— OVERPROTECTIVE BEST FRIENDS.
˖᯽ ݁˖· pairing: fem!reader x sanemi x obanai x giyu
˖᯽ ݁˖· summary: sanemi, obanai, giyu—three hashira who seem to show great care and protection towards you. you see them as your best friends, but they feel otherwise.
a/n: as requested, here’s part 2! (click here for part one). there’s individual alternate endings with each one of our boys and also an ending where they become your boyfriend’s altogether ;)
The day after the teahouse incident, things were… tense.
Not openly—no one dared mention what happened—but you could feel it every time you walked into a room. Sanemi avoided eye contact. Giyu pretended you didn’t exist (which, ironically, only made him more suspicious), and Obanai would leave every room the moment you stepped inside.
But after a while, each one attempted to apologize… but the others would ruin it on purpose.
You found him sitting on the steps outside your mansion, Kaburamaru coiled lazily around his shoulders, the sunlight making his mismatched eyes gleam. He had come early, trying to look casual.
You crossed your arms, watching him. “You’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes.”
He tilted his head. “I was making sure you didn’t trip over something on your way out.”
You grinned. “Oh, so surveillance duty again?”
His eyes softened. “Apology duty, actually. For that night.”
You blinked, surprised at his tone, quieter than usual, like the words cost him something.
“I shouldn’t have followed you,” he said. “I got carried away. It won’t happen again.”
You were about to reassure him when a familiar voice interrupted.
“_________,” Giyu’s calm tone came from behind you.
You turned. He was standing a few steps away, arms at his sides, expression unreadable as usual.
“Morning, Giyu,” you said, smiling.
Obanai straightened immediately. “Morning?” he repeated dryly. “It’s almost noon.”
“Iguro,” Giyu greeted flatly.
Obanai’s entire posture shifted, shoulders tensing, eyes narrowing. “Tomioka.”
Giyu nodded his head before turning to look at you. “I wanted to show you something near the estate.”
Obanai’s head snapped toward him. “Show her something?”
The air thickened immediately.
“Yes,” Giyu said, unbothered. “It won’t take long.”
Obanai stepped forward slightly, Kaburamaru tightening around his arm as if sensing his irritation. “She’s busy.”
“Yes,” Obanai said firmly, his eyes still locked on Giyu. “She’s talking to me.”
Giyu’s tone stayed calm, which somehow made it worse. “You’ve talked enough.”
Obanai turned toward him fully now, voice low. “Do you ever knock before walking into something that isn’t your business?”
“This is my business,” Giyu replied, completely serious.
“Since she’s my friend too.”
You looked between them, sensing the tension brewing again, and clapped your hands together. “Perfect! Then let’s all go. You can show both of us, and maybe we’ll run into Sanemi too!”
Obanai blinked. “Wait what?”
Giyu stared. “That’s not—”
But you were already walking down the path, cheerful as ever. “C’mon! I haven’t seen Sanemi all morning, maybe he’s free. This’ll be fun.”
Behind you, two very different types of silence followed.
Obanai’s jaw tightened under his bandages. “You had to show up now of all times?”
“I didn’t plan for this,” Giyu said flatly.
“Oh, sure you didn’t,” Obanai muttered, Kaburamaru flicking its tongue like it agreed.
Giyu’s gaze shifted slightly, eyes glinting. “You’re acting possessive.”
Obanai turned on him. “And you’re acting like you have a chance.”
They stared at each other—the kind of stare that could probably split mountains—before your voice floated back from up ahead.
“Are you two coming or what?”
Both snapped their attention forward.
“Coming,” they said at the same time, voices strained.
You waited at the edge of the path, hands on your hips, completely unaware of the small emotional war playing out behind you.
When you started walking again, both men followed—not side by side, of course, but with a very deliberate distance between them.
The peace didn’t last long.
“Just for the record,” Obanai muttered under his breath, “I was here first.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Giyu replied without looking at him. “You’re still walking behind her.”
That shut him up. For about two seconds.
And that’s exactly how you led two of the strongest Hashira down the road—completely unaware that both were mentally losing their minds trying to figure out how to keep you all to themselves.
The afternoon sun was high, beating down on the Corps training grounds. You stood at the center of the sparring ring, your breathing steady, katana balanced in your grip. Sweat clung to your skin, strands of hair sticking to your face as you went through your usual drills.
You didn’t notice the pair of purple eyes watching you from the shade of a nearby tree.
Sanemi leaned against the trunk, arms crossed, a faint smirk playing at his lips. He’d been watching for a while—long enough to notice how focused you were, how your movements had sharpened over the past few weeks.
When you swung your blade again, he pushed off the tree and started toward you, calling out,
“Your stance is still too open.”
You blinked, startled, and turned around. “Sanemi?”
He grinned, that cocky, wolfish grin that always spelled trouble. “Relax. I’m not here to yell at you… much.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled. “That’s new.”
He stepped into the ring with his usual ease, drawing his practice sword. “Come on. Let’s see how much you’ve learned.”
You hesitated. “Right now?”
“No better time than when you’re sweaty and distracted,” he teased.
Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?!”
He laughed—a low, amused sound that caught you off guard. “C’mon, don’t get shy now.”
“Sanemi,” you warned, but he just lunged.
You barely had time to lift your sword, blocking the strike. Sparks of adrenaline shot through you as you met his grin. He wasn’t holding back—not enough to hurt you, but enough to make you focus.
“Good,” he said, circling you. “You’re finally using that footwork I taught you.”
“You mean the one you yelled at me about for an hour?” you countered, breathless.
You scoffed, stepping in for a strike, but he blocked it easily, twisting until your wrists were caught between his sword and his arm. The movement sent you stumbling forward, right into his chest.
For a second, the only sound was your breathing—quick, uneven—and his heartbeat pounding under your palm.
His voice dropped, low and teasing. “Careful, sweetheart. You’ll make me think you’re falling for me.”
You blinked up at him, stunned. “You— what—?”
His grin widened slightly, but his eyes were softer now. “What? You thought I couldn’t flirt?”
You were about to fire back when—
You turned, and there stood Obanai, arms folded, Kaburamaru peeking from under his collar. His tone was calm, but the faintest glint in his eyes said it all—he absolutely interrupted on purpose.
Sanemi groaned under his breath. “Of course.”
Obanai stepped closer, deliberately ignoring the irritation radiating off Sanemi. “Didn’t mean to intrude. I just thought I’d check in on ________’s training.”
“You thought wrong,” Sanemi bit out.
Obanai’s head tilted slightly. “Really? Looked like she could use a partner who knows how to hold back.”
Sanemi’s grin vanished. “You wanna test that?”
You quickly stepped between them. “Okay! Okay! Let’s not fight in the middle of the field again.”
Obanai’s gaze softened when it shifted back to you. “Actually, I was going to see if you’d walk with me for a bit. There’s something I wanted to show you.”
Sanemi immediately interjected, “Actually, we were just about to get lunch.”
You blinked between them. “Lunch?”
“Yeah,” Sanemi said quickly. “Weren’t we?”
You hesitated. “…That does sound nice.”
Obanai’s voice was calm but pointed. “Or you could do something less noisy.”
“I’m noisy?!” Sanemi shot back.
“You’re practically shouting right now.”
You beamed. “You know what, that does sound great actually. Let’s all go find Giyu. He hasn’t eaten yet, right?”
At the same time, they said, “No.”
Sanemi forced a laugh. “He’s… probably busy.”
“Extremely busy,” Obanai added.
They exchanged a glance. Silence.
You smiled sweetly. “I’ll go ask him myself.”
And before either could protest again, you were already jogging off toward Giyu’s mansion.
Behind you, the two stood in silence for a beat.
Then Sanemi muttered, “You happy now?”
Obanai adjusted his bandages calmly. “Thrilled.”
Then.. it was Giyu’s turn.
The morning was too calm for Giyu’s nerves.
He’d been planning this since dawn, quietly setting up a picnic by the riverbank just beyond the Corps estate. A clean blanket, a small basket of food (the good kind, not rations), and even a flask of tea. It was… simple. But that was his way.
When you showed up, curiosity written all over your face, he almost smiled.
“You wanted to see me?” you asked, approaching the blanket.
He nodded, motioning toward it. “I thought you might like a break. It’s quiet out here.”
You blinked, surprised. “You set this up?”
“This is… really sweet, Giyu,” you said softly, sitting down. “I didn’t think you liked picnics.”
“I don’t,” he admitted, settling beside you. “But I thought you might.”
You smiled—genuinely touched—completely unaware that this was his version of romantic.
The air was peaceful, the river glinting in the sun. You poured him tea, he handed you a rice ball, and for a few blissful minutes, it was just the sound of running water and quiet conversation.
Giyu glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, something unreadable in his expression. “You’ve been busy lately,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” you said with a slight laugh. “I’ve been training a lot.”
He didn’t say it aloud, but seeing you laugh again eased something tight in his chest. He’d missed this—just having you close, no interruptions, no noise. For once, he wanted to tell you what had been sitting heavy in his chest for weeks.
He opened his mouth to speak, but tensed at the sudden voice.
You turned to see Sanemi walking up the hill, smirk wide, hands in his pockets like he owned the place.
“Didn’t know we were having lunch out here,” Sanemi said, eyeing the blanket.
Giyu’s tone was sharp. “We’re not.”
“Looks like you are,” Sanemi said, stepping onto the blanket without hesitation. “Mind if I join?”
You blinked, glancing between them. “It’s fine, Giyu. There’s enough food.”
Sanemi grinned. “See? She doesn’t mind.”
Giyu stared at him, unimpressed. “You don’t even like tapioca pearls in your tea.”
Sanemi grabbed a cup without care. “Maybe I like them now.”
You sighed, trying not to laugh. “You two really can’t go five minutes without arguing, can you?”
“Not my fault,” Sanemi said, mouth full, trying to fight back a gag. “He’s territorial.”
Giyu’s tone dropped a notch. “You showed up uninvited.”
“Yeah, well,” Sanemi said, settling down beside you, “maybe next time you’ll pick somewhere less obvious.”
“That’s the problem,” Giyu said quietly. “You follow her everywhere.”
Sanemi shot him a look. “You’re one to talk, stalker.”
You raised your hands between them. “Okay, okay, let’s not fight—”
Sanemi smirked. “Oh, we’re not fighting. Just talking.”
“Passionately,” Sanemi corrected.
You sighed again, leaning back on your hands. “I feel bad. It’s just the three of us. Maybe we should get Obanai too.”
Giyu turned his head slightly. “…What?”
“Yeah,” you said, standing up. “He’s probably free, right? Then it’ll be fair!”
Sanemi blinked, caught completely off guard. “Fair?”
“Yeah!” you said cheerfully. “I’ll go find him!”
Before either could process that, you were already halfway down the hill.
Sanemi groaned, rubbing his face. “She’s gonna bring him here, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” Giyu said, expression unreadable.
Then Sanemi muttered, “You had this all planned, didn’t you?”
Giyu finally looked at him—calm, expressionless, but the tiniest smirk flickered at the corner of his mouth. “You interrupted first.”
Sanemi stared, incredulous. “You smug bastard.”
For a moment, Giyu didn’t reply, he just sat back, sipping his tea, perfectly composed.
You couldn’t name it at first—it wasn’t dramatic or obvious—just subtle shifts that only someone paying attention would notice. And lately, you’d been noticing everything.
Sanemi wasn’t teasing as harshly anymore. He still barked out his usual sarcasm, still challenged you to spar, still called you reckless whenever you overdid it, but now, there was something else behind his words. His gaze lingered longer when he thought you weren’t looking. His laughter softened when you smiled.
And whenever you passed by him and another man so much as greeted you, you’d catch that flash of irritation in his eyes before he schooled it into indifference.
Giyu was different too, though not in ways you could easily explain. He’d always been quiet, but now his silence felt heavier, more intentional.
He started showing up more often—sometimes in the mornings when you trained, sometimes in the evenings when you’d sit outside to rest. He never said much since he’d just sit nearby, pretending to watch the scenery. Yet every time you glanced his way, he’d already be looking, gaze steady and unreadable before he turned back toward the horizon.
And Obanai… he’d grown gentler. It was strange, because gentleness wasn’t something you’d ever associated with him. He used to scold you for skipping meals or staying up too late—now, he’d quietly set food beside you without a word.
He didn’t hover, but he was present. Always a few steps away, always making sure you weren’t alone, even when he pretended it was coincidence. His usual sharp comments had dulled into something else.
Each of them carried it differently.
Sanemi tried to hide it behind bravado.
Giyu buried it in silence.
Obanai concealed it behind calm composure.
But the cracks were showing.
Weeks passed and little by little, the teasing died down, the arguments stopped echoing through the estate, and things slowly began to settle back into a rhythm.
At least, on the surface.
You had thought distance would help—that if you just kept busy, you’d stop thinking about him. But the truth was, Obanai had always been there, even in silence.
The way he’d look at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.
The way his voice softened whenever he said your name.
The way Kaburamaru would slither toward you, sensing something you weren’t brave enough to admit yet.
You’d always admired him—his composure, his loyalty, the way he carried his scars without complaint. But lately, admiration had turned into something heavier.
You didn’t want to ruin what you had. He’d been your constant—the one who never pushed too hard, who stayed even when things were messy.
So, you did what you always did when something scared you.
For days, you busied yourself with training, patrols, anything that kept your mind occupied. But Obanai wasn’t oblivious. He’d noticed the distance the moment it began, and for once, he refused to let it go unanswered.
You found him waiting for you outside your mansion one evening, leaning against the porch railing.
The air smelled faintly of rain, soft and heavy. Kaburamaru rested across his shoulders, its tongue flicking lazily at the drizzle.
You stopped a few steps away. “You’re out late.”
“So are you,” he said quietly.
You hesitated, clutching your haori tighter. “I couldn’t sleep.”
He nodded once, gaze steady. “Neither could I.”
The silence between you felt delicate and fragile, like one wrong word might break it completely.
Finally, he said, “You’ve been avoiding me.”
Your breath hitched. “No, I—”
He tilted his head. You could feel the sharpness of his stare. “You have. I just don’t know why.”
You swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to. I just… needed space.”
Kaburamaru shifted, its head turning toward you, as if it were listening. You stared down at your hands. “I didn’t want things to change. Between us.”
His voice softened. “Why would they?”
“Because,” you said, your voice trembling just slightly, “I think I’ve started feeling something that might ruin it.”
You forced a small laugh, nervous and brittle. “See? That’s why I didn’t want to say anything. Because you’re my best friend, and I— I don’t want to lose that. I can’t.”
For a moment, you couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Then, slowly, he stepped closer.
“You’re not going to lose me,” he said quietly.
His mismatched eyes softened as he reached up, his hand brushing a raindrop from your cheek. “You could never ruin anything with me.”
Your heart skipped. “Obanai…”
He smiled faintly behind the bandages, a small, trembling thing that reached his eyes. “You think I spent all this time by your side just to be your friend?”
“I wanted to tell you a long time ago,” he said softly. “But I didn’t want to scare you off. You’ve already been through enough. You deserved to feel safe first.”
You could feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, the warmth in your chest breaking loose like sunlight through clouds.
Without thinking, you reached up and touched his wrist, and he didn’t pull away.
The rain began to fall harder, soft and steady, washing over the quiet between you. Kaburamaru slithered down his arm, curling gently around both of your hands like it was bridging the distance itself.
You smiled through the tears, whispering, “Guess that means he approves.”
Obanai chuckled—a rare, unguarded sound. “He always did.”
He leaned down just enough for his forehead to rest against yours, voice barely a whisper against the rain. “So don’t run anymore. Not from me.”
You nodded, eyes closing. “Okay.”
Without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.
He froze for a second, then exhaled—the kind of slow, unguarded breath that seemed to lift years off his shoulders. His arms came up around you, strong but gentle, holding you close against his chest.
For a while, neither of you spoke. The world narrowed to the warmth of his body, the faint hiss of rain, and the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing.
Then, muffled against him, you murmured, “I just hope this doesn’t turn awkward with Sanemi or Giyu…”
He gave a soft hum, resting his chin lightly atop your head. “They’ll live,” he said quietly.
You frowned a little, pulling back just enough to glance up at him. “What do you mean by that?”
His eyes glinted that rare, sly spark, you’d seen only when he was being particularly smug.
“Nothing,” he said easily, the faintest curve of a smile under his bandages. “Come on. Let’s go tell them the news.”
You blinked. “Tell them— wait, what news?”
He reached for your hand, fingers intertwining with yours, his voice smooth but threaded with satisfaction. “You’ll see.”
As he led you down the lantern-lit path toward the Corps estate, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Obanai Iguro was currently savoring the sweetest victory of his life.
And judging by the faint smirk in his eyes, you were absolutely right.
It started slowly, so slowly that you didn’t even notice at first.
The way you lingered a little longer when he was near, the way you caught yourself searching for him in the crowd.
The way his quiet presence felt like safety.
You’d always trusted Giyu. He was steady when the world wasn’t. Calm when everything else burned. You told yourself that was why you felt drawn to him—that it was just comfort. Familiarity. Gratitude.
And when you finally realized what it was, it terrified you. So, you pulled away.
You started training earlier, leaving before he arrived. You filled your days with small tasks, anything to keep your mind busy. And whenever you saw him across the estate, you smiled politely—like nothing had changed—before slipping away before he could speak.
You thought it was subtle. But Giyu always noticed.
It was late one evening when he finally called you out.
The sun had just dipped beyond the horizon, streaking the sky in soft violet. You were sitting on the steps outside the your mansion, lost in thought, when his voice broke the quiet.
When you turned, he was standing a few paces away, hands loosely at his sides, eyes unreadable.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Your stomach dropped. “No, I haven’t.”
“You have,” he said simply. There was no anger in his voice—just that calm, piercing steadiness that always made it hard to lie.
You sighed, shoulders slumping. “…I didn’t mean to.”
He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking with each quiet footfall. “Then why?”
You hesitated, words catching in your throat. “Because… because I didn’t want to make things weird.”
His brow furrowed slightly. “Weird?”
You forced a small laugh, the kind that trembled at the edges. “I realized I might be feeling something I shouldn’t. And I thought… if I just gave myself space, it’d go away.”
Giyu’s gaze softened, and the silence that followed felt heavy enough to crush you.
But then, quietly, he said, “It doesn’t go away.”
He held your gaze—steady, sincere, and achingly gentle. “I tried that too.”
Your breath caught, and your voice came out small. “You did?”
He nodded slowly. “I thought it would pass. That if I ignored it, I could stay your friend and nothing would change. But every time I saw you smile, it got worse.”
You felt your throat tighten. “Giyu…”
He took another step forward—close now, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, the faint scent of incense on his haori.
“I didn’t want to ruin this either,” he admitted softly. “But pretending started to hurt more than telling the truth.”
The ache in your chest swelled until it was unbearable. “You could’ve said something.”
His lips curved faintly. “You could’ve stayed.”
You let out a small, shaky laugh, eyes stinging. “Guess we’re both bad at this.”
His voice was quieter now, almost a whisper. “Maybe. But at least we’re bad at it together.”
Before you could respond, he reached up—hesitantly at first, as if still afraid to cross that line—and brushed his fingers against your cheek. His touch was warm, steady.
You leaned into it before you could stop yourself.
He exhaled softly, the sound almost breaking. Then, without a word, he drew you into his arms.
You melted against him instantly, your hands clutching at the back of his haori as the world fell silent. The only thing you could hear was the sound of his heartbeat—slow, even, grounding.
“I was scared,” you whispered against his chest.
“So was I,” he murmured, voice low.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes searching your face like he was trying to memorize it. Then, with a gentleness that made your breath catch, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.
The touch was fleeting but full of meaning. Everything he couldn’t say was right there in that single, careful gesture. The world around you felt muted—just the wind through the wisteria, the soft brush of fabric as you both exhaled at the same time.
Neither of you said another word; you didn’t need to.
He just stood there, your hands still joined, as if any sudden movement might break the fragile peace that had finally settled between you.
When the rain began, it wasn’t enough to send you running for cover. Tiny droplets shimmered against his hair and yours, turning the air cool and clean.
You shifted slightly, resting your cheek against his chest again.
He didn’t hesitate this time. His arm slipped around your shoulders, pulling you close in that quiet, protective way only he could.
“Do you always stand out here when it rains?” you murmured, half teasing.
“Sometimes,” he said. “It’s quiet.”
You smiled softly. “Of course it is.”
He didn’t respond right away, but his thumb traced gentle circles over your shoulder, slow and grounding. “It’s better with you here.”
That one sentence warmed you more than any fire could.
Later, after the rain passed, you ended up sitting side by side beneath the same tree. The wisteria petals stuck to your sleeves, your legs brushing every so often. Giyu had spread his haori over your shoulders without a word, and when you tried to give it back, he just shook his head.
“You’ll get cold,” you said.
He looked at you, that faint glimmer of quiet amusement in his eyes. “So will you.”
You couldn’t help it, you laughed, and the sound seemed to loosen something in him. His shoulders dropped, his eyes softened further.
“Thank you,” you said after a while.
“For waiting. For understanding me when I didn’t even understand myself.”
He turned his head slightly, studying you. “That’s what you do for the people you care about.”
Your heart skipped as he didn’t say anything more, but his fingers brushed against yours again, linking them together. The warmth of his touch lingered, quiet and certain.
Your eyes met his. “I just hope this doesn’t make things awkward with Sanemi or Obanai…”
A flicker of amusement crossed his expression—barely there, but enough to make your stomach twist.
“They’ll deal with it,” he said quietly.
You frowned. “Deal with what?”
He shook his head, a faint smirk ghosting over his lips. “Nothing. Let’s go tell them the news.”
“Wait—news? What news?” you asked, flustered.
He turned, offering his hand to help you up. “You’ll see.”
You hesitated, then slipped your hand into his—warm, certain, grounding.
And as the two of you walked back toward the lantern glow of the estate, his thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, steady and deliberate.
For the first time in a long while, Giyu Tomioka didn’t feel like the quiet one anymore—he felt like someone who had finally found the courage to be heard.
You’d been doing everything you could to avoid him.
Training early, skipping lunch in the mess hall, pretending not to hear him when he called your name from across the courtyard.
You told yourself it was just temporary, that you only needed a little distance until your stupid heart calmed down.
But it wasn’t calming down.
Every time you saw him—that reckless grin, the way he barked out your name, that rare, rough-edged laugh that always made you feel lighter—your chest tightened.
And it wasn’t just admiration anymore. It wasn’t even comfort. It was something deeper, heavier, something that made your pulse race every time he looked at you for too long.
You didn’t know how to handle it.
Unfortunately, Sanemi Shinazugawa was not the kind of man you could outrun.
You’d just finished a long afternoon of training, wiping sweat from your forehead as you walked toward the edge of the training grounds. You were planning to sneak back to your mansion before anyone spotted you, until you heard his voice.
You froze for half a second, then bolted.
“Oi—! You gotta be kidding me!”
You didn’t look back. You sprinted straight toward the woods, heart pounding, sandals kicking up dirt as his voice chased after you.
“Why the hell are you running?!”
“I’m busy!” you shouted, ducking into the trees.
“Doing what, avoiding me?!”
Your only response was the snap of branches as you ran deeper into the forest, your lungs burning. You darted behind an old cedar, pressing a hand to your chest as you tried to steady your breathing.
You sighed in relief—only to nearly leap out of your skin when a low voice murmured right behind you, “You really think you can hide from me?”
You spun around, heart in your throat.
He was standing there, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his mouth despite the flicker of something hurt in his eyes.
“Took me five minutes to find you,” he said. “You suck at hiding.”
You gaped at him. “Were you tracking me?”
“Maybe,” he said simply, stepping closer. “You’ve been acting weird, y’know that?”
“Yeah.” His tone softened, just a little. “You’ve been avoiding me. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
You looked down, fingers twisting in your sleeves. “…I didn’t mean to.”
He frowned, expression shifting—the teasing slipping away, replaced by something more serious. “Did I do something?”
Your head snapped up. “What? No! It’s not— you didn’t—”
You groaned, pressing your hands to your face. “It’s stupid!”
You peeked at him through your fingers—he wasn’t joking. His brow was furrowed, jaw tight, eyes sharp but soft around the edges, like he was genuinely worried.
You sighed. “Fine! It’s just— lately, you’ve been acting so… you… and I can’t think straight when you’re around, and I hate it! Because every time you smile or laugh or look at me like that, my brain stops working and my heart does this stupid thing and—”
“—and I didn’t want to make things weird, but clearly that failed because now you’re standing here looking at me like I’ve lost my mind, and—”
“—and I wasn’t even supposed to like you! You’re Sanemi! You drive me insane! And I—”
Before you could finish, he moved.
In one quick, rough motion, his hand came up to the back of your neck and he pulled you in — crashing his lips against yours.
Your breath hitched—everything in you froze—before melting all at once into that kiss. It was messy, warm, full of everything you’d been holding back for weeks.
When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, eyes wide.
He grinned—that crooked, devilish grin that could melt and infuriate you all at once.
“How do you think I felt this whole time?”
You blinked, stunned. “You— what?”
“I like you, dumbass,” he said, voice dropping softer now, his hand still cradling your jaw. “Have for a while. I’m surprised you never caught on.”
You just stared at him, heartbeat in your throat. “You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” he asked, smirking again.
Your cheeks burned. “No, but—”
He chuckled, brushing his thumb along your cheek before pulling you into a tight hug. You could feel his heartbeat—steady but fast—pressed against your own.
You mumbled against his chest, voice small, “I can’t believe you chased me into the woods for this.”
He huffed a laugh into your hair. “Hey, you ran first.”
You smiled, curling your fingers into his haori. “You’re impossible.”
“You love it,” he said smugly, resting his chin on your head.
You rolled your eyes but didn’t let go. The quiet between you was warm now, safe.
After a while, you murmured, “So… what now?”
Sanemi pulled back just enough to look at you, mischief already flickering behind that grin. “Now we tell Iguro and Tomioka the news.”
You blinked, face flushing instantly. “Wait— what?! Why would you—”
He started walking, still holding your hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “No reason.”
“What?” he asked innocently, the smugness unmistakable.
You sighed, cheeks burning as he squeezed your hand and grinned like the cat that caught the canary.
Because of course—in true Sanemi fashion—he wasn’t just happy you liked him back.
He was thrilled that he’d beaten the other two to it.
— all three are your boyfriends.
At first, you thought what you felt for them was simply affection, the kind that blooms from shared battles and quiet companionship. But over time the lines blurred until you could no longer name it so cleanly.
Each of them had found a place in you.
With Sanemi, there was light where you hadn’t expected it—laughter in the middle of exhaustion, a spark that kept you moving when everything else slowed. When he was near, the world felt sharp and alive, nothing could touch you without going through him first.
With Obanai, there was steadiness. He never demanded space, yet he was always there.. a shadow beside your own, a silent check on your breathing, the smallest care disguised in practicality. He made you feel seen without needing to speak, and that quiet trust soothed the parts of you that were always braced for disappointment. His calm taught you that safety could be gentle.
With Giyu, there was peace. He didn’t fill silence, he shaped it—turning it into something warm, patient, and whole. The world always seemed to slow around him, your thoughts softening until everything painful turned manageable. Beside him you could simply be, without expectation or defense.
And you realized, painfully and beautifully, that what you felt for them wasn’t confusion—it was balance.
And you no longer wanted to run from it.
The air had grown thick with silence.
Three pairs of eyes watched you—each expression different, but all unreadable.
Your heart pounded so hard you could feel it in your throat. You didn’t know what you expected—anger, disbelief, maybe laughter—but you had to say it. Keeping it buried any longer felt unfair.
“I care about all of you,” you said softly. “I tried to convince myself it was just friendship, but it’s more than that now. I can’t explain it.. I just know you all mean something to me. I don’t want to hurt anyone, and I don’t want to lose any of you because of it.”
Your voice shook slightly. “If you don’t want this, I understand. I’ll find a way to make things go back to—”
The words came at the same time—from three different voices.
Sanemi’s mouth twitched into a small grin. “You really think we’ve been going through all this for fun?”
Obanai sighed through his nose, the edge of amusement flickering in his eyes. “You underestimate how obvious you are.”
And Giyu, quiet as ever, added, “You don’t have to choose. You just have to be honest.”
You stared at them, warmth flooding your chest as the fear that had been eating away at you began to dissolve.
“So you’re all… okay with this?” you asked carefully.
Sanemi shrugged, crossing his arms. “It’s weird, sure. But you make weird worth it.”
Obanai murmured, “Better this than watching each other pretend we don’t feel it.”
And Giyu simply nodded, a faint smile touching his lips. “It’s ours to figure out.”
Your eyes stung, relief washing through you so fast it almost made you dizzy. “You’re all ridiculous.”
Sanemi smirked. “You love it.”
You laughed softly—and when you did, all three of them smiled too.
Later that night, the three of them found themselves together on the mansion’s porch. The world was quiet except for the crickets and the rustle of wisteria. None of them spoke for a while.
Finally, Sanemi exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “So… this isn’t gonna be easy, huh?”
Obanai leaned back against the railing. “Nothing worth having ever is.”
Giyu nodded, watching the reflection of lanterns in the pond. “As long as she’s happy.”
Sanemi glanced at him, then at Obanai, and for once there was no tension—no challenge in his voice. Just understanding. “Guess we’re all in this together.”
Obanai gave a small nod. “We always were. Just took us a while to admit it.”
For a moment, the peace actually felt solid—rare, but genuine. The porch creaked softly under them, the night still and calm.
Then Sanemi groaned, breaking it. “Great. That means I actually have to put up with Tomioka now.”
Obanai sighed through his nose. “Don’t remind me.”
Giyu blinked, looking between them. “You already were.”
Sanemi shot him a look. “Yeah, but now it’s official.”
Obanai nodded solemnly. “A tragedy, really.”
Giyu’s tone stayed perfectly flat. “You could always back out.”
Sanemi scoffed, smirking. “Not a chance.”
“Nor I,” Obanai added, eyes glinting under the moonlight.
Giyu looked at them both, expression unreadable. “…Then stop complaining.”
That earned a short bark of laughter from Sanemi. “Tch—look at that, he’s getting bold.”
“Don’t push it,” Obanai muttered, though there was amusement hidden under the words.
The porch fell quiet again, until Sanemi grinned. “Still can’t believe we’re actually doin’ this.”
Obanai sighed. “If she’s worth it, we’ll manage.”
Sanemi smirked. “Oh, she’s worth it.”
Giyu hummed in quiet agreement, gaze still fixed on the water.
For the briefest moment, all three of them shared the same small, tired smile.
And then Sanemi muttered under his breath, “Still not sittin’ next to him at dinner though.”
Giyu didn’t look up. “That’s fine.”
For once, peace didn’t feel impossible.
Late spring brought sunlight and wisteria blossoms, the kind that painted the air in slow-falling purple. You’d found a quiet hill overlooking the river, a basket beside you and a blanket spread beneath the shade of an oak.
The four of you had decided—without needing to say it—that missions could wait one afternoon.
Sanemi lay stretched out with his head in your lap, one arm thrown over his eyes, mumbling every few minutes that the sun was “too damn bright” as you caressed his hair.
Giyu sat behind you, calm and steady, chin resting on your shoulder while his arms draped loosely around your waist.
Obanai was tucked against your left side, Kaburamaru coiled lazily near the picnic basket, his fingers idly tracing patterns over the back of your hand as he listened.
And you—well, you were reading aloud from a worn little book you’d found on a market trip.
“‘But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?’” you recited, your voice carrying lazily with the wind.
Sanemi groaned. “You’re really reading Romeo and Juliet to us?”
“It’s a classic,” you said, smiling down at him.
Obanai’s tone was muffled but dry. “A tragedy, technically.”
“Exactly,” Sanemi muttered. “Should’ve picked something with fewer deaths.”
Behind you, Giyu hummed. “They were in love. That’s the point.”
Sanemi cracked one eye open. “Tomioka defending romance? Now I’ve seen everything.”
You tried—and failed—to stifle a laugh. “You three are impossible.”
Obanai shifted a little closer, his head resting against yours. “Read the next line.”
You glanced at the page, grin tugging at your lips. “‘My bounty is as boundless as the sea…’”
“Too dramatic,” Sanemi interrupted immediately.
Obanai gave him a sidelong look. “You’d probably quote the fight scenes instead.”
Giyu’s quiet voice slipped in again, a trace of amusement underneath. “You talk too much.”
That earned a bark of laughter from Sanemi. “You’re one to talk, Tomioka.”
You shook your head, closing the book against your chest. “You know, for three people who claim to like me, you don’t make it easy to have a romantic moment.”
Sanemi smirked from your lap. “We’re Hashira, not poets.”
Obanai murmured, “Speak for yourself.”
Giyu’s lips brushed your shoulder as he spoke, barely audible. “It’s already romantic enough.”
The teasing stopped for just a moment—just long enough for the quiet to settle in again. The river shimmered below, birds flitting between trees, Kaburamaru curling closer to your knee.
You sighed contently, running your fingers through Sanemi’s hair, leaning your head briefly against Obanai while you leaned back against Giyu. “Yeah,” you murmured. “It really is.”
You could feel all three of them relax against you, warmth and laughter intertwined.
And for the first time, love didn’t feel confusing or heavy.
please do not copy my works.