiling. At her.
She wanted to pinch herself.
“Again,” she whispered before she could stop herself then froze, startled by her own boldness.
“I mean… say it again. Please.” A whisper. A prayer.
He didn’t laugh this time. He only went still, which for him meant relief.
“I like you,” he said again, quieter, like it was meant only for her.
He said it again. For honesty. For the way it made her breath catch. She wasn’t sure anymore. He was a dangerous man.
“I like you. I want…”
He paused, searching for the proper word: something polished, safe and found none he trusted.
So he chose the truth instead.
“I want to be near you.”
Her courage did not arrive grand; it came like a blush, like a glass set down without a clink.
“No,” she breathed, color rising high in her cheeks.
Guilt pricked at her almost instantly: the way his face fell, the way his eyes searched hers, as if looking for the part of her that might still say yes.
She cleared her throat and tried again before he had time to be cruel to himself. Her fingers caught the edges of his haori, shy but steady. “I mean…”
“Tomioka,” she managed, the title suddenly her last defense. Her face was flushed, her gaze everywhere but his. “Would you…would you formally allow me to court you?”
Something in him eased, the tension dissolving like mist. He didn’t make her wait.
“Yes.”
The word found a place beneath her ribs and bloomed there, turning everything golden.
For a long moment, they just stared at each other: two fools in borrowed composure, before soft laughter broke between them, quiet and bright.
He lowered his hand from the post and stepped back just enough that the wall stopped having a heartbeat. The air cooled in the smallest ways.
“Walk?” he asked again, voice low.
She nodded, not trusting her mouth.
He extended his forearm with quiet formality, and she had to smother the impulse to pocket him for being that endearingly proper.
The gesture was old-fashioned, precise, careful, almost sacred in its gentleness. She looked at him a fraction longer than politeness allowed, then placed her hand where he guided it, lightly, like the keeping of a secret.
He did not look at her.
She did not look at him.
They must have looked ridiculous: two blushing fools with uncertain feet and too much honesty in their eyes.
Still, as they stepped into the corridor, it felt strangely natural, like the world had always been meant to make room for them side by side.
Between them, a quiet peace unfurled, gentle and long overdue.
They went past the shrine, past the wisteria, through the stitch of cedar shadow.
They walked past the shrine, the wisteria, the soft lattice of cedar-shadow that stitched the path in twilight.
The wind brushed her haori, tugging gently at its edge. He only adjusted his arm beneath her hand: not possessive, only present. Maybe a little more than that.
Her smile kept flickering up at the edges, a restless thing she couldn’t quite tame. She stared at the floor as they walked, trying to hide the glow she felt blooming in her chest.
When they reached the end of the corridor, he paused. Without a word, without even looking, he adjusted her hand on his arm: guiding it closer to the crook of his elbow, where it would rest more securely.
She felt absurd: like some lovestruck teenager wearing a warrior’s skin. A grown woman, undone because the man she liked had simply held her hand.
She’d fought demons without blinking.
But this was different. This was harder.
They didn’t mention how flushed their faces were, or how her fingers twitched against his arm, or how his breath hitched each time she moved.
The courtyard wore the hour like silk: late afternoon poured itself thinly over the packed earth, the wind moving just enough to stir the prayer tags that hung from the old pine.
Wooden swords clacked in a steady rhythm; a thread of laughter ran through the rows of trainees, more nerves than amusement.
Mitsuri Kanroji moved through the lines like spring itself, bright and patient.
She adjusted a wrist here, a stance there, voice sing-song gentle even when she corrected footwork for the fourth time.
“Heel first on the pivot, yes, like that! You’re doing so well,” she chimed, and the girl she was helping flushed with pleased surprise.
Most of them adored her.
Of course they did.
Mitsuri’s warmth was the kind that made even exhaustion feel like being wrapped in a blanket.
Still, beauty and brightness do not land softly on every heart.
In the shadow of the equipment shed, three trainees had found a pocket of shade large enough for sourness.
“She always talks like that,” one muttered, rolling her eyes, the tip of her bokken worrying a groove into the dirt. “Like we’re little sisters.”
“She is a Hashira,” another said, not quite defending, more afraid of being heard. “She’s trying to help.”
“She’s annoying,” the first concluded, decisive as a slammed door. “And all that… softness. What kind of warrior is that? I don’t care if she’s strong, she looks ridiculous with that hair and the… you know.”
A vague gesture, rude because it pretended to be vague.
“Pretty act,” the third one added, quieter. “Some of us have to just… be competent.”
Y/N heard exactly as much as she needed to hear.
She had been walking the perimeter in her usual quiet, hands folded behind her back, letting the rhythm of training wash over her: step, breath, call, answer.
She did not immediately go to them.
She watched Mitsuri finish a demonstration first, watched the way Obanai unclenched almost imperceptibly when Mitsuri laughed.
She stored the image like a star pinned in a chart.
Then she turned, the hem of her haori whispering against her hakama, and stepped into the shed’s shadow.
“Good afternoon,” she said, and even in the shade the star at her throat caught light. Calm. Poised.
The three girls jerked upright, horror widening their eyes, mouths snatching at excuses that didn’t quite form.
Y/N’s smile did not reach her eyes. “It seems,” she continued, tone tempered steel, “our training regimen has grown too light.”
The bravest fumbled first.
“Celestial Hashira, we didn’t…we were only…”
Y/N’s lesson in silence was a tilt of her chin that did not quite become a nod.
It stopped the girl mid-syllable without raising her voice. She stepped closer, close enough for the girls to see their own smallness in the flat grace of her gaze.
“As fellow women,” Y/N said, and every word was a measured weight, “we do not break what is rare by calling it ridiculous. Innocence, kindness, the choice to remain soft in a world that rewards callousness: these are not acts; they are endurance. Do you understand the cost of them? Kanroji carries a blade that sings like lightning. She could cut your cruelty from your tongue and choose not to, every single day.”
The first girl flinched.
The other two stared at the ground because looking at Y/N hurt a little, the way looking at the sun does.
“Innocence shatters,” Y/N went on, quieter now “Sometimes because the world strikes it. Sometimes because envy tips it from the shelf. If you have hands, use them to steady what is fragile. If you have a voice, use it to defend what is gentle. If you have neither… find a way to be quiet.”
She let that land cool and exact.
Then she turned and raised her voice just enough for the nearby lines to hear. “Form drills. Double the sets. Focus on breath between strikes. We will be here until the moon is visible.”
A collective groan moved through the courtyard like a low tide; resolve followed.
Y/N’s expression softened a fraction as she crossed back into sunlight.
She passed Mitsuri and touched her sleeve, the smallest brush of reassurance. Mitsuri’s relief was a quick, radiant glance; her mouth trembled into a grateful smile that steadied itself with a nod.
The hours slowed into work. Dust rose and sank with the cadence of their bodies.
Y/N’s corrections were surgical: the angle of a foot, the lift of a shoulder, the way a spine tries to arch when a heart is tired.
When water breaks were called, she rationed them by the clarity of a trainee’s gaze rather than the timing on a watch.
When one girl’s hands trembled, she wrapped the grip with cloth herself, knuckles brushing knuckles, saying nothing but letting care do the speaking.
Dusk folded itself into the trees.
The moon slipped free of the mountain and found its place above the pine.
Y/N dismissed them only when she saw more pride than petulance in their slumped shoulders. “Stow the equipment. Sweep the grounds. Then eat,” she said. “Tomorrow we begin sparring rotations at dawn.”
“Yes, Hashira,” they said, because there was nothing else to say.
A few resentful glances slid sideways.
People are not one thing. Y/N knew that.
She bowed to the line, formal and soft, and walked past the notice board toward the inner corridors.
When she was beyond the arch, out of sight, her shoulders loosened and the breath she had been holding uncurled in a long, quiet sigh.
In her room, the light behaved itself.
The paper lantern cast a simple circle on tatami; her haori slipped from her shoulders as if relieved to rest.
She loosened her hakama ties with careful fingers, folded the day into even lines, and allowed herself a small smile that wasn’t for anyone.
The kind that looks like a secret forgiven.
Then she retied her hair, splashed water on her wrists to wash the dust and the ache of leadership away, and closed the door behind her with a softness that felt like ceremony.
Back in the courtyard, resentment discovered its second wind.
The three trainees, resentfully beautiful in the way youth is beautiful even when it doesn’t know what to do with itself, dragged the straw brooms with the theatrical misery of the mildly wronged. Their mutters braided into the rasp of straw on stone.
“She’s cruel.”
“She probably thinks we’re stupid.”
“I don’t even think she’s that pretty,” one said, but the way she glanced at the closed corridor said the lie tasted bitter in her mouth.
“Water Hashira!” the first one yelped suddenly, spotting the dark sweep of Giyu’s haori at the edge of the walkway. “Tomioka! Please, can you help us?”
He had been passing without any intention of intruding on anyone’s evening.
The day lived in his bones; he preferred to mend it in quiet. At the call of his title, he stopped. Turned.
Blinked once, slow, as if surfacing.
“What’s wrong,” he asked, voice level, not yet invested.
The girl trotted up, positioning herself a little too close, eyes wet in the way that expects a man to clean up after it.
“The Celestial Hashira! She’s being so strict, and we’re exhausted, and she’s…” A glance back at the others for courage. “She’s mean. Cruel. She makes us do too much.”
Behind Giyu, the wind moved through the pine and set the tags whispering. He tilted his head a fraction, as if considering a bird’s call. Then he looked back at the girl, gaze unreadable, and said a single syllable that landed without cushion.
“So?”
The word knocked her off balance. “So? But…she..!”
He did not sigh. He did not soften.
He nudged her gently aside so she stood at an ordinary distance again and not in the space a person keeps for people they love.
“You asked if I could help,” he said, tone unchanged. “Yes. I can help you by asking you to finish cleaning up.”
Her mouth fell open; indignation scrambled for new footing and tripped over itself. “But she’s..?!?”
“Capable,” he supplied, as if offering a dictionary definition.
His eyes didn’t sharpen. They steadied.
“Competent. Exacting. Kind when it matters, and firm when it’s needed. If that feels like cruelty to you, train harder.”
She stared at him, as if certain he’d misheard.
“We did! For hours! How could you like a woman like that?!”
The question hung in the air: bare, reckless, and far too loud.
The other two girls stilled, their cloths frozen mid-wipe. Lanternlight flickered across the steel at the threshold, catching like breath against a blade.
Giyu’s lashes lowered, then lifted again. When he spoke, his voice thinned and warmed all at once: a thread drawn carefully over flame.
“Whether she is gentle or stern,” he said evenly, “she is still herself. If she is cruel to you, perhaps she only means to cut away what might one day get you killed.”
The girl blinked.
The courtyard seemed to still around them, surprised by the unguarded honesty of a man who rarely named what he felt.
Color touched the edges of Giyu’s ears, though he pretended not to notice, which only made the confession seem more deliberate, more enduring.
He inclined his head toward the waiting brooms.
“Finish up,” he murmured. “I’ll come back to check.”
He turned without ceremony and walked on, steps soundless on wood.
The girl glared at his back and then down at her broom, cheeks hot with more than exertion.
Somewhere in the act of despising, shame had crept in and sat down at her table. She lifted the broom again and swept.
Giyu didn’t mean to look for Y/N.
He found her anyway.
The paper lattice of her door was haloed from within, a soft rectangle of light that made the corridor outside feel cooler by contrast.
He stopped just short of the threshold and found his breath doing a strange thing, slowing and tightening at once, as if his chest had learned to be a room where relief and want could sit at the same low table without arguing.
He saw her in pieces first: the slope of shoulder where it met the line of her neck as she poured tea, the neat curve of her mouth when a private thought pleased and then embarrassed her, the deliberate care of her hands as she arranged two cups even though she thought she would be drinking alone.
The star at her throat glinted when she sat.
She leaned back and closed her eyes for one breath. He watched the breath and felt gratitude the way a very cold man feels the instant a fire’s heat touches his palms: first as pain, then as blessing.
He should go in and say it plain: they were cruel; you were right; thank you. He stood still instead, collecting the words the way one gathers scattered clothespins after a wind gust, and let his mind wander exactly where it wanted.
He thought of her hands first. Not delicate, though they looked it.
Skilled.
The way they wrapped with cloth, tied a sparring ribbon, set a broken rhythm right with a touch between the shoulder blades.
He thought of her laughter: not the ringing kind that tumbles out in the courtyard, but the small, private one that happens against a collarbone or into a palm when she is overwhelmed and trying not to be.
He marveled, as he always did, at the idea that anyone could listen to that sound and decide cruel belonged anywhere near it.
Something in him kinked into a resolve so quiet it didn’t need declaring. If the world would use the word, he would be the wall it broke its teeth on first.
He slid the door open with a soft rasp.
She lifted her head at once, she always knew his footsteps, and the reserve she wore for the world loosened one seam.
“Giyu,” she said, and his name in her voice was the most extravagant thing he knew. “I was just thinking…do you want tea?”
He stepped inside and closed the door.
“Yes,” he said. He didn’t sit.
He crossed the room, reached, and with a tenderness he had learned like a language pressed two fingers under her chin to tilt her face to his.
Her eyes searched his without fear. He wanted to say everything; he couldn’t say even half.
“Were they troublesome?”
He let the line of his shoulders ease.
“A little,” he said. “They’ll finish.”
“They will,” she agreed, not prideful.
He heard the memory of the afternoon in it: the way a teacher, honest and unashamed of loving the hard parts of teaching, forgives and expects in the same breath.
She leaned into his hand, gaze lifting to meet his: slow, deliberate, almost dangerous.
Her uniform had been replaced by a simple yukata, one that made her look disarmingly domestic; the sight ached somewhere deep in his chest.
The star at her throat glimmered faintly, polite and muted, as if even starlight knew to whisper indoors.
“Does it bother you?” she asked, a playful note threading through her voice. “That I’m cruel?”
He swallowed hard, fighting the sudden, reckless urge to take her face in both hands and close the distance: to steal the sounds he loved straight from her breath.
His fingers twitched where they rested against her skin. He looked at her then, really looked, as if seeing her for the first time.
He looked at the lashes casting faint shadows along her cheek, at the small crescent on her lower lip where her teeth had caught the skin earlier, at the quiet map of exhaustion beneath her eyes that only someone who loved her could decipher.
“No,” he said simply.
A small curve touched her mouth.
“No?”
“You are… yourself.” He searched for a better word and failed in a way he accepted. “I prefer that.”
She smiled, turning her face into his palm with a sigh that barely stirred the air.
The moment paused there.
The lamp guttered once; a moth, suddenly shy of its own desire for light, slipped back into the dark.
He didn’t tell her what the trainees had said exactly.
He didn’t tell her that the phrase not even that pretty had touched him like a rudeness in a shrine.
He didn’t need to tell her that when he thought of her, the word pretty was so small it felt like an insult.
There were larger, truer words that might have fit her, yet even they would have felt too small in her presence.
He drew his hands away from her face, the loss of warmth there aching like an echo.
“I’ll check the grounds,” he said instead, quiet.
She nodded, folding her hands in her lap, thumb tracing slow circles over the one hidden beneath her sleeve.
Her lashes lowered, fluttering once before her lips parted just slightly. “Giyu,” she said, just as he moved past.
He stopped.
“Will you come back later?” she murmured, eyes lifting to meet his through her lashes, her hair falling in soft waves that framed her face perfectly. “And…”
His eyes gentled when they found hers. “Of course.”
On the way, he passed the three girls again, now more subdued, hands moving with the humble focus of people finishing a task they had tried to avoid.
He did not speak. He watched them set the last shinai in its rack, sweep the last dust line, damp the last lamp. When they turned, spines straight because someone was watching, he nodded once.
“Good,” he said.
It was not praise. It was an acknowledgment.
Somehow, it felt heavier.
He went on, the night air lifting his hair away from his neck.
The estate settled deeper into itself: doors sliding shut, laughter falling to a murmur, the sky leaning closer.
He imagined Y/N lying softly on the futon, laughing at something he’d said: something that hadn’t been meant to be funny, but had decided to be, just for her.
He imagined the way her fingers would move, slow and deliberate.
He imagined the little crease that came to her brow when she thought of something she loved too fiercely to say out loud.
How, he wondered, could anyone find cruelty there.
Every laugh, every smile, every scolding word, even every breath, all of it was tenderness wrapped in strength.
He walked into the dark with that thought tucked beneath his ribs like a kept letter.
The cicadas sang, and the lamps along the corridor breathedtheir small, steady light catching on the wood grain like water sliding over river stone, patient and shining.
