Sep 21, 2025
“I’ve always been angry.”
It’s been YEARS since I’ve last drawn shinobu but I saw her in the infinity castle movie and just had to. I love her so much my short queen
seen from Russia
seen from Türkiye
seen from Türkiye
seen from Türkiye
seen from China
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from China
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
“I’ve always been angry.”
It’s been YEARS since I’ve last drawn shinobu but I saw her in the infinity castle movie and just had to. I love her so much my short queen
Giyuu literally wrote to Urokodaki "i did smth illegal as a demon slayer and as a hashira but i ll send said illegal thing to you so that you can be part of it AND risk your life for it as a demon slayer and as a hashira" and Urokodaki just wrote back "bet"
Like Giyuu had his doubts about himself and all that depressed shit but him and Urokodaki were like this 🤞🏻
Mrs.Tomioka—☆
Summary: Giyuu's confused—why everyone is so shocked that you're his wife?
Warnings: fluff, emo Giyuu(kinda), who is also comfused as hell, wife!reader x husband!Giyuu and lots of fluff.
Characters: Giyuu Tomioka
A/N: I loooove this emotionally constipated boi :3.
Giyuu doesn’t understand why people think he’s strange.
He doesn’t talk much, yes—but he speaks when needed.
He doesn’t smile often, but what reason is there to smile when the world is still this full of blood and ash?
He does his work. He follows orders. He returns alive. That should be enough.
And yet—
Every time he walks into the mansion, the other Hashira go quiet.
Sanemi looks away. Shinobu’s lips curve like she’s holding back something. Mitsuri beams and waves like he’s a rare creature who wandered out of the woods.
He doesn’t mind. Not really. He’s used to being misunderstood.
But lately…things have gotten worse.
Because of you.
He first met you years ago.
A small Wisteria Crest house at the foot of a mountain—the air smelled faintly of herbs and tea leaves. You greeted every wounded slayer with the same soft tone, the same careful hands.
You didn’t treat him differently when he came in bleeding and silent.
You didn’t ask him why he never talked.
You just said, “Welcome home. Sit, please.”
He remembered those words more than he should have.
Now you’re his wife. Quietly. Secretly. A simple ceremony witnessed by Ubuyashiki-sama himself. No fanfare, no announcement.
Just you, smiling under the wisteria trees.
He still doesn’t understand why you agreed to it.
Sometimes, when he watches you brew tea, your sleeves brushing against the wooden counter, your face looking soo calm, kind—even pretty, he thinks maybe he doesn’t need to understand.
The first time it almost comes out is stupid.
You send him off with a small bento box—rice shaped like tiny fish, wrapped neatly in cloth.
He doesn’t notice Shinobu’s sharp gaze when he sets it beside him at the mansion during the meeting.
“Cute lunch, Tomioka-san,” she says, that poison-sweet smile of hers in place. “Did one of the Kakushi make that for you?”
“No,” he answers plainly.
“...Oh?”
He doesn’t elaborate.
Shinobu’s smile tightens. Mitsuri leans forward, curious. “Then who made it, Giyuu-san? It’s so cute!”
He looks down at the fish-shaped rice ball. He can still hear your voice that morning—‘Don’t skip meals again, alright?’ which forced his heart to flutter.
He simply says, “Someone.”
They don’t let him live it down for days.
Sometimes, after missions, Giyuu goes to the Wisteria House—your house, the one you choose to live in.
It’s quiet there—a peaceful one, not like the depressing one his estate is swallowed by. He leaves his blade by the door and sits where you tell him to.
You wrap his wounds with steady hands, humming softly. Sometimes he talks—only to you. Sometimes you tease him gently for his serious face, and he blinks at you, confused at how you can make something inside him unclench so easily.
When you smile, the corners of his mouth twitch upward before he even realizes it.
The next day, when Tanjiro spots him smiling faintly to himself, the boy looks alarmed.
“Giyuu-san, are you okay? Did something good happen?”
“...No,” he says.
He doesn’t understand why Tanjiro looks even more concerned.
One afternoon, you deliver some herbs to the Butterfly Estate. You greet the girls there with polite warmth—and when you pass Shinobu, you bow respectfully.
She almost doesn’t recognize you until you turn—and Giyuu is standing right behind you, carrying your basket without a word.
“Ah, Tomioka-san,” Shinobu says slowly. “Helping…the Wisteria House?”
“Yes.”
Your soft laugh betrays him instantly.
“He insisted on carrying it. I told him it’s fine.”
Shinobu stares between you both, her brow lifting, mouth curling into something dangerously amused.
“Oh? How gentlemanly of you, Tomioka-san.”
He doesn’t see what’s funny about it. He’s your husband. Of course he’d carry the basket.
Later that evening, Mitsuri corners him outside.
“Giyuu-san!” she gushes. “Who’s that lovely woman? The Wisteria one? You two looked so sweet together!”
He blinks at her. “…She’s my wife.”
Mitsuri freezes.
“…Your…what?”
“Wife,” he repeats.
Her scream echoes through the estate.
By the next day, everyone knows.
Sanemi storms into the training yard like a thundercloud. “You’re married? How the hell did that happen?”
“I asked,” Giyuu says.
“You—” Sanemi chokes on air. “And she said yes, TO YOU ?”
He nods.
Shinobu looks like she’s seconds away from fainting from suppressed laughter. “Tomioka-san, I must admit, this is rather...shocking news.”
Mitsuri’s the only one genuinely happy. She hugs you the next time she sees you and gushes about how cute the two of you are together.
Tanjiro, meanwhile, nearly bows himself into the ground when he realizes you’re his superior’s wife.
“Giyuu-san! I didn’t know! Congratulations!”
Giyuu just blinks. “It wasn’t a secret. I just didn’t say it.”
“...That’s the definition of a secret, Giyuu-san.”
He still doesn’t get it.
That night, back home, the world is quiet again.
You’re sitting outside beneath the wisteria vines, a book in your lap. The evening wind moves gently through your hair.
He joins you, sitting beside you with his sword laid down beside him. For a while, there’s only the sound of crickets and your soft humming.
Then you glance up at him.
“So…they know now?”
He nods once.
“And?”
“They were…loud.”
You laugh softly—a heart melting one, tilting your head toward him. “Did they tease you?”
He looks at you—at your calm, gentle eyes, the small smile tugging at your lips—and lets out a slow breath in weariness and to calm his raging heart.
“Yes.”
You reach over, brushing his sleeve lightly. “You’ll survive.”
He doesn’t say it, but when you rest your head on his shoulder and the wisteria petals fall around you both, he thinks this—this quiet, ordinary peace—is something he will fight to survive for.
He still doesn’t understand people very well.
But he understands the way your laughter feels like sunlight.
He understands how the scent of tea and wisteria means home.
And he understands that when everyone else talks too loudly, the quiet between your breaths is where he finds peace.
So maybe it doesn’t matter if no one understands him.
Because you do.
And that’s more than enough.
Mid-terms are pinning me down at my table, giving me backsho-. LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!
Don't steal,copy,edit or use my works in any form without my permission.
Barelyalive out!
THE HASHIRA : NSFW HEADCANONS
MDNI 18+ CONTAINS: giyū ・shinobu ‧ kyōjurō ‧ sanemi ‧ tengen ‧ mitsuri ‧ obanai ‧ gyōmei | fem!reader . explicit sexual content . headcanons
TOMIOKA GIYŪ
᯽ ── hear me out: giyū has absolutely no idea how to initiate sex. he’s hopeless at signaling desire—the closest you’ll get is a stilted, “your shoulders look tense,” before he attempts the most awkward massage known to man. he expects you to take it from there. if you don’t, he’ll just sit in silence, blinking those wide, ocean eyes at you, silently hoping you to connect the dots.
WHEN HE FINDS YOU TOUCHING YOURSELF
↳ drabbles | 2.0k | lowercase intended
FEATURING | SANEMI, GIYUU, TENGEN, IGURO, GYOMEI, MUZAN
──── SHINAZUGAWA SANEMI
lowkey is pissed because he's jealous of your own hands bringing you pleasure instead of his.
you were on the futon, covers kicked down to your waist. hand between your legs, your face turned into the pillow. you were so lost in it you hadn't even heard him come home.
a possessive snarl ripped from his throat. "what the fuck do you think you're doing?"
your eyes flew open, wide with shock and instant embarrassment. you tried to scramble up, to cover yourself, but he was on you in a flash. he pinned your wrists above your head with one hand.
his other hand shoved the fabric of your sleepwear up, exposing you completely.
his eyes lingered where your own fingers had been, his gaze burning. "you think your little fingers can make you feel what i do? you think they can replace my cock?"
he released your wrists only to tear your sleepwear open, buttons scattering. his mouth crashed down on yours, stealing your breath. he kissed you like he was claiming you all over again.
then his hand slid between your legs, his rough fingers pushing yours aside. "this is my job," he muttered against your lips, fingers circling your clit with a practiced, brutal pressure that made you cry out. "my cock, my tongue, my fingers. you come on my terms, not yours. understood?"
you could only nod, gasping as he drove two fingers pounding into you filling the room with the lewd sound of your arousal. "you want to come? then come for me. not for yourself. for me."
──── TOMIOKA GIYUU
really pathetic and whiny about it—as he should be—and needs to fuck you instantaneously or he will combust.
your hand was between your legs, moving in a slow rhythm. your eyes were closed, head thrown back, lips parted as you lost yourself in the feeling.
he didn't hesitate. he slid the door open and stepped inside, closing it firmly behind him. your eyes flew open, wide with shock and embarrassment, a gasp catching in your throat.
he said nothing. his deep blue eyes, usually so distant, were dark with a hunger you'd never seen before. he knelt beside the futon, his presence overwhelming the small space. his large, calloused hand covered yours, stilling your movements.
"let me," he whispered, his voice a low, rough command that sent a shiver straight through you.
he replaced your hand with his, his touch firm and sure as he pressed against your core through the damp fabric. a broken moan escaped you. he watched your face, studying every flicker of pleasure as he began to move his fingers, a slow, torturous rhythm that had you arching off the bed.
he leaned down, his hair brushing your cheek, and captured your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your whimpers. "you feel so good," he breathed against your lips, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric to find you wet and ready for him. "all this for me?"
you could only nod, clutching at his haori. his touch was relentless, expertly circling the sensitive bud that made you see stars.
"come for me," he ordered, his voice thick with desire. and you did, falling apart under his touch with a cry he muffled with another deep kiss, his fingers working you through your climax until you were trembling and boneless.
he pulled back, looking at your blissful expression. he swiftly undid his own uniform, settling his weight over you.
"now," he said, lining himself up at your entrance, his gaze locking with yours. "my turn."
──── UZUI TENGEN
jealous that you started the fun without him but teaches you so you know better for next time.
he stood there, arms crossed, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face as he watched the way your back arched.
"well, well," his voice was a low rumble, cutting through the silence. "looks like you're playing without me."
you froze, eyes snapping open, face burning with embarrassment. but he was already moving, crossing the room in two long strides. he didn't scold or tease. he simply knelt by the futon, his large hand covering yours where it was tucked between your legs, stilling your movement.
"shhh," he murmured, his other hand tilting your chin up to face him. his eyes were dark, intense. "if you're going to do it, do it properly."
he kept his hand over yours, applying a firm, guiding pressure, his thumb stroking your wrist. he leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. his thumb gently teasing your swollen clit as you follow his lead.
"that's it," he growled as your hips twitched under the combined pressure of his fingers guiding yours. "let me see you. show me how good it feels."
he didn't take over, he just watched, his presence overwhelming, his low words of encouragement coaxing you closer to the edge until you fell apart with a choked cry, his name on your lips.
as you trembled, he finally moved his hand, bringing his fingers to his mouth and tasting you with a deep, satisfied hum.
"next time," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument as he began to loosen his own clothes. "you wait for me."
──── IGURO OBANAI
acts shockingly indifferent to it and finger fucks you into oblivion (definitely came in his pants but would never admit it.)
you didn't hear the door open or the silent steps on the floor. you didn't sense him until a shadow fell over you.
you froze, your eyes snapping open to see him kneeling beside your futon. his mismatched eyes weren't blank or curious. they were dark, intense, fixed on the trembling shape of your hand under the covers.
"what's this?" he whispered, his voice a low hum that vibrated straight through you. "playing by yourself?"
"naughty," he purred. he didn't ask. his hand, cool and strong, slipped under the sheet and closed over yours, stilling your movements. he held your wrist pinned against your damp heat, making you whimper.
"you don't need your hand," he said as he used his grip on your wrist to push your own fingers harder against you. "see? i can make it better."
he kept your hand trapped there as his other hand hooked into the waistband of your underwear, ripping the thin fabric without a second thought. the cool air hit your exposed skin, and you flinched.
"shhh," he cooed, finally releasing your wrist to replace your fingers with his own. they were calloused and precise, circling your clit with a terrifying expertise that had you arching off the bed instantly.
"this is what you wanted, right?" he asked, watching your face contort with pleasure you couldn't fight. he pushed two fingers inside you, a sharp, stretching fullness that stole your breath. "you wanted to be found. you wanted to be used."
his thrusts were relentless, his thumb drawing tight, maddening circles. you were babbling, pleading, but you didn't know if you were asking him to stop or never stop. he read your body like a book, finding the exact rhythm that unraveled you completely.
"come on," he urged, his voice dropping to a wicked whisper against your ear. "come for me. let me see it."
and you did, crashing over the edge with a broken cry, your body shaking under his touch. he worked you through it, drawing out every last shudder until you were limp.
──── HIMEJIMA GYOMEI
is confused and somewhat disappointed because he takes it as him not being able to fulfill his spousal duties.
for a long moment, he just listened, perhaps his senses were playing some twisted trick on his mind. his usual blank expression didn't change as the air grew heavier with the scent of your arousal. it was no mistakes that you were aroused and touching yourself. a low sound rumbled in his chest.
you heard it and your eyes snapped open. you froze, a gasp catching in your throat, mortification flooding you. you tried to pull your hand away, to cover yourself.
"don't."
his voice was a command that stopped you completely. he closed the door behind him and slowly approached, his movements deliberate and fluid. he knelt beside the futon, his presence overwhelming.
"you were touching yourself," he stated, his voice flat yet laden with a dark curiosity. he wasn't asking. he was observing a new fact.
you could only nod, your face burning.
"why?" he tilted his head, his white hair shifting. "was i not enough?"
"n-no," you stammered. "i just... i couldn't sleep. i was thinking of you."
a flicker of something passed through his hollow eyes. he leaned down, his face inches from yours. "let me feel it."
when you hesitated, his hand, cold and strong, wrapped around your wrist. he guided your hand back to where it was, pressing your own fingers against your core through the fabric.
"let me feel how you think of me," he whispered, his breath cool against your ear. "let me feel what you do when i am not here."
with his hand still on top of yours, he forced you to move, setting a slow, grinding rhythm.
"you are warm," he murmured, more to himself than to you. his other hand pushed your clothing aside, exposing you further. "so warm and wet. for me."
he removed your hand and replaced it with his own, his fingers touching you with a precision that made your toes curl. he was relentless with his pace bringing you closer and closer to the brink of your orgasm.
"gyoemi, please," you begged, unsure what you were even asking for.
your orgasm overtook you as your back arched. when you finally fell back, breathless and spent, he brought his wet fingers to his lips, tasting you. "hmm, i shall please you this way from now on."
──── KIBUTSUJI MUZAN
acts like a divvaaaa because how dare you touch yourself without his permission.
"look at you," he murmured, his voice low and laced with the slightest hint of desire. "so desperate you couldn't even wait for me." he closed the door and approached, each step deliberate and predatory. "such a pathetic display."
he didn't stop you. instead, he sat on the edge, watching you with crimson eyes that missed nothing. "go on," he commanded, his tone dripping with disdain. "since you've started, show me how my little creature pleasures herself."
you hesitated under his degrading gaze, but continued, his intense stare as potent as any touch. he watched for a long moment, a master observing a pet.
then he moved. in a flash, his hand wrapped around you wrist, pulling it away. "but you do it so poorly," he whispered, pushing you onto my back. "you exist for my pleasure, not your own clumsy attempts."
he pinned your hands above your head with effortless strength. "you will look at me while i correct your failure." his other hand trailed down your body, not with tenderness, but with a possessiveness that heightened your arousal.
"that's it," he mocked, seeing your reaction. "see what you were missing? see what only i can give you?" he drove you relentlessly towards your building orgasm, his eyes locked on yours, forcing you to acknowledge that even your climax was his to grant.
"remember your place. you are mine to use. your pleasure is mine to give." he released you, standing as if bored, already turning away. "clean yourself up. i expect you to be presentable when i return."
He keeps reminding me of Calcifer, the fire, the yap, the gluttony, the cuteness♡🔥