You can call me Shy. For now, I’ll mainly be writing about the anime "Demon Slayer", but I’m open to creating content for other anime as well. I mostly write GxG stories. I think I’ll write short stories too, based on anime and other fandoms unrelated to anime. I usually write fanfiction on Wattpad, but then I decided to give this platform a try.
The request for wishes is open; I will be happy with every request.
English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any spelling mistakes or bad/wrong wording in my fics.
Can I request a Shinobu x reader with a reader doesn’t like being touched by most people? Knowing this Shinobu always hesitates with physical affection until one day reader actually is the one who initiates.
A Boundary at the Fingertips
3267 Kocho x female reader
Word Count: 3267
In a world where any day could be one’s last, people instinctively gravitated toward each other. They sought solace in embraces after grueling battles, clapped comrades encouragingly on the shoulder before deadly missions, and laced their fingers together in moments of unbearable grief. Physical contact was a language understood by every Demon Slayer. Everyone, that is, except you.
For you, [Y/N], touch had never been a source of comfort. On the contrary, it was akin to an electric shock jolting through your body with a painful, paralyzing current. Your skin seemed to possess its own distorted memory, where even the most harmless intrusion into your personal space triggered uncontrollable panic. It wasn't out of arrogance or squeamishness, as many assumed. It was a deeply rooted, irrational reflex. Whenever someone drew too close, your muscles turned to stone, your breath hitched, and a single pulsating thought hammered in your head: Step back. Please, do not touch me.
Hiding this condition within the Demon Slayer Corps was immensely difficult.
You remembered how Mitsuri Kanroji, the Love Hashira, tried to sweep you into one of her signature, bone-crushing hugs upon your first meeting. You recoiled so sharply you nearly tripped over your own sword. Genuine hurt flashed in Mitsuri's eyes—a sting you rushed to soothe with awkward, flustered apologies, attributing your reaction to an old injury.
Tanjiro Kamado, with his remarkably keen sense of smell, caught the scent of your fear the moment he accidentally brushed against your shoulder in a corridor of the Butterfly Mansion. The boy apologized immediately and maintained a respectful distance of five feet ever since, even if confusion lingered in his kind eyes.
You erected an invisible, yet impenetrable wall around yourself. You became a master of evasion: gracefully stepping back during greetings, sitting on the outermost edge of benches, and keeping your hands crossed over your chest or tucked deep into the wide sleeves of your haori. You learned to convey politeness and respect exclusively through words and bows, severing yourself from the world of tactile sensation.
And no one observed this calculated choreography of avoidance as clearly as Kocho Shinobu.
The Insect Hashira was a brilliant physician and an equally brilliant observer of human nature. Behind the mask of her constant, serene smile lay a sharp, analytical mind that registered the smallest nuances of behavior.
Shinobu noticed your aversion almost immediately.
She saw how your shoulders gave a subtle flinch when Aoi Kanzaki handed you a stack of clean bandages, her fingers accidentally brushing yours. She observed how you held your breath whenever someone sat too close to you in a cramped briefing room. Shinobu analyzed your movements, your micro-expressions, and swiftly deduced the truth. Your invisible barrier did not escape her perceptive gaze.
Normally, Shinobu was quite tactile. She enjoyed teasing Giyu Tomioka, poking his cheek unexpectedly or leaning on his shoulder to throw him off balance. She frequently patted the heads of her younger sisters—Kanao, Aoi, Sumi, Kiyo, and Naho. Touch was part of her repertoire: a means of comfort for the wounded or a tool of passive aggression for those who annoyed her.
With you, however, Shinobu behaved entirely differently.
She adapted to your rules with such grace and natural ease that you didn't even realize it at first. When you worked together in the Butterfly Mansion's laboratory analyzing reports on new poison formulations, she always left ample space between your chairs. Passing you test tubes or scrolls, she placed them on the desk rather than handing them directly to you.
"[Y/N]-san, could you take a look at these formulas?" her melodic voice sounded soft as she slid a sheet of parchment toward you. Her fingers halted an inch short of yours, never crossing the invisible line.
"Of course, Shinobu-sama," you would reply, inwardly grateful for her consideration.
Shinobu never once questioned you about the origins of your fear. She didn't pry into your soul, attempt to "cure" you, or try to prove her touch was harmless. She simply accepted your boundaries as an absolute, unquestionable reality.
And that became the beginning of your undoing. That silent, profound respect made your heart race every time she entered the room.
Months flowed into years. The war against demons grew fiercer, casualties mounted, and your interaction with Shinobu evolved from mere cooperation into a deep, unbreakable bond. You became more than just fellow Slayers; you became each other's sanctuary.
For you, the Butterfly Mansion felt like home solely because of her. You were aware of the quiet rage within her, the hatred for demons boiling beneath her smiling facade. You saw her in moments of utter exhaustion, when the false smile slipped to reveal a profoundly tired woman broken by grief. And she saw the real you—quiet, contemplative, devoted.
Your relationship was unique. Devoid of a single touch, it was nevertheless infused with an extraordinary intimacy others could only dream of.
You would sit together on the engawa (veranda) on moonlit nights, separated by those same carefully calculated six inches of empty space, talking until dawn. Shinobu shared the dreams of her late sister, Kanae, while you spoke of the stars, the philosophy of the blade, and the nature of the world. You exchanged long, meaningful looks that spoke more eloquently than any embrace. Her purple eyes, akin to deep twilight pools, looked at you with such warmth and adoration that it felt as though she were touching your very soul without ever brushing your skin.
Yet human nature is paradoxical. The safer you felt beside Shinobu, the more a brand-new, frightening sensation began to take root within you.
A longing.
It started with small moments. Once, when Shinobu fell asleep at her laboratory desk, her head resting on her crossed arms, you stood over her for a long time. Her dark hair with its purple tips was scattered across the parchments. She looked so fragile, so defenseless. Your hand twitched forward of its own accord. You felt an overwhelming urge to brush a stray lock from her face, touch her cheek, and feel the warmth of her skin.
You froze, your fingers hovering a millimeter from her hair. Your heart pounded high in your throat. Terrified, you yanked your hand back and pressed it to your chest as if burned, hastily fleeing the laboratory, breathless from your own conflicting desires.
From that day on, this longing became your constant companion.
When she laughed at another one of Inosuke's absurd antics, you wanted to take her hand. When she frowned while studying a map of demon movements, you wanted to smooth the crease between her brows. When she returned from a grueling mission, wounded and exhausted, your entire being screamed to wrap your arms around her and shield her from the world.
You realized your fear of touch did not extend to her. Rather, your desire to touch Kocho Shinobu had grown stronger than your fear of physical contact. Shinobu had become the sole exception to every rule you had built over the years.
Yet therein lay the greatest tragedy.
Shinobu was too intelligent, too observant, and far too respectful of your boundaries. She had built her behavior entirely around your comfort. She knew you couldn't tolerate touch, and for your sake, she forbade herself from even entertaining the thought of crossing that distance.
The realization that Shinobu was deliberately restraining herself became pure torture.
She loved you. You saw it in her eyes, heard it in the cadence of her voice, felt it in her endless care. She always ensured you had hot tea after a patrol, personally inspected your gear, and insisted you rest. But she never crossed the line.
Occasionally, in rare moments of weakness, you caught her hand twitching in your direction. Once, returning from a brutal battle, you sat in the infirmary with a bandaged shoulder. Shinobu stood before you, her eyes heavy with unspoken pain for your injuries. Her fingers clenched into fists, as if she were desperately fighting the urge to pull you into an embrace, comfort you, and hold you close. Instead, she took a shaky breath, stepped back, and said softly, "I will prepare a stronger painkiller for you, [Y/N]. You need to sleep."
Every time she pulled away, your chest tightened with bitterness. You saw how difficult it was for her. You knew she needed physical confirmation of your bond just as much as you did. Yet you remained a hostage to your own fear and your reputation as "untouchable."
"How do I tell her?" you wondered through long, sleepless nights, tossing on your futon. "How do I tell her that she is the only one I want to feel? If I reach out to her, she might worry I'm doing it out of politeness. She might pull back to "protect" me. I have to break down this wall myself."
Yet the thought of initiating contact made your palms sweat and an anxious knot twist in your stomach. Your old fear whispered like a toxic companion that touch would ruin everything, that you would panic, push her away, and wound Shinobu forever.
And so you continued your agonizing dance at arm's length—two people deeply in love, yet separated by an invisible barrier built from mutual consideration and old fears.
The climax arrived in late autumn, during a season of prolonged, cold downpours.
The sky over the Butterfly Mansion was blanketed in heavy, leaden clouds. Rain poured in a solid wall, drumming against the tiled roof and turning the garden into a sea of mud. The air was thick with dampness and melancholy.
Shinobu returned from a three-day mission at dawn. The assignment had proven far more arduous than anticipated: a nest of demons employing toxic vapors. She succeeded, as always, but the toll was heavy.
When you entered her private quarters to check on her, your heart sank.
Shinobu sat on the floor, her back resting against the wall. Her haori was soiled and torn, with scratches and cuts visible on her pale skin. But worst of all was her face. Her usual smile was gone. The mask had slipped, completely washed away by rain and exhaustion. Her eyes, typically lit with a vibrant, if dangerous spark, were dull, hollow, and filled with a dark, bottomless sorrow that was physically painful to behold.
She didn't even raise her head when you entered. She simply sat staring at a single spot, arms wrapped around her knees as if holding herself together.
You walked over slowly, holding a tray with clean towels, bandages, and hot tea.
"Shinobu..." your voice was barely a whisper.
She blinked slowly, her gaze focusing on you. For a moment, her facial muscles strained to form her customary smile, but she simply lacked the strength. The resulting smile was crooked, broken, and faint.
"Good morning, [Y/N]," her voice was raspy, stripped of its usual melodic tone. "Forgive my unkempt appearance. I am... a bit tired."
You set the tray on a low table and knelt two feet away from her. Your hands trembled. You saw how desperately she needed comfort in that moment. She looked so small, so fragile. She didn't need words. She didn't need hot tea.
She needed someone to share the weight with her. Physically.
You looked at her hands. The slender, elegant fingers of a physician and swordsman were clasped together so tightly that her knuckles were white. You knew the darkest thoughts were racing through her mind: memories of Kanae's death, doubts about her own strength, dread of the battles to come.
"Do it," you commanded yourself. "Stop being afraid. For her sake. Do it now."
Your heart hammered violently against your ribs. Blood rushed in your ears, drowning out the sound of rain on the roof. Your instinctive fear of touch flared up, threatening to paralyze your muscles and screaming against the intrusion into your personal space.
Then you looked into Shinobu's dull, pain-filled eyes. And the fear receded. It dissolved entirely, burned away by your love for this woman.
You took a deep, shaky breath.
Slowly—very slowly, so as not to startle her with a sudden movement—you closed the space between you.
Your hand, cold and trembling with emotion, reached forward. You held your breath as your fingers crossed the invisible boundary both of you had faithfully observed for years.
With a light, almost weightless touch, you laid your palm over her clasped hands.
Shinobu flinched violently, as if struck by a current.
Her eyes widened, her pupils contracting. She stared at your hand resting atop hers in absolute, paralyzed shock. Her breathing faltered instantly, turning into quick, shallow gasps.
"[Y/N]..." she breathed, her voice quavering with panic.
Her immediate instinct, a reflex forged over years of caring for you, was to pull away. She tried to yank her hands out from beneath yours. She assumed you were forcing yourself out of pity. She thought you were uncomfortable, enduring distress for her sake, and the thought of causing you suffering was unbearable to her.
"No, you don't have to... please let go, you don't like this..." Shinobu whispered rapidly, attempting to pull back and restore the safe distance designed to protect you.
But you didn't let go.
Instead, you tightened your grip. Your fingers intertwined with hers, holding her in place.
"No," your voice rang firm, even as warm tears spilled down your cheeks. You moved closer, ignoring everything else. "No, Shinobu. Don't push me away."
She froze, her wide purple eyes searching yours, which were filled with tears and determination.
"But... your fear... your boundaries..." the Insect Hashira stammered, her mind struggling to process what was happening. She looked down at your joined hands as if witnessing a miracle.
You shook your head, feeling an intense, warming tide wash through you with every passing second of contact. No panic. No urge to flee. Only a sense of profound, perfect peace and rightness.
"My boundaries were never meant for you, Shinobu," you whispered, your voice breaking into a sob. You raised your other hand and, crossing the final barrier, gently cupped her cheek. Shinobu's skin was cool, wet with rain and tears, yet to you, it was the most comforting touch of your life. "It was always only you. You are the only one I want to feel. You are the only one allowed."
The words hung in the quiet of the room, cutting through the sound of the rainfall.
Shinobu stopped breathing. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over, mingling with the raindrops on her face. Your words shattered the wall of despair surrounding her. The realization that you were stepping past your deepest fears, breaking your own rules for her sake—to comfort her—overwhelmed Shinobu completely.
Years of restraint, all the tenderness she had stored inside out of fear of frightening you, surged forth.
"[Y/N]..." Shinobu sobbed, her voice breaking.
She made no further attempt to pull away. Instead, she leaned forward with an intense, starved strength that nearly knocked you both sideways. Shinobu wrapped both arms around you, holding you tightly, as if terrified you might vanish like a mirage. She buried her face in the crook of your neck, her shoulders shaking with sobs.
It was not a reserved or tentative embrace. It was the grasp of a drowning person who had found a lifeline.
You held her in return, burying your fingers in her damp, dark hair. You pulled her close, feeling the beat of her heart, the weight of her body, and the scent of wisteria and rain. To your own surprise, there was not a trace of discomfort in this close, physical contact. You felt at home. Your invisible barrier hadn't merely fallen—it had transformed into a protective dome encompassing just the two of you.
"I wanted this... for so long," Shinobu murmured through her tears, her lips brushing your skin, warming it with her breath. Her hands stroked your back frantically, as if reassuring herself that you were real, that you weren't pushing her away. "I was so afraid of scaring you... I love you so much, [Y/N]. Gods, I love you more than life."
Tears streamed down your cheeks, but a genuine, radiant smile bloomed on your lips. You closed your eyes, yielding to the rush of emotion.
"I love you too, Shinobu. I always have," you whispered into her hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. "You don't need to hold back anymore. I'm not afraid. With you, I am never afraid."
Outside, the rain continued to pour, washing away the dirt of the world, but inside the small room, a different tide had turned. Years of tension, unspoken desires, and fear were washed away by tears and these first, desperate, tender touches.
Shinobu pulled back just enough to look into your face. Her eyes were red from crying, but the emptiness had vanished. In its place burned a bright, clear light of adoration that took your breath away. She raised her hands and carefully, almost reverently, framed your face with her small, scarred palms.
She looked at you as if beholding a wonder. With her thumbs, she gently wiped the tears from your cheeks.
Then she leaned in.
It was your first kiss. It was neither demanding nor rushed. It was soft, hesitant, and extraordinarily gentle—a question and a promise all at once. Her lips, warm and salty from tears, met yours with a tenderness that made your head spin. You responded, leaning into her, allowing the feeling to sweep over you completely. Your hands rested on her waist, drawing her closer, erasing the final fractions of space between you.
In that long, restorative kiss, the pain of her grueling mission and the accumulated fears of your past dissolved completely.
The world did not change overnight. The war against demons went on, Master Oyakata continued to assign missions, and Inosuke still bumped his head against trees in the Butterfly Mansion garden.
Your condition did not magically disappear either. You still flinched if another Slayer accidentally brushed past you in a corridor. You maintained a polite but firm distance with Tanjiro, Mitsuri, and the others. To the rest of the world, you remained guarded behind your invisible barrier.
Yet between you and Shinobu, a fundamental shift had occurred. The framework of your lives was altered forever.
The boundary you had so carefully guarded ceased to exist. Shinobu became the one person in the world granted access to your personal space. And realizing she no longer needed to restrain herself, the Insect Hashira made up for years of tactile deprivation.
When you sat in the laboratory going over reports, Shinobu no longer placed test tubes on the desk. She placed them directly into your hands, letting her fingers linger against yours a moment longer than necessary. Whenever she walked past your chair, she made a point to brush your shoulder or lightly kiss the crown of your head.
In the evenings, sitting on that same engawa, you no longer kept six inches of empty space between you. You sat leaned against her chest while Shinobu gently brushed your hair, resting her chin on your shoulder. You would close your eyes, basking in the warmth of her body, feeling completely safe.
For Shinobu, being able to touch you became a comfort far greater than any medicinal herb. When the false smile felt too heavy to bear, when the ghosts of her past whispered in the dark, she no longer had to sit alone with her arms wrapped around her knees. She could simply walk up to you, bury her face in your neck, wrap her arms around your waist, and feel your hands stroking her back soothingly.
Your quiet language of touch became your strongest shield against the darkness of the world.
And every time Shinobu took your hand in hers, lacing your fingers together, you looked at her and understood a simple truth: your fear hadn't vanished. It simply lost all meaning beside the woman whose presence had become your ultimate definition of safety.
The art of touch, which you had feared your entire life, proved to be a masterpiece when authored by Kocho Shinobu.
Can we get a part 2 of the streamer au with shinobu and the fem reader.
This time the hashiras wanted to play with the reader too, and they decided to play among us (idk if you know this game so sorry if it causes you trouble)
And turns out that the reader is really good with playing innocent, that even got shinobu fooled. Then when shinobu got paired up with the reader, they just absolutely dominated the whole game. The reader is also good with figuring out who the imposter is.
I've only played this game a few times because I'm not very good at it. Usually, when you're not good at something, you lose interest pretty quickly. I hope I described the game correctly.
Among the Hashira
Shinobu Kocho x female reader
Word Count: 4308
Part 1
After your first overwhelmingly successful appearance on Kocho Shinobu’s stream, your life felt divided into a "before" and an "after." Where you used to be an invisible muse sitting quietly on the couch out of the camera's line of sight, you were now a fully-fledged part of this neon-glowing, emotion-filled esports world. The viewers didn't just welcome you warmly—they elevated you to the status of a local deity. New emotes featuring your scared expression from Lethal Company kept popping up in chat, and Shinobu’s fans regularly demanded a "duo stream" or at least your presence in the background.
The most unexpected turn, however, was how warmly you were received by the streamer elite—the Hashira themselves. If before they only knew of you through Shinobu’s brief, pride-filled stories in their private Discord server, they had now seen you in action. And to your own surprise, they genuinely liked you.
Two weeks had passed since that initial stream. The weekend arrived, and the private Hashira chat was buzzing from early morning. Tengen Uzui, the chief instigator of all chaos, pitched an idea for a massive collaboration.
[Tengen_God_of_Festivals]: "Listen up, my flamboyant friends! Today is Saturday prime time! We're gathering a full lobby in Among Us. No excuses! And Kocho, if you don't bring your precious Y/N along, I will personally drive over to your place and sing serenades under your window until you agree!"
[Flame_Hashira_Rengoku]: "EXCELLENT IDEA, UZUI! I HAVE NEVER PLAYED THIS GAME, BUT I WILL SEARCH FOR THE IMPOSTORS WITH A BURNING HEART! Y/N-SAN, YOU MUST JOIN US!"
[Sanemi_Wind]: "Just try voting me out first again just for kicks. I swear I'll remove you all from my friends list. And yeah, let the kid join too—at least someone will scream when I slice you open in Electrical."
You sat at the kitchen table sipping morning coffee, reading these messages on your smartphone screen. Shinobu, dressed in a silk robe, glided up behind you, wrapped her arms around your neck, and rested her chin atop your head, peering at the screen.
"So, darling? Ready to be thrown to the wolves?" Her voice dripped with that velvety, sweetly venomous tone her fans adored, but to you, it sounded like the sweetest melody. "Among Us is a game that destroys friendships, marriages, and nervous systems. If you don't want to, we can just tell them we have other plans."
You smiled, leaning your head back to rest your cheek against her temple. "Actually... I'd like to give it a try," you admitted. "I'm useless at shooters—my reaction time is way too slow. But Among Us... I used to play it with my classmates. It's just social deduction and a bit of psychology. I think I can handle it. Besides, I don't really want Tengen-san singing under our window."
Shinobu chuckled softly and kissed the top of your head. "As you wish, my fearless butterfly. But consider yourself warned: when it comes to games of betrayal, the Hashira turn into absolute monsters. Especially Sanemi and Obanai. I will protect you until my last breath, I promise."
She had no idea how severely she was misjudging the balance of power.
Evening arrived in a flash. The studio lighting in your gaming room was set to an ominous red-and-blue palette. Shinobu sat in her chair, and yours was pulled up so close that your shoulders nearly touched. This time, you felt far more confident. You wore a cozy t-shirt featuring a small astronaut print, topped off with plush headphones.
The stream went live, and the viewer counter instantly surged past eighty thousand. The broadcast was streaming across multiple Hashira channels simultaneously, and the chat moved at a speed that made it physically impossible to read.
"Hello everyone, my darlings!" Shinobu sang into her microphone, flashing a dazzling smile. "Tonight is a special evening. We're playing Among Us with our favorite collection of toxic esports players known as the Hashira. And as you may have noticed, my lovely Y/N is joining us once again!"
You gave a shy wave to the camera, triggering a fresh avalanche of wholesome emotes in chat.
The Discord voice channel vibrated with voices. The lobby was filled.
"Alright, standard rules!" Tengen announced loudly, having picked a bright yellow character wearing a crown. "Two impostors, short kill cooldown, no hints on who gets ejected. We play for survival. Y/N, sweetie, don't be scared—if anything happens, just scream and we'll come to the rescue!"
"Tengen, you're first on my hit list," Sanemi remarked grumpily, playing as a dark green astronaut with a Jason mask.
You selected a soft pink astronaut with a tiny green sprout on its head. Shinobu, true to her aesthetic, chose purple with a flower accessory.
"Ready?" Shinobu whispered, muting her mic for a second.
"Ready," you nodded, placing your hands purposefully on the keyboard.
The game began. The screen darkened, and the blue text illuminated before your eyes: CREWMATE.
Round 1: Deduction Beyond Belief
Map: The Skeld. You spawned in the Cafeteria alongside the other nine players. Silence settled in your headphones—by game rules, everyone had to stay muted during the round, speaking only during meetings.
You didn't rush off blindly to do tasks. Your brain switched directly into analytical mode. You headed straight to the Admin room and stood at the terminal, closely observing the green map that displayed the headcount in each room.
You saw two players run into Electrical. A couple of seconds later, one icon in Electrical flickered and vanished, while a new one abruptly materialized in MedBay.
"Vent," you noted silently. There's a direct vent connection between Electrical and MedBay. Someone had just executed a kill in Electrical and vented to escape.
Without wasting a second, you bolted into the corridor. Running from the direction of MedBay came a black character wearing a small snake on his head: Obanai Iguro. He paused for a second upon spotting you, then continued running toward the Cafeteria. You watched him go, revealing none of your suspicions, and stepped into Electrical.
As expected, the bisected corpse of the orange astronaut—Rengoku—lay on the floor.
You hit the "REPORT" button.
The screen flashed, transitioning everyone into the voting interface. A chorus of voices instantly erupted in your headphones.
"WHO KILLED KYOJURO?!" Mitsuri wailed. "He was so nice! He was just learning how to do the card swipe!"
"I found the body," you stated calmly, injecting a touch of staged panic into the mic. "It was in Electrical."
"AHA!" Sanemi roared immediately. "SELF-REPORT! That's one hundred percent Y/N! Kocho, your girl is just playing the innocent lamb, but she slit Rengoku's throat in the dark! Vote pink!"
Shinobu instantly leaped to your defense, her voice taking on a metallic edge. "Shinazugawa, if you vote for her without evidence, I will ensure you don't win a single round for the rest of the year. Y/N, darling, tell us what you saw."
The chat on Shinobu's stream was losing its mind: SANEMI IS BULLYING Y/N! TO ARMS! Protect the pink one! Y/N is gonna cry, Sanemi you monster!
But you weren't about to cry. Your face remained completely composed as you stared at the monitor. Your voice over the mic sounded quiet, steady, but delivered with such cold, surgical precision that the Discord channel fell instantly dead silent.
"Sanemi-san, it couldn't have been a self-report," you began, your tone so authoritative that even Shinobu turned to look at you in surprise. "At the start of the game, I went to the Admin room and monitored the movement logs on the map. I watched two players enter Electrical. Four seconds later, one player vanished from the radar in Electrical and instantly appeared in MedBay. As we all know, moving between those locations that fast is only possible via the vent."
An absolute graveyard silence descended upon the channel. All the Hashira, accustomed to running around aimlessly doing tasks or mindlessly slashing each other, listened with open mouths.
"I stepped out into the hallway," you continued, giving them no time to recover. "And the only person coming from the direction of MedBay at that exact moment was Obanai-san. Therefore, Obanai-san killed Rengoku-san in Electrical, vented to MedBay, and walked toward the Cafeteria to manufacture an alibi."
"What kind of nonsense is this?!" Iguro's voice sounded sharp, but laced with the distinct panic of a criminal caught red-handed. "I was in Weapons! Shooting asteroids! This is slander! Mitsuri, I was with you!"
"Obanai-san..." Mitsuri trailed off uncertainly. "But I was in Navigation alone..."
"Checkmate, Iguro," Giyu Tomioka stated coldly, having remained silent until that moment. "I am voting black."
"Y/N, that was simply FLAMBOYANT!" Tengen burst out laughing. "You completely destroyed him with facts! Vote out the snake lover!"
Voting indicators cascaded across the screen. Obanai was unanimously cast into open space. The text displayed: Obanai Iguro was An Impostor.
Silence reigned in Shinobu's room. She turned her head slowly toward you, her eyes wide open. The chat on the second monitor was moving at warp speed:
WHATTTTT?! 5Head DEDUCTION! SHERLOCK HOLMES IS SHAKING IN A CORNER! SHE JUST DESTROYED THE SERPENT HASHIRA IN 10 SECONDS! Iguro tilted LMAO Y/N is a genius, I'm shocked!
"Y/N..." Shinobu whispered, pulling her microphone away. "When... when did you become such a brilliant strategist? I thought you were afraid of this game."
You offered an innocent shrug, adjusting your plush headphones, and gave her a sweet, almost bashful smile. "I told you I used to play with my classmates. I like analyzing movement patterns. It's relaxing."
The round concluded in a crewmate victory a few minutes later when you identified the second impostor—Sanemi—using the security cameras in the exact same manner. The Wind Hashira shouted into his mic so loudly he had to turn his volume down, but against your ironclad logic, he stood zero chance.
They thought you were fragile and timid. They thought you needed protection. They had no idea they had let a true social deduction monster into the lobby.
Round 2: The Blind Spot of a Butterfly in Love
The real spectacle, however, unfolded in the third match. The map switched to the snow-covered Polus base.
The screen went black. And this time, a sinister red banner lit up before your eyes: IMPOSTOR. Your teammate was Giyu Tomioka.
You took a deep breath. Being a detective uncovering killers was one thing; lying coolly to people's faces—especially sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with your girlfriend, who, as a professional psychologist, read people like an open book—was a completely different challenge.
"The golden rule of the perfect crime," you thought, "is to make the lead investigator believe in your absolute innocence."
The round started. Everyone scattered across the map, wading through virtual snow.
You enabled your microphone and spoke softly into the main Discord channel, letting a subtle tremor slip into your voice before everyone dispersed: "Sh-Shinobu... this map is so big and scary. There's a blizzard... Can I walk with you? I'm afraid Sanemi-san will want revenge for last round and kill me in the dark."
Your voice sounded so pitiful, uncertain, and innocent that anyone's heart would melt. And Shinobu, despite her sharp intellect, was completely defenseless against your charm. Her heart performed a literal backflip.
"Oh, of course, my sunshine," Shinobu's voice turned so sweet it could give someone diabetes through headphones. "Come to me. I'll be your personal bodyguard. If Shinazugawa dares get closer than ten virtual meters to you, I will call an emergency meeting and drop him straight into the lava."
The stream chat cooed: PROTECTOR SHINOBU! That's so cuteeee Y/N is such a cinnamon roll <3 Sanemi: bro I literally just wanted to do tasks...
The two of you headed toward the Laboratory. You obediently trotted behind Shinobu's purple astronaut, occasionally pausing at panels to fake tasks (since impostors don't have real ones). Shinobu was entirely at ease. She trusted you one hundred percent.
You entered the Specimen room. It was a long, winding area featuring a decontamination chamber. To enter it, players had to pass through an airlock that sealed shut for several seconds while spraying characters with sanitary foam.
Entering the airlock alongside you was Mitsuri (pink).
The airlock doors closed. The three of you were locked in the tiny space. Shinobu stood by the left door, waiting for it to open. Mitsuri stood slightly to the right. You ended up directly behind Mitsuri's back.
Time slowed down. You knew the game's mechanics flawlessly. The decontamination sequence takes precisely three seconds.
On the second second, while Shinobu's attention was fixed on the closed door ahead, you pressed "KILL."
Your soft-pink astronaut with the sprout instantly snapped Mitsuri's neck. Her body hit the floor with a dull thud. Without wasting a single millisecond, you clicked the vent grate located right inside the airlock. Your character dove into the vent and disappeared a fraction of a second before the front doors opened. Navigating the ventilation shaft, you shifted instantly to the adjacent room—Laboratory—popped out of the vent, and ran back toward the entrance of Specimen.
The entire maneuver took precisely two seconds.
Meanwhile, inside the airlock, the front doors opened. Shinobu turned around to call for you and Mitsuri... and saw only the corpse of the Love Hashira. You were nowhere to be found.
In absolute shock, Shinobu slammed "REPORT."
"WHAT HAPPENED?!" Uzui shouted into the mic. "Who killed Mitsuri?!"
"I... I don't understand," Shinobu's voice was filled with genuine bewilderment. She stared at the monitor, her brows furrowed. "The three of us walked into the airlock: me, Mitsuri, and Y/N. The doors closed. When they opened, Mitsuri was dead and Y/N was gone!"
"AHA!" Sanemi yelled triumphantly. "I TOLD YOU! YOUR INNOCENT LITTLE LAMB IS THE IMPOSTOR! SHE KILLED MITSURI IN THE AIRLOCK AND VENTED! VOTE HER OUT!"
At that moment, you unmuted your microphone. You drew a deep, hitching breath to mimic panic, and your voice sounded as if you were on the verge of crying from fear.
"Sh-Shinobu... where were you?" you stammered, sniffing softly. "I... I didn't make it into the airlock with you guys. The doors closed right in front of my nose! I was left in the hallway! I got scared being alone, so I ran to the Laboratory to do the sample tasks, and then the alarm went off..."
Your delivery was so thoroughly steeped in genuine fright and confusion that it would move a heart of stone.
Shinobu froze. Her brain feverishly began reassembling the sequence of events. She hadn't actually witnessed the kill herself; she had been looking at the door. Could you really have been shut out? Could she have miscounted? You were sitting right next to her, your shoulders tense, your voice radiating such pure, unadulterated panic... How could this fragile, timid girl who was camera-shy coolly murder someone in a closed room and pull off a complex vent play? No, impossible. It contradicted everything she knew about you.
Her affection completely blinded her logic.
"Shinazugawa, shut your mouth!" Shinobu snapped, charging to your defense like an enraged lioness. "She didn't make it into the airlock! It was my mistake—I just didn't look behind me! She was in the hallway! Someone else was in the vent and popped out to kill Mitsuri! And that someone is trying to frame my Y/N!"
"KOCHO, ARE YOU BLIND OR JUST STUPID?!" Sanemi bellowed, practically spitting into his mic. "SHE JUST KILLED RIGHT UNDER YOUR NOSE!"
"I TRUST MY GIRLFRIEND, NOT YOU, YOU PSYCHOPATH!" Shinobu countered. "Giyu, where were you?!"
Tomioka, your fellow impostor who had been quietly sabotaging the lights on the opposite side of the map the whole time, answered calmly: "I was on cams. I saw Sanemi running toward Lab."
It was a blatant lie, but it acted like a detonator.
"WHY YOU FILTHY LIAR!" Sanemi redirected his fury toward Giyu.
Ultimately, thanks to Shinobu's fierce protection and your performance as a frightened victim, the vote fell apart. The votes split between Giyu and Sanemi. No one was ejected.
The chat on Shinobu's stream exploded from the sheer mind-game chaos. They could see your screen (since many viewers had multi-streams open). They knew you were the impostor. They watched your cold-blooded, mathematically timed kill. And they watched you deliver an Oscar-worthy performance to Shinobu without batting an eye.
OH MY GOD SHE IS A MASTER MANIPULATOR! Y/N IS AN EVIL GENIUS! SHINOBU GOT BAITED! SHINOBU GOT 100% BAITED! I'M SCARED OF THIS GIRL! She uses Shinobu's love as a shield! This is brilliant and so ruthless LMAO Sanemi is the only one seeing the truth and nobody believes him XDDD
The rest of the match went like clockwork. You continued shadowing Shinobu, using her as your bulletproof alibi. While she performed tasks, you quietly sabotaged doors, locking other players in with Giyu, who handled the dirty work. Whenever bodies were reported, Shinobu was the first to announce into the mic: "Y/N was with me the entire time! She's clear!"
You sat beside her, striving not to smile too broadly so as not to give yourself away. Your expression was unreadable, but internally, you relished the power. Being bad was wildly entertaining.
The final stroke arrived when the only survivors left were you, Shinobu, Giyu, and Uzui. You were standing in the Cafeteria. You and Giyu exchanged a glance (virtually).
You walked right up to Uzui. Shinobu stood nearby, confident in victory, ready to vote against Tengen because you and Giyu were "cleared."
You clicked "KILL." Shinobu's screen went dark.
In large, blood-red letters, the monitor displayed: VICTORY — IMPOSTORS: Tomioka Giyu | Y/N
A silence akin to the vacuum of deep space settled over the Discord channel.
Then came Sanemi's shriek: "I TOLD YOU!!! I TOLD YOU ALL, YOU IDIOTS!!! SHE'S A MANIAC!!!"
Shinobu didn't move. She sat in her streaming chair, staring at the screen with wide eyes. Her mouth hung slightly open. Very slowly, she turned her head toward you.
You slipped off your headphones, leaned back in your chair, and looked at her. There was not a trace of the frightened, innocent lamb left on your face. Your eyes sparkled with sly, self-satisfied amusement, and a playful, almost devious smirk rested on your lips. You offered a light shrug.
"You..." Shinobu swallowed hard, her voice quiet, a mixture of shock, indignation, and... a sudden, unexpected spark of admiration. "You killed Mitsuri in the airlock. Right under my nose. And then... then you lied to my face. You cried into the mic! You trembled! And I believed you! I defended the killer!"
You leaned closer to her, keeping your words out of the mic's pickup while remaining visible on camera, and whispered softly: "You said yourself you'd be my knight in shining armor, darling. And knights always protect their princesses. Even when the princess hides a dagger behind her back."
A deep, vibrant blush rushed across Shinobu's cheeks. Her mouth snapped shut. Her mind, usually so quick and razor-sharp, briefly stalled at this sudden reversal of roles. The timid, shy girl she had been shielding from the world had just wrapped her around her finger, danced on her trust, and executed it with such elegance that Shinobu couldn't even be angry. What's more, this newly revealed, sharp, manipulative side of your personality was so captivating that it took the Insect Hashira's breath away.
The chat entered historical ecstasy: SHE BROKE SHINOBU! Y/N IS DOMINANT NOW! Look at Shinobu's face, she's about to pass out from love BEST STREAM IN HISTORY!
Shinobu took a deep breath, slipped her headphones back on, and spoke into her microphone with a voice blending a hysterical laugh with a threat: "Guys. Official announcement: my girlfriend is a sociopath. And I think I love her even more."
Round 3: A Symphony of Chaos and Total Dominance
If the second round was a demonstration of your acting talent, the third round became a nightmare for the entire lobby.
The game's algorithms possess a strange, almost twisted sense of humor. On the third map (The Skeld), the impostor roles fell to both you and Shinobu. Together.
When the red IMPOSTORS banner illuminated on both of your monitors, you turned to each other simultaneously. The room was bathed in the soft glow of purple neon. Your eyes met. In Shinobu's eyes burned the competitive fire of an insulted genius craving blood. In yours was the cold, calculating glint of a strategist.
No words were necessary. No plans, no discussion over muted mics. Over the six months you had spent together, you had learned to understand each other instinctively. You simply exchanged brief, predatory smirks and nodded. The synchronization was absolute.
This wasn't a game. It was a slaughter.
From the first seconds, you turned the spaceship into a slaughterhouse. Shinobu assumed the role of the aggressive hunter. She darted through the vents like a true venomous butterfly, tracking isolated targets in Weapons and Navigation, leaving clean kills in her wake.
You became the invisible threat—a phantom controlling the ship's entire infrastructure. You locked yourself in the Communications room and took charge of sabotages.
The moment Shinobu made a kill on the right flank, you instantly sabotaged the Reactor on the left. The alarm blared. The panicked crew rushed to fix the reactor, completely abandoning the right wing of the ship. Shinobu's kills remained undiscovered for minutes, utterly dismantling any timers or alibis the survivors tried to build.
While they repaired the reactor, Shinobu seamlessly rejoined the crowd. You operated as a single organism.
At one point, Tengen, Obanai, and Rengoku were all in Electrical attempting to fix wiring. Shinobu stood in the hallway; you were in Storage.
You cut the lights. The map plunged into darkness. The crewmates' vision shrank to a tiny circle.
Navigating blind, relying entirely on muscle memory and the mini-map, you and Shinobu jumped into vents simultaneously. You emerged from the vent in Electrical on the left; Shinobu on the right.
Click. Click.
Two bodies dropped to the floor at the exact same time. Tengen and Rengoku were eliminated in pitch darkness within a fraction of a second. Obanai, standing directly between them, saw nothing due to the light sabotage.
You both instantly leaped back into the vents and vanished. When Obanai restored the lights, he found himself standing in a pool of blood between two corpses. In sheer horror, he hit report.
"IT WASN'T ME! I SWEAR TO GOD, IT WASN'T ME! THE LIGHTS WENT OUT AND THEY JUST DIED!" Iguro yelled into his mic, his voice breaking into a panicked shriek.
"Convenient excuse, Iguro-san," you sang out in a sweet, innocent tone, while Shinobu beside you shook silently with laughter, covering her mouth with her hand. "I was in Cafeteria with Shinobu doing wires. And you were standing over the bodies. I think it's pretty clear."
"Confirmed," Shinobu added smoothly. "Y/N was with me. Obanai, I'm disappointed. Slicing two people in the dark is so unrefined."
Sanemi, still paranoid from the previous round, yelled: "I DON'T BELIEVE A SINGLE WORD THIS GIRL SAYS! SHE'S A MANIPULATOR!"
But Giyu, ever the straightforward thinker, cut him off: "Obanai was standing on the bodies. Vote Obanai."
Iguro was cast into space.
You and Shinobu left them zero operational room. You locked doors, split groups, picked off players one by one, and masterfully shifted blame onto the survivors. Your synergy was so terrifying, so seamless, that the stream viewers stopped posting joke comments. The chat filled with messages infused with genuine awe:
They're reading each other's minds... This couple is too dangerous for society. If a zombie apocalypse happens, I want to be on team Y/N and Shinobu. They killed 8 people in 4 minutes. World record. Symphony of death. Just wow.
The final kill was executed by Shinobu, who eliminated Sanemi right in front of Giyu while you sabotaged Oxygen, preventing Tomioka from hitting the emergency button.
The VICTORY — IMPOSTORS banner lit up your monitors once more.
This time, a heavy, almost shell-shocked silence held the Discord voice channel. The Hashira—elite players, people with iron nerves—had been mentally dismantled and defeated by two women who hadn't even spoken a word to each other during the match.
Tengen was the first to break the silence. His voice sounded unusually quiet and respectful. "Kocho... Y/N... I am making an official declaration: you are the most terrifying, brilliantly horrific women I have ever encountered. I am never playing on a team with you again. My mental state can't take it."
"Y/N-san," Rengoku added, a slight tremor audible in his voice. "You proved to be an extraordinarily... effective tactician. I believe the sweet potatoes will have to wait. I need time to restore my faith in humanity."
Sanemi simply disconnected from the Discord channel with an angry huff, slamming his door in reality. Giyu remained silent, though the audio feedback indicated he had closed the game.
Shinobu removed her headphones and set them on the desk. She turned to you. Her face was flushed, her eyes sparkling with adrenaline and pure, unadulterated triumph.
You took off your headphones as well, leaning back in your chair. A broad, contented smile rested on your lips. You looked at Shinobu, feeling the tangible electricity humming between you.
"So?" you asked softly, tilting your head. "Did I ruin the game for you too much?"
Shinobu didn't answer with words. She leaned forward, grabbed the collar of your t-shirt, and pulled you in, catching your lips in a passionate, possessive, incredibly warm kiss right in front of a hundred thousand viewers.
The chat exploded into millions of hearts. Twitch servers momentarily lagged.
When she reluctantly pulled back, her breath came fast, her cheeks a vivid red. She looked at you with such adoration it felt as though you had just handed her the entire world.
"You," Shinobu whispered against your lips, her voice low and raspy. "You are the most brilliant, cunning, and incredible creature in my life. I love you to distraction, my little schemer."
You laughed happily, wrapping your arms around her neck, no longer paying any attention to the camera, the chat, or the rest of the world.
The stream wrapped up on that perfect note of adrenaline and warmth. By the next day, the internet was flooded with clips of your double kills, your seamless bluffs, and that final kiss. But none of that mattered to you. You sat in your cozy kitchen, drinking coffee, while across from you sat the girl of your dreams, looking at you like you were the greatest miracle in existence.
The sheep had shed its fleece. And as it turned out, being a wolf alongside a venomous butterfly was the most entertaining thing in the world.
Hi! I love your ice hashira x shinobu series, and I thought of a continuation, that Y/N gets badly injured when battling against upper five & four at the swordsmith village, in which she fought with muichiro against upper five (unlocking the mark), and then fought upper four, which lead to a heavy injury and terrible exhaustion, since she’s the ice hashira, and by unlocking the mark, her body surpassed a high temperature. It took months for her to recover her body temperature back to normal, and wake up. They had a fight because of the way Y/N was so nonchalant about almost dying, but they eventually united again, the love overcoming the worry and anger.
Hope you like the idea! Huge admiration for your work.
The Price of Melted Ice
Shinobu Kocho x female reader
Word Count: 3800
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Your life, from the very moment you first gripped a Nichirin blade, had always been bound by strict laws of physics and flawless logic. Ice Breathing was not merely a combat style; it became your physiology, your essence. To create absolute zero on the battlefield, freeze the blood in demonic veins, and sever their flesh with icy blades, your own body had to function under conditions of extreme low temperatures. Your pulse was always slow, your breathing measured, and your skin cool even in the heat of a grueling summer. You were an ideal, unflappable mechanism.
However, the Swordsmith Village became the place where all your flawless calculations turned to ash, and the laws of physics were ruthlessly shattered.
When Upper Ranks Five and Four unleashed their wrath upon the secret village of swordsmiths, you found yourself at the very epicenter of the catastrophe. The initial tactical assessment of the situation left no room for doubt: the probability of a successful outcome without critical casualties approached zero.
First came Gyokko—Upper Rank Five, whose Blood Demon Art perverted the very essence of nature. When you found Muichiro Tokito, the Mist Hashira, he was trapped inside a Water Prison—a lethal trap depriving him of oxygen. Your analytical mind instantly calculated the density of the water sphere.
"Ice Breathing. Fourth Form: Crystal Sarcophagus," your voice sounded even, lacking a single emotion, as your frost-coated blade plunged into the aquatic sphere. The moisture crystallized instantly, turning into brittle ice that Muichiro was able to shatter from within.
You fought side by side: the two youngest and most detached Hashira in the Corps. Gyokko was fast, his attacks unpredictable. And it was at the exact moment when his poisonous needles nearly impaled Tokito that your body made a decision that would alter your physiology forever.
To save your comrade and destroy the Upper Rank, power exceeding human limits was required. You had to strip away every built-in limiter your organism possessed.
It started with the heart. Your pulse, typically not exceeding fifty beats per minute, suddenly made a monstrous leap. One hundred. One hundred fifty. Two hundred beats per minute. Blood, accustomed to flowing slowly and coldly, boiled over.
"Core temperature rapidly rising," your internal voice stated while you parried a flurry of the demon's attacks. "Thirty-eight degrees Celsius. Thirty-nine. Hyperthermia danger."
And then, upon your left cheek, descending down toward your neck, a intricate pattern manifested, resembling frost fractals upon winter glass—the Demon Slayer Mark.
Awakening the Mark required conditions that, for the Ice Hashira, were tantamount to suicide. A body temperature exceeding 39 degrees Celsius and a heart rate over 200 beats per minute. For Flame or Wind swordsmen, this was an overload. For you, whose power was grounded in cold, it was a paradox tearing your body apart from the inside. Your flesh burned while your blade radiated absolute zero. You were literally sublimating yourself, converting your internal heat into destructive, icy energy.
When Gyokko fell to Muichiro's blade, your processor was already outputting signals of critical damage. But the battle was far from over. Hantengu, Upper Rank Four, was still terrorizing the village. His most terrifying form—Zohakuten, commanding colossal wooden dragons—threatened to wipe the entire settlement from the face of the earth.
Leaving the exhausted Tokito behind, you rushed to aid Tanjiro and Mitsuri. Kanroji was holding back the dragons' onslaught, but her strength was waning. Your arrival shifted the tide of battle.
"Ice Breathing. Sixth Form: Permafrost."
Your blade buried itself into the giant wooden maws. Every execution of a technique demanded increasingly more energy. The Mark upon your neck burned as though a white-hot branding iron had been pressed against your skin. You felt capillaries bursting within you. The wooden dragons slammed down upon you; their strikes broke your ribs and shattered your left arm, yet you did not stop. You froze the wood, making it brittle so Mitsuri could sever it with her flexible sword.
"[Y/N]-san! Fall back! You're going to burn up!" shouted Tanjiro, whose keen nose picked up the scent of your boiling blood and melting muscles.
"Tactical necessity, Kamado," you replied, spitting out a clump of hot blood. "My efficiency coefficient in freezing these constructs is the only factor granting you time to locate the main body of the demon. Continue the search."
A blow from a massive wooden tail struck you directly in the chest. You heard the crunch of your own bones. You were hurled back dozens of meters, smashing through the walls of destroyed smithies. Your lungs failed, filling with blood.
When the first rays of the sun finally touched the horizon and Hantengu's main body was destroyed, your consciousness was already beginning to fade. You lay amid the wreckage. Silence reigned around you. The snow you had generated around yourself during the fight began to melt rapidly from the unbearable heat emanating from your own body.
"Status analysis. Multiple rib fractures. Closed traumatic brain injury. Laceration of the left lung. Internal bleeding. Body temperature: 41.2 degrees Celsius. Protein denaturation. Lethal outcome imminent."
Your eyes slowly closed. Before the world slipped completely into darkness, your fading mind unexpectedly yielded not dry statistics, but an entirely illogical, emotional observation.
You remembered Shinobu's purple eyes. Her hands, which smelled of jasmine and wisteria. Her laughter when she tried to push your buttons.
"I wonder... how angry will she be when she finds out I broke?" was your final thought before the Ice Hashira melted completely in the fire of her own sacrifice.
For Kocho Shinobu, time stopped the moment the Kasugai crows brought tidings from the Swordsmith Village.
She was standing in the inner courtyard of the Butterfly Mansion, holding a basket of clean bandages, when a black crow descended upon a wisteria branch with a screech.
"CAW! UPPER RANKS FIVE AND FOUR DESTROYED! CAW! HEAVY CASUALTIES! THE ICE HASHIRA AND MIST HASHIRA IN CRITICAL CONDITION! CAW! THE ICE HASHIRA'S TEMPERATURE IS NOT DROPPING! SHE IS BURNING! CAW!"
The basket of bandages fell from Shinobu's hands with a dull thud, scattering snowy white rolls across the dirt ground. Her heart—which had recently begun beating only for you—skipped a beat before breaking into a frantic, panicked gallop.
She did not remember how she issued orders. She did not remember how the Kakushi carried your broken, smoking body into the medical block on a stretcher.
When Shinobu first laid eyes on you, her brilliant, cool-headed medical mind came close to shutting down from primal horror.
You—her icy, composed [Y/N], the very girl whose skin had always been cool and pale—now looked like someone dragged out of a blast furnace. Your skin burned with a frightening, feverish flush. Actual heat emanated from your body, distorting the air above the examination table. Upon your neck and cheek, the frost pattern of the Demon Slayer Mark pulsed ominously, refusing to fade, continuing to scorch your internal organs.
"Temperature is forty-one point five!" shouted Aoi, her hands trembling as she applied ice compresses to your forehead, which heated up and began steaming within seconds. "Shinobu-sama! Her blood... it's literally boiling! If we don't bring the fever down, her brain will die!"
Shinobu operated on pure adrenaline and desperation. The false smile she always wore as a shield was torn away. Her face was pale, distorted by horror and suppressed tears.
"An ice bath! Right now!" she commanded, ripping away the remnants of your bloodstained, scorched uniform. "Bring every piece of ice in the mansion! Hook up IVs with saline and antipyretics!"
Dozens of Kakushi and helper girls ran throughout the mansion carrying buckets of crushed ice. You were submerged into the ice water, but the ice began melting at a terrifying speed. Shinobu knelt beside the tub, her arms submerged up to her elbows in ice water, holding your head above the surface. She could feel the heat of your body warming the water. It was physiologically impossible; it contradicted every shred of science she knew.
"Don't you dare," Shinobu whispered, her voice cracking into a hysterical rasp as she pushed antidotes and stabilizers into your veins. "Don't you dare melt in my arms, [Y/N]. You promised. You damn well promised me that your survival rate had increased! You have no right to violate your own calculations! Do you hear me?! Breathe!"
But you couldn't hear her. You had plunged into a deep, pitch-black coma.
Thus began the most terrifying period in the life of the Insect Hashira.
Days blurred into weeks; weeks merged into months. Your condition stabilized through nothing short of a miracle. The Demon Slayer Mark slowly, reluctantly faded back beneath your skin, but the consequences of its awakening were catastrophic. Your thermoregulation was utterly shattered. Your body, accustomed to absolute cold, now fought a relentless fever. Your temperature would not drop below thirty-nine degrees Celsius.
Shinobu practically moved into your infirmary room. She slept on a chair beside your bed for two or three hours a night. Her once-impeccable appearance fell into disarray: deep, dark shadows settled beneath her eyes, her hair was tied in a messy bun, and her hands perpetually smelled of rubbing alcohol and medicinal herbs.
She personally changed the dressings on your broken ribs. She sat for hours wiping down your burning body with cool, damp sponges, attempting to trick your broken physiology.
"You are such an idiot," she spoke softly to you in the silence of the night room, lacing her warm fingers with your hot, limp hands. Tears she forbade herself from shedding during the day in front of her juniors now flowed freely down her cheeks, falling onto the white sheets. "You think you're just a machine. That your life is a resource to be expended for tactical gain. You protected the village. You protected Tokito and Mitsuri. You're a hero. But to me... to me, you're just the woman I love. And I hate you for making me go through this hell again. I hate you for almost leaving me alone."
She pressed her forehead against your hand, her shoulders trembling with silent sobs.
"Please come back to me. I'll listen to your encyclopedic lectures for the rest of my life. I agree to all your silly experiments. Just open your eyes."
For three long months, the Butterfly Mansion lived in suffocating suspense. Everyone knew the Ice Hashira was balancing on the thinnest tightrope between life and death.
Then, as summer began yielding to early autumn and the wisteria leaves started to fall, the system finally rebooted.
The awakening was not abrupt. It began with the return of sensory data.
"Information retrieval. Visual receptors: disabled. Auditory receptors: background noise, rustling fabric, distant birdsong. Olfactory receptors: pronounced scent of antiseptics, chamomile, and ylang-ylang. Thermal receptors: external environment within normal parameters. Core temperature: 36.8 degrees Celsius. Thermoregulation function partially restored."
You slowly, with incredible difficulty, pried open your heavy eyelids. The white ceiling of the infirmary hit your eyes with harsh light. You blinked, focusing your vision. Your body felt as though a freight train had run over it. Your muscles were atrophied, and a dull, throbbing pain resonated in your chest from your fused ribs.
You turned your head slightly to the side.
Sleeping on the chair beside the bed, her head resting on her arms crossed over the mattress, was Shinobu.
Your analytical brain immediately recorded all changes in her appearance. Weight loss of approximately three kilograms. Pronounced dark circles under her eyes, indicating chronic sleep deprivation. Tremors in her fingers even at rest.
She looked exhausted. Broken. And the cause of this breakdown, according to every logical deduction, was you.
Your hand—weak and uncooperative—slowly reached toward her. You simply wanted to touch her hair to confirm that your tactile sensors were operating correctly. But the instant your fingers brushed the crown of her head, Shinobu snapped awake. Hashira and physician instincts reacted instantaneously.
She raised her head, her eyes clouded with sleep, but the moment she saw you looking at her, sleep vanished without a trace.
She froze. Her purple eyes widened to an impossible degree. Her lips parted, but no sound escaped them. She stared at you as if seeing a ghost.
"Sensory systems active," your voice was quiet, raspy from months of vocal disuse, and dry as sandpaper. "Pain level... classified as tolerable. Muscle atrophy significant. Current status: alive."
Those were your first words in three months: flawless, unemotional, dry facts.
Shinobu slowly rose from her chair. Her chest began heaving heavily and raggedly. You expected her to smile—that she, as a doctor, would check your pupils or measure your pulse, or that she, as your girlfriend, would hug you and tell you how much she missed you.
You had failed to account for one critically important variable in your calculations. You had not factored in the sheer volume of accumulated stress, fear, and pain within her.
Shinobu's face distorted. It was not her usual, passively aggressive mask. It was pure, unadulterated, crushing rage.
"'Sensory systems active'?" she whispered, her voice vibrating with suppressed anger on the verge of exploding. She stepped right up to the bed, looming over you. "'Current status: alive'? Is that all you have to say?!"
You blinked, your brain attempting to process her hostile reaction. "Is my report inaccurate? If you require additional data, I can describe the pain syndrome in my left lung..."
"TO HELL WITH YOUR DAMN DATA!" Shinobu suddenly screamed across the entire room. Her cry was so loud and desperate that birds flew up in terror outside the window.
She grabbed the collar of your hospital shirt with both hands, yanking your upper body off the pillows. It caused you pain, but you uttered not a sound, merely gazing in surprise into her eyes blazing with fury.
"Three months!" Shinobu shouted, shaking you by the collar, hot tears of rage pouring down her cheeks like hail. "For ninety-two damn days you lay here like a piece of burning coal! Your temperature was forty-one degrees! You are the Ice Hashira! Your proteins should have denatured! You should have died—do you understand that with your bloody mechanical brain?! You should have died!"
"My death was averted due to your medical intervention," you attempted to argue logically, failing to comprehend the cause of her outburst. "The tactical objective in the Swordsmith Village was accomplished. Two Upper Ranks destroyed. My injuries, while critical, were statistically justified to preserve civilian lives and two other Hashira. The sacrifice was mathematically expedient."
Those words were the final straw.
Shinobu released your collar so abruptly that you hit the pillows with a dull thud. She retreated a step, wrapping her arms around her shoulders as if trying to keep herself from tearing the room to pieces. Her eyes looked at you with such pain that your built-in radar suddenly registered a strange, stinging ache in your own chest unrelated to broken ribs.
"Mathematically expedient..." she whispered, her voice dissolving into sobs. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. "You truly understand nothing. You are completely, utterly impenetrable."
"Shinobu..." You tried to push yourself up on your elbows, but weakness pinned you to the bed. "I do not understand the cause of your emotional breakdown. The outcome is positive. The enemy was defeated. I am functional."
Shinobu yanked her hands away from her face and glared at you. Her eyes were red, swollen, and filled with raw, naked agony.
"The reason is that you are not a machine, [Y/N]!" she screamed through her tears, pointing a trembling finger at you. "You are not a chunk of ice to be thrown into a fire for 'tactical gain'! You are a living human being! You are my woman! The woman I love more than life itself!"
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a desperate, agonizing whisper.
"Do you think I give a damn about your bloody statistics? Do you think it comforted me that the village was saved while I sat here packing your boiling body with ice, watching your heart stop? Do you remember what happened to my sister?! Do you remember what it feels like to lose the person closest to you while they bleed out in your arms?! I lost Kanae! And you... you carelessly, for the sake of some 'expediency,' forced me to go through that hell all over again!"
Her words struck you harder than Zohakuten's wooden dragon tail ever could.
Your analytical mind—accustomed to operating with numbers, probabilities, and combat efficiency—was suddenly confronted with an array of data it had never factored in. Emotions. Trauma. The terror of loss.
You had constructed your battle strategy factoring in the strength of the demon's wood, regeneration speed, and the time remaining until sunrise. But you had omitted the most important variable from your calculations: Kocho Shinobu's soul. You had failed to account for the fact that your death or severe injury would not merely be the loss of a combat unit to her, but a repetition of her worst life nightmare. You had shattered her psyche with your coldness.
The system returned a critical error in your operational algorithm. And the realization of that error pierced you with sharp, searing guilt.
The silence in the room was broken only by the muffled, bitter sobs of the Insect Hashira. She stood by the window, her back turned to you, arms wrapped tightly around herself as though attempting to shield herself from the cold emanating from your pragmatism.
You took a deep breath. Your ribs flared with sharp pain, but you ignored it. With an incredible effort of will, forcing atrophied muscles to obey, you slowly swung your legs toward the edge of the bed. Pushing the light blanket aside, you lowered your bare feet onto the cool wooden floor. Your legs trembled so violently that it felt as if they would snap under your weight.
"What are you doing?!" Shinobu turned at the sound, her eyes widening in panic. "Lie back down! You have fused fractures, muscle atrophy—you can't..."
You ignored her medical orders. Clenching your teeth until they ground together, you pushed off the bed and took two uncertain, staggering steps toward her. The ground gave way beneath your feet and vision darkened, but you pushed forward stubbornly.
"[Y/N], you're insane!" Shinobu rushed toward you just as your knees buckled completely.
She caught you, absorbing your weight against herself, and you both slid slowly onto the floor of the room. You ended up on your knees, your face buried in her collarbones, breathing heavily and raggedly. Her arms instinctively wrapped tightly around your back, supporting you.
"Why did you get up? Do you want to kill yourself again?" Shinobu sobbed, her fingers desperately clutching the fabric of your hospital shirt.
You pressed against her as tightly as your weakened muscles allowed. The scent of chamomile, blended with the smell of her tears, filled your lungs.
"An error..." Your voice trembled, stripped of all its icy composure. It was the voice of a living, vulnerable human being. "A critical, fatal error in calculation."
You slowly raised a trembling hand and awkwardly, yet reverently, buried your fingers in her disheveled dark hair.
"I failed to factor in the variable of your grief, Shinobu," you whispered, pressing your lips to her neck, hot with tears. "I viewed my body as an instrument—a weapon that must break to protect others. But I forgot... I failed to analyze the fact that this body no longer belongs solely to me. It belongs to you."
Shinobu froze. Her sobs subsided, replaced by hitching gasps. She listened to you, unable to believe you were uttering those words.
"I... I recognize my error," you continued, and for the first time, moisture gathered in your eyes, threatening to spill as tears. Your glacier—which had begun to melt during the nights of your intimacy—now collapsed entirely under the weight of her love and pain. "Sacrificing oneself is selfish. It is the logic of a loner. But I am no longer alone. I caused you to suffer. My actions were not expedient. They were cruel toward you. Forgive me, Shinobu. Forgive me for making you go through that terror again."
The words, so genuine and stripped of your usual terminology, breached Shinobu's final wall of anger. All her rage, all the fury accumulated over those three months, dissolved without a trace, giving way to boundless, all-consuming tenderness and relief.
She framed your face with both palms, forcing you to look up. Her eyes, still wet with tears, shone with such absolute love that it took your breath away.
"You are an unbearable, stubborn, tiresome block of ice," Shinobu whispered, sobbing, though a genuine, radiant smile was already blooming on her lips. "But you are mine. And if you ever try to play the martyr-hero again, I will personally poison you with a paralytic and tie you to a bed for the rest of your life. Do you understand me?"
"I am adjusting my priorities," you nodded earnestly, gazing into her striking purple eyes. "Survival and the preservation of my own integrity now hold the highest priority—so that I may function beside you. I promise."
Shinobu let out a quiet, happy laugh that vibrated against your chest. She leaned forward and covered your lips with hers.
It was a kiss filled with the taste of tears, the bitterness of endured terror, and the sweetness of reunion. There was no aggressive passion in it like the night you exchanged roles; there was a profound, desperate need to feel that you were here, that you were real, that you were breathing. Your lips, having returned to their familiar coolness, responded to her with clumsy yet boundless tenderness. You poured into that kiss all the love you still didn't know how to express properly in words, but which your body transmitted flawlessly.
When you reluctantly pulled back to catch your breath, Shinobu pressed her forehead against yours. You were still sitting on the floor of the room, entwined in an embrace, oblivious to the cold wood and the ache in your muscles.
"Your temperature is back to normal," Shinobu noted softly, tracing your pale cheek with her thumb. "You're cool again. My glacier has returned."
"Yes. The cooling system has been restored," you offered a faint smile, allowing yourself that tiny luxury of emotion. "Though I suspect I still require your thermoregulation 'procedures.' Ideally, on a regular basis."
Shinobu laughed happily, burying her face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of antiseptics and your natural, frosty aroma.
"Oh, believe me, Doctor [Y/N]," she purred, holding you tighter against herself. "As soon as you can stand on your own two feet without my help, I will arrange a thermoregulation course that will make your entire encyclopedia burn with shame. But for now... let's get you back to bed before you pass out from exhaustion. Heroics are canceled for today."
You obediently allowed her to lift you and lay you back onto the soft sheets. Your body ached, months of difficult rehabilitation lay ahead, and the war against demons was far from over. But as you watched Shinobu tenderly adjust your blanket, no longer hiding behind a mask of a false smile, you knew with absolute certainty: your icy shell was shattered forever. And this exothermic reaction called love was worth every broken bone and every burn. Because now, that fire kept you both warm.
Helloooooo. I’ve asked a few ideas before already and I love your work, and I love the way you write that one ice hashira x shinobu character.shes so stoic and funny and annoying, and it git me wondering what would happen if it was on the other way around and shinobu was the one trying to please the ice wall. I can imagine the reader would focus way more on Shinobu than on herself, and after days of only Shinobu being the pillow princess, she got annoyed and tried to take the reader to bed this time. Idk bout the rest but I can imagine yn being so held up and quiet unconditionally in bed, not being able to make many noises and stuff. Just an idea tho
Shift of Polarity
Warnings 18+
Shinobu Kocho x female reader
Word Count: 4853
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4
Ever since that momentous evening when the anatomy medical encyclopedia was tossed into the far corner of the room, and theory finally gave way to practice, the dynamics in your relationship had acquired a truly unique, one-of-a-kind character.
Your analytical brain—accustomed to categorizing everything, processing data, and polishing any undertaking to absolute perfection—perceived intimacy with Kocho Shinobu as a critical scientific project. You approached the matter of satisfying your partner with the same terrifying, icy methodicalness with which you usually dispatched demons. And the results of this "scientific endeavor" turned out to be genuinely staggering.
Within a few weeks, you had transformed into an ideal, tireless, and frighteningly focused initiator. You studied Shinobu's reactions as if the fate of all humanity depended on it. Your cool, strong swordsman’s hands, possessing unbelievable stamina thanks to Ice Breathing, could drive the Insect Hashira into frenzy for hours on end without knowing fatigue or tremors. You memorized every breath of hers, every muscular spasm, every single spot on her body where a touch triggered a maximum surge of endorphins.
As a result, Shinobu found herself in a position that, in the modern world, would be termed "pillow princess." Every night, as the doors to her private quarters closed, she ended up sprawled on the futon while you assumed the entire burden of physical work. You caressed her, brought her to multiple orgasms, examined her body with clinical precision, and remained completely imperturbable throughout—like a scientist observing a successful chemical experiment in a test tube.
For Shinobu—a proud, passionate woman accustomed to keeping everything under control—this situation proved to be a double-edged sword. On one hand, the physical pleasure you delivered was so all-consuming that her brain literally melted. She felt loved, desired, and enveloped in such intense, albeit mechanical, care that she couldn't help but reciprocate.
On the other hand, her Hashira ego and her feminine pride began to sound the alarm. You completely ignored your own needs. Every time Shinobu, breathing heavily and trembling from experienced ecstasy, reached out to you to return the favor, you gently yet firmly intercepted her wrists.
"Denied," you would state in your signature, tone-deaf voice, neatly placing her hands back on the futon. "Your muscles are exhausted; your adenosine triphosphate level is critically low. You require a deep sleep phase to restore muscle fibers. My physical discharge is not a priority task. Observing your muscular contractions and the release of happiness hormones provides me with a sufficient level of dopamine for normal functioning. Rest, Kocho."
And so it continued day after day. The ice wall remained an ice wall, with the sole difference that now this wall knew how to masterfully drive Shinobu to a white heat of pleasure while remaining entirely untouchable.
It was a muggy, humid summer afternoon. The rainy season had just ended, and the air at the Butterfly Mansion was dense, steeped in the aromas of damp earth, blooming hydrangeas, and astringent medicinal herbs.
You were sitting on the wide wooden engawa overlooking the inner garden. The bamboo shishi-odoshi fountain rhythmically clacked against stone: clack... clack... measuring out the lazily stretching time. Shinobu was sorting dried aconite leaves, while you, sitting with an impeccably straight back, were methodically sharpening your spare tanto with mathematical precision.
Shinobu kept casting sideways, irritated glances at you. Last night had followed the familiar script again: you had brought her to absolute exhaustion, brought her to tears of pleasure, and then, when she attempted to strip off your high-collared, fully buttoned uniform, you simply covered her with a blanket and recited a brief lecture on the importance of thermoregulation after intercourse.
Her patience—which had never been her strong suit to begin with—was currently on the brink of catastrophic collapse.
"You know, [Y/N]-san," Shinobu began, her voice sounding deceptively sweet, like molasses hiding a razor blade. "I was re-reading the medical archives this morning. And I stumbled upon a very interesting article about disruptions in the nervous system. It described a syndrome where the subject completely loses the ability to experience physical pleasure due to a maniacal fixation on control. It suddenly occurred to me... aren't you suffering from something similar?"
You didn't even pause the movement of the whetstone along the blade. Your face remained as impenetrable as a frozen lake.
"Your hypothesis lacks an evidentiary basis, Kocho," you replied in an even, lecture-like tone, blowing fine metal dust off the tanto blade. "My nervous system functions within absolute normal parameters. Sensory receptors respond adequately to stimuli. My reluctance to enter the phase of passive stimulation is solely due to the optimization of energy expenditure. I am the Ice Hashira. My physiology is tuned to preserve cold and suppress excessive thermal reactions. When I focus on you, I control the process. If the focus shifts to me, it may lead to the destabilization of my internal temperature balance. This is irrational."
Shinobu squeezed the bundle of aconite in her hand so hard that the dry stems snapped with a crunch, scattering onto the wooden floor. Her plastered smile distorted, turning into something between a snarl and a grimace of pain.
"Optimization of energy expenditure? Destabilization of temperature balance?" she hissed, springing to her feet. Her haori, resembling butterfly wings, flared up from the sudden movement. "Are you mocking me, [Y/N]? We are not at a war council! We are not discussing battle tactics! We are talking about you acting like an selfish piece of ice that refuses to let me touch you!"
You stopped your work. Slowly, with icy composure, you set aside the whetstone and raised your gaze to meet her pale, expressionless eyes.
"My behavior exhibits no signs of selfishness," you countered logically. "Selfishness implies disregard for a partner's interests for one's own gain. I, on the contrary, invest one hundred percent of my time and physical resources into your satisfaction. I maximize your comfort. Your reaction is classified as an inadequate offense taken at care."
"TO HELL WITH YOUR CARE AND YOUR CHARTS!" Shinobu exploded, losing her composure completely. Red spots of rage flushed her cheeks. She took a step right up to you, looming over you as you sat on the engawa. "I don't need a personal physical therapist in bed! I want my girlfriend! I want to touch you! I want to see you lose that damned control of yours! I want to hear you groan, not listen to you lecture me on the chemical composition of lubricant! Do you understand that, damn it?!"
You looked intently at her heavily heaving chest, her dilated pupils, and the flush on her cheeks. Your built-in "radar" instantly analyzed the situation.
"Your emotional state is unstable," you stated without even blinking. "Cortisol is off the charts. You are experiencing frustration due to an unfulfilled need for dominance and reciprocal reaction."
"If you don't shut your mouth right now, I will pour a lethal dose of paralytic into you," Shinobu growled, leaning down so low that her lips nearly brushed your ear. Her voice vibrated with suppressed rage and desperation. "Listen to me carefully, my ice queen. Tonight, I am coming to your room. And if you attempt to read me another lecture about the ATP levels in my muscles or stop my hands... I swear, I will tie you down. I will make you forget your own name. I will melt your glacier so thoroughly that not even a puddle will be left of it."
Shinobu pulled back sharply, spun on her heel, and retreated down the corridor of the Butterfly Mansion with quick, sharp strides, leaving you sitting on the veranda completely alone.
The bamboo fountain clacked against the stone again: clack...
You slowly shifted your gaze back to the unfinished tanto. Your brain feverishly processed the incoming data. The threat was explicit. Shinobu's intention to seize the initiative was classified as a hundred percent guaranteed eventuality.
"Role model shift," you said softly into the empty yard. Your voice remained monotonous, but somewhere deep within your chest—where, by the laws of your nature, absolute zero should reign—a tiny, pulsating spark of interest suddenly ignited. "Transition from the active phase to the passive. Very well. This is a new variable in our experiment. Let us see what its efficiency coefficient will be."
Evening descended upon the Butterfly Mansion unnoticed. Cicadas struck up their deafening, monotonous song, and paper lanterns flickered along the hallways, casting a warm, shimmering light across the wooden paneling.
You were in your assigned guest quarters. Knowing Shinobu's declared intentions, you decided to approach the matter with your usual pedantry. If you were to act as the "guinea pig" to satisfy her bruised ego, the conditions ought to be ideal. You had taken a cool bath to wash away the sweat from your daytime training and donned a clean, loose yukata made of dense white cotton. Your hair was neatly combed, falling loose over your back.
You sat in the center of the room directly on the futon, hands folded on your knees, eyes closed, engaging a mild form of Ice Breathing to slow your heart rate and lower your core temperature. If Shinobu intended to "melt" you, you needed to ensure the purity of the experiment by creating maximum thermal contrast.
The shoji door slid open precisely at 21:00. Not a minute earlier, not a minute later.
Shinobu entered the room. A single glance at her caused your internal analyst to register changes instantly. She was not wearing her usual light silk. She wore tight, fitted Slayer training attire, devoid of her haori. Her hair was pulled tightly back, and there was not even a hint of her usual, faux-friendly smile on her face. The Insect Hashira’s eyes looked at you coldly, calculatively, and intensely predatory. Tonight she came not as a lover seeking affection. Tonight she came as a warrior preparing to besiege an impregnable fortress.
She closed the door soundlessly behind her and turned the lock. The click sounded like a gunshot in the silence of the room.
"I see you prepared yourself, [Y/N]," her voice was low, almost purring, yet underlaid with steel. She walked slowly toward the futon.
"I minimized the layers of clothing to facilitate your access to the skin," you reported calmly, opening your eyes. "My core temperature has been reduced by two degrees to create thermal resistance. Pulse is stable at fifty beats per minute. I am ready to begin the procedure."
Shinobu stopped a step away from you. Her eye twitched nervously again. "Gods... you truly are hopeless. 'Procedure.' You speak of this as if I am about to remove your appendix."
"Judging by your muscular tension and aggressive posture, surgical intervention cannot be ruled out," you tilted your head slightly. "However, I am prepared to grant you the role of dominant partner for tonight. According to my calculations, your need for dominance..."
Shinobu didn't let you finish the sentence. Her movements—honed over years of battles with demons—were faster than an ordinary human eye could track.
In a fraction of a second, she closed the distance, her hands locking onto your shoulders like steel vices. Utilizing her body's momentum and your relaxed posture, she yanked you toward herself sharply and, planting her leg, executed a textbook hip throw.
Before you could even blink, the world flipped upside down. Your back hit the soft futon with a dull thud. Air briefly fled your lungs. Before your brain could send a signal to counterattack, Shinobu was already on top of you. She straddled your hips, pinning you to the floor with her full weight, while her hands instantly seized your wrists, slamming them into the tatami on either side of your head.
The hold was flawless: technical, firm, and leaving zero avenues for retreat.
You lay on your back, looking up at the woman looming over you. Your face remained as impassive as ever, but a flicker of mild surprise flashed in your eyes.
"Tactical restraint executed at nine out of ten points," you evaluated the situation in a calm, icy tone, making not the slightest attempt to break free. "Your center of gravity is positioned ideally. The distribution of weight blocks the function of my thigh muscles. However, I venture to note that applying combat techniques prior to intercourse is unnecessary. I have already declared my readiness to submit."
Shinobu leaned down so low that her long bangs brushed your forehead. Her breath, hot and ragged, scorched your cool skin.
"I don't need your 'voluntary submission,' [Y/N]," she whispered, her purple eyes darkening with suppressed passion. "I don't need you lying here like an anatomical model analyzing my actions. I want you to lose control. I want to see the ice melt and turn into steam. And I will not stop until I hear you whimpering my name."
"Biologically impractical to expend oxygen on vocalization during intense physical exertion," you responded automatically, your brain continuing to cling to logic like a lifeline. "Vocalization is a byproduct..."
"Shut up," Shinobu growled.
And her lips crashed onto yours with fierce, crushing force.
This kiss bore no resemblance to the measured, careful caresses you had bestowed upon her on previous nights. It was wild, impatient, and openly possessive. Shinobu's lips bruised yours, her tongue invading your mouth commandingly, exploring it with aggressive heat. The taste of her saliva, the subtle hint of the chamomile tea she had drunk earlier, and the flavor of her own resolve blended together, forcing your receptors to overload with information.
You instinctively tried to respond to the kiss, your tongue timidly sliding out to meet her assault, but your hands, pinned to the floor, remained relaxed. You didn't resist. You simply... observed. From within.
Breaking away from your lips, Shinobu breathed heavily. She had expected you to fight back, your breathing to falter, to show at least some emotional reaction to this sudden aggression.
Yet you lay beneath her with that same icy, unruffled expression. Your pulse—which she could feel clearly through the skin of your wrists—hadn't even accelerated. Fifty beats per minute. No more, no less.
Shinobu's eye twitched again. This was a direct challenge—a challenge to her femininity, her skills, and her love. The ice wall before her refused to crack.
"Very well, my ice queen," the Insect Hashira whispered, her lips curving into a dangerous, predatory half-smile. "Let's see how durable your thermal insulation really is."
She released your wrists. You didn't move your arms, leaving them resting beside your body palms up, demonstrating complete surrender. This infuriated Shinobu even more, but she reined herself in.
Her nimble, slender doctor's fingers slid to the knot of your yukata. With one swift movement, she untied the sash and parted the fabric, exposing your body. Your skin—pale and cool—looked like porcelain in the dim light of the room.
Shinobu began her exploration. She didn't jump straight to the primary erogenous zones. As a brilliant anatomist, she knew the human body better than anyone in the Corps. She started with those points most people ignore, but which possess a colossal concentration of nerve endings.
Her hot, damp lips pressed against the delicate skin behind your ear. She slowly traced her tongue along the contour of your earlobe, then bit down lightly on the lobe, inhaling the cool scent of your skin—smelling of mint and snow.
Your face remained motionless. Your eyes stared up at the wooden ceiling as if counting the beams.
"Your thermal impact on the postauricular lymph node region causes localized capillary dilation," you stated monotonously, without a single note of pleasure or passion. Your voice was as quiet and measured as the rustle of pages in a library. "This triggers a minor influx of blood to the brain. However, the intensity of the stimulus is insufficient to cross the threshold of pain or erogenous sensitivity."
Shinobu grit her teeth, feeling a dull rage boiling inside her alongside passion. She ignored your commentary.
Her hands, hot as stoves, slid down your neck, leaving a trail of searing kisses along your collarbones. She descended to your small, neat breasts. Unlike you, who had always approached caresses with surgical precision, Shinobu acted instinctively, greedily. She cupped your breasts in her palms, squeezing them softly, before her mouth engulfed your nipple. She pulled it into her mouth, sucking firmly, teasing it with her tongue, alternating gentle touches with light, possessive nips.
Any other woman in your position would have long since arched her back, groaning in pleasure, losing her mind from this wet, hot contrast against her icy skin.
But not you.
Your chest rose and fell in that same steady, perfect rhythm of Ice Breathing. Your arms remained lying limply on the futon.
"The pressure exerted by your oral cavity on the areola stimulates the release of oxytocin into the bloodstream," you continued your audio transmission just as impassively, gazing at the ceiling. "The contraction of muscle fibers around the nipple occurs reflexively; it is a sympathetic nervous system response to a moist and warm environment. Subjectively, this is rated as... acceptable. However, my neural network is still capable of processing background noise. I can hear the cicada outside emitting a sound at a frequency of..."
"BE SILENT!" Shinobu shouted in desperation, tearing herself away from your chest. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes burning with feverish fire. She looked at your completely unruffled face, genuine panic seizing her. Did you truly feel nothing? Was your armor so thick that her love, her passion, and her skills simply shattered against it without leaving a trace?
"I am merely providing feedback to help adjust your actions," you shifted your gaze to her, genuinely failing to understand her outrage. "In any experiment, data collection is a key stage. If I do not vocalize my physiological responses, how will you know if you are on the right track?"
"I will know by the way you tremble! By the way your breath hitches! By your groans, damn it!" Shinobu slammed her fists onto the futon on either side of you. "You are acting like a corpse on a pathologist's table! You are driving me insane, [Y/N]!"
"A corpse is incapable of synthesizing oxytocin, Kocho. Your analogy remains incorrect."
Shinobu closed her eyes and took a deep, ragged breath. Her nostrils flared. She realized that reasoning and anger were useless here. Ice could not be melted with words. Ice could only be melted by a colossal, continuous application of fire.
She opened her eyes. In them remained no irritation, no panic—only the icy, lethal resolve of the Insect Hashira who had found a vulnerable spot in an Upper Rank demon.
"Fine," Shinobu whispered, her voice dropping to a dangerous, vibrating murmur. "You want to collect data, my ice queen? I will provide you with so much data that your processor will burn out from overheating. I will make you forget all this scientific nonsense. I will make you scream my name."
Shinobu no longer wasted time on foreplay or gentle kisses; she brought out the heavy artillery. As a master of poisons, she knew everything about chemical reactions in the body. As a physician, she knew where the main nerve pathways ran. And she intended to use this knowledge against you with the maximum cruelty of a woman in love.
She shifted downward sharply, settling between your thighs. Her hands ruthlessly spread your legs apart, pinning them in an open, vulnerable position. Your yukata was completely cast aside on the floor. You lay before her entirely naked, exposed, and defenseless.
Shinobu didn't touch your center with her hands. She bent down and pressed her lips to the inner side of your left thigh. It was a place where the skin was thinnest, and blood vessels ran closest to the surface.
She began to kiss, nip, and lick your skin, working her way higher, millimeter by millimeter. Her hot breath clashed with your icy skin, causing a sharp thermal dissonance. She deliberately breathed directly onto the most sensitive areas, creating the illusion of a cold burn.
You stared at the ceiling. "Your respiration induces goosebumps. Piloerection is a vestigial reflex aimed at heat retention. In this instance, it is triggered by..."
Shinobu ignored you. Her lips reached the very edge of your womanhood. She picked up the faint, subtle scent of your arousal, mingled with the smell of snow. Your glands—contrary to your icy mind—had already begun releasing lubrication. Your body was betraying your brain, responding to her proximity.
Shinobu didn't enter you right away. She knew direct contact would only elicit another round of dry analytics. She chose to act more subtly, exhausting your nervous system.
She extended her warm, wet tongue and dragged it directly over your clitoral hood. Slowly. With pressure. From bottom to top.
It was like an electric shock. The temperature differential between your flesh—honed by Ice Breathing—and her white-hot tongue was so shocking that your monologue abruptly snapped mid-word.
"...triggered by..." Your voice hitched. For the first time all evening.
Shinobu smirked triumphantly against your skin. She had found a breach in the armor.
She continued her torture. Her tongue traced circles around your sensitive center, alternating between speeding up and slowing down to a agonizingly teasing pace. She used her lips to gently draw your swollen clitoris into her mouth, sucking with enough force as if to draw your very soul out of you. Simultaneously, her hands clamped firmly around your thighs, preventing you from closing your legs or pulling away.
Your analytical brain sounded the alarm. The system was failing.
"Stimulation..." You swallowed, your voice losing its icy firmness and rising half an octave. "Clitoral nerve stimulation... overloading synapses. Impulse frequency... exceeding normal parameters..."
"Keep talking," Shinobu hummed through her caresses, her hot breath scorching your wet flesh. "Tell me what you feel, my ice queen. Tell me about the synapses."
She slid two fingers inside your passage. The walls of your vagina—despite your external calm—were extraordinarily hot, wet, and tight. They instantly clasped her fingers, contracting reflexively, betraying your true state.
Shinobu began to move her fingers inside you. She located your G-spot and began rhythmically massaging it, pressing against it in time with the stroke of her tongue over your clitoris. It was a dual, cross-fire assault that no living person could endure.
You closed your eyes tightly. Your hands, which had been lying limply on the futon, suddenly clenched into fists. Your nails dug into the fabric with such force that the sound of tearing threads echoed.
The Ice Breathing you had been maintaining so meticulously to preserve your coolness began to falter. The rhythm broke. Your chest heaved faster, greedily gasping for air.
"Core... temperature... critical," you rasped, throwing your head back. Your neck arched, exposing your vulnerable throat. "Adrenaline surge... endorphins... system cannot... cannot process data volume..."
"Yes," Shinobu whispered, drawing her fingers out and immediately plunging them back in—deeper, faster. Her tongue turned into a ruthless, wet instrument of pleasure-torture. "Break, [Y/N]. Allow yourself to break for me."
Your hips, which you had fought so stubbornly to keep still, took on a life of their own. They twitched fine, convulsive movements, instinctively bucking up against her hands and lips. You tried to maintain control, clenching your jaw to avoid making a sound. Your pride, your nature as the Ice Hashira fought desperately against your physiology.
Yet Shinobu showed no mercy. She was an expert on poisons. And the sweetest poison was pleasure pushed to the absolute extreme.
She added a third finger. The stretch became almost painful, but that pain instantly drowned in a tsunami of ecstasy as her mouth latched onto your center with renewed vigor. She began making soft, wet, suction sounds that struck your psyche harder than the physical stimulation itself. You could hear her enjoying you. You could feel her sweat dripping onto your thighs.
Your wall crumbled.
The fuses blew. Logic, charts, terminology—all swept away by a powerful, destructive torrent of pure, primal passion.
Your eyes snapped open, dark, dilated, and filled with absolute, wild frenzy. Your body arched violently, lifting your hips off the futon, impaling yourself onto her hand with such force that Shinobu barely kept her balance.
From your throat—which had spent its entire life voicing only dry facts—a sound tore free.
It wasn't a groan. It was a raspy, broken scream filled with desperation and unbearable pleasure.
"Sh-Shinobu!" you cried out, and in that scream lay not a single drop of icy composure. Your hands shot down, locking onto her shoulders—not pushing her away, but pulling her against you even harder. Your nails left deep tracks on her skin. "Gods... stop... don't stop! I... I can't..."
Hearing her name torn from your lips with such desperate passion, Shinobu felt her own heart skip a beat from triumph and boundless love. The glacier had fallen. Absolute zero had reached its boiling point.
She didn't stop. She accelerated her pace to the absolute maximum, her fingers and tongue working in perfect, lethal harmony, driving you straight over the edge of the abyss.
Your body shuddered in violent, uncontrollable convulsions. Spasms—intense and painfully sweet—rippled through your internal muscles, clamping tightly like a vice around Shinobu's fingers. You screamed with your head thrown back, no longer holding back a single sound, tears pouring involuntarily down your cheeks from the sheer force of an orgasm that felt like the end of the world. You spilled onto her tongue and fingers in a powerful, hot rush, feeling your consciousness dissolve into a white flash of pure, concentrated bliss.
You continued to tremble lightly, gasping heavily and raggedly, your fingers still clutching Shinobu's shoulders in spasms. Your entire icy armor had melted away, turning into steam, leaving behind only a heavily breathing, utterly vulnerable, and spent woman.
Shinobu slowly, reluctantly pulled away from your flesh. Her face was slick with your juices and sweat, her chest heaved, and her lips wore the most triumphant, genuine, and happy smile you had ever seen.
She crawled up your body, pressing her warm, flushed skin against yours—which now burned with heat, having lost its cold forever. Shinobu lay atop you, burying her face in the crook of your neck, her heavy breaths scorching your skin.
Silence descended on the room, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing and the quiet clack of the bamboo fountain outside.
You lay on your back, staring at the ceiling. Your brain slowly—as if recovering from severe shellshock—attempted to reboot its systems. Logical chains reassembled with difficulty. Your body hummed from the experienced pleasure; every cell sang, demanding more.
You tried to swallow; your throat was dry. Your arms, which had fallen limply onto the futon, slowly rose and, contrary to all logic, softly wrapped around Shinobu's back, pulling her close.
"The experiment..." Your voice was quiet, still raspy and trembling, yet carrying familiar, lecture-like undertones. "The experiment is complete."
Shinobu, lying on top of you, let out a soft, tired, but utterly happy chuckle that vibrated against your chest. She raised her head, resting her chin on your collarbones, and looked up at you with her huge, shining purple eyes.
"And what are the results, Professor?" she purred, licking a droplet of sweat from your neck. "Was your hypothesis regarding energy expenditure optimization confirmed? Or shall we make adjustments to the schedules?"
You looked into her eyes. Your internal glacier had been shattered, and now you saw the world in an entirely different light. You saw more than just physiological processes; you saw love. The love of this poisonous, thorny, unbearable, and breathtaking woman who had expended so much effort to break through to your heart past a wall of calculations and dry logic.
You slowly raised your hand and gently, almost timidly, tucked a stray lock of her dark hair behind her ear. It was your first truly conscious gesture of tenderness, unprompted by any need for tactile contact from an encyclopedia.
"Analysis of the post-experimental data indicates that my initial model was flawed," you looked into her eyes, and for the first time in your life, your words didn't sound like an excerpt from a textbook. They carried a human, raw sincerity. "Passive reception of stimulation, when originating from you, induces a release of dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin in volumes exceeding critical mass. The response of my nervous system..."
You faltered, your cheeks flushing lightly again.
"The response of my nervous system was... astounding."
Shinobu smiled so widely and tenderly that it took your breath away. She leaned forward and kissed your lips gently, chastely.
"I am glad we could enrich your scientific foundation, [Y/N]-san," the Insect Hashira whispered, settling comfortably against your chest, closing her eyes with the clear intention of falling asleep right there. "But bear in mind, this is only the beginning. My personal medical library contains many more untested techniques. And I intend to apply them to you every single night until you unlearn how to speak in complex terminology."
You gently stroked her back, feeling her body relax in your embrace. Your pulse returned to fifty beats per minute, but now that stability was not a sign of coldness. It was the serenity of a person who had found her absolute, perfect balance.
"I do not object to continuing the research, Kocho," you answered softly, looking at the flickering candle flame. "On the condition that the exchange of roles occurs according to an equal schedule. My need to observe your reactions has not disappeared. Tomorrow is my turn."
Shinobu merely let out a soft, happy sigh in her sleep, agreeing to any conditions you set.
The ice wall hadn't just melted; it had transformed into a surging river, ready to sweep away any obstacle to protect, love, and drive insane a single, extraordinarily persistent butterfly. And this new, logic-defying law of nature suited you both more than completely.
(This is my first req ever so please forgive me if I’m doing it wrong)
I wanted to request a platonic Shinobu & Reader oneshot or headcanon where the reader is a demon that has never eaten a human (like Nezuko). A child that was turned (specifically 3-4 years old), but the thing is, they keep following Shinobu on missions, specifically to watch her fight with this strange adoration, and Shinobu’s not used to it because she’s suddenly got this weird demon child thing that’s looking at her like she’s the best thing in the universe while she slaughters their own kind.
I just think it’d be cute to put Shinobu in Giyuu’s shoes but like with 10x the comedy because it’s just confused Shinobu whose like ‘WHOSE BABY IS THIS AND WHY ARE THEY SMILING-‘
The Poisonous Butterfly and Her Demonic Daycare
Shinobu Kocho x female reader (platonic)
Word Count: 3805
Kocho Shinobu hated demons. It wasn't merely a distaste or a professional obligation—it was a deep, all-consuming, soul-corroding hatred that throbbed in her veins in place of blood. Every time her exquisite blade, shaped like the stinger of a deadly insect, pierced the flesh of another monster to inject a fatal dose of wisteria-based poison, Shinobu smiled. Her smile was flawless, soft, almost angelic. It was a mask hiding an endless rage for her fallen sister, for shattered families, and for every drop of human blood spilled by these creatures.
Her world was black and white. Humans were victims to be protected at all costs. Demons were monsters to be exterminated without a sliver of remorse. In this pristine logic, there was no room for exceptions, gray areas, or compromises.
That was, until a factor violating all laws of physics, biology, and common sense invaded her perfectly calculated, tragic, and bloody life.
A factor that looked to be about three or four years old. A factor wearing an oversized kimono slipping off tiny shoulders, possessing tiny, barely sprouted fangs, and looking at the Insect Hashira as though she were not a harbinger of death, but the most beautiful and wonderful phenomenon in this cursed universe.
It all began in a thick, fog-shrouded forest on the outskirts of the prefecture. The mission was routine: a local man-eating demon terrorizing woodcutters turned out to be quite slow and none too bright. It took Shinobu precisely three minutes to complete her dance of death.
"Insect Breathing. Butterfly Dance: Caprice," she chanted in her signature melodic voice, landing elegantly on the branch of an old oak.
Below, making gruesome, gurgling sounds, the demon began to dissolve into a purple cloud of poison. His flesh melted, his bones crumbled to dust, and he screamed in excruciating agony. Shinobu leapt to the ground with the grace of a professional ballerina, flicked an invisible speck of dust off her haori—which resembled butterfly wings—with an elegant motion, and sheathed her blade with her usual plastered smile.
Another beast sent to hell. Perfect.
She was just about to turn and head toward the nearest town to send her crow with a report when her keen hearing caught a strange sound.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The sound was quiet, rhythmic, and absurdly out of place at the site of a bloody execution. Shinobu instantly tensed. Her hand returned to the hilt of her katana. Was there a second enemy here? An ambush?
She spun around, ready to strike, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the underbrush.
Stepping awkwardly from behind a massive, moss-covered boulder, swaying from foot to foot, came a tiny girl. She wore a dirty, clearly borrowed, oversized kimono whose hem dragged along the ground.
Shinobu froze. A Hashira's rapid analytical processing kicked in:
Pale skin, an unnatural glint in her eyes, tiny vertical pupils.
Aura. A distinct, unmistakable demonic aura emanated from the child.
Conclusion: Demon. Subject to immediate elimination.
Shinobu made a lightning-fast lunge. The edge of her blade stopped exactly one millimeter from the creature's thin neck. One motion, and the poison would do its job.
But the girl didn't try to attack. She didn't scream. She made no attempt to flee or use a Blood Demon Art.
Instead, the little demoness opened her eyes wide, staring at the lethal blade. And then... she smiled.
It wasn't the bloodthirsty grin of a monster. It was a toothless (save for two tiny, almost toy-like fangs), utterly happy, and genuine childish smile. The toddler raised her chubby hands and clapped joyfully.
"But-ter-fly!" she forced out in a high-pitched, distorted, yet visibly delighted voice, pointing a chubby finger at Shinobu's haori. And then, completely ignoring the deadly sword pressed against her throat, the girl reached her arms upward in the classic "pick me up" gesture.
Shinobu's smile, which hadn't left her face for years, faltered and cracked.
"WHAT?" was the only coherent thought her brilliant mind could form.
She stood in the middle of a dark forest, surrounded by the stench of dissolving demonic ash, sword held to a monster's throat... and this monster was asking to be held, gazing at her with an adoration as if she were not an executioner, but a fairy-tale sprite brought to life.
"Um..." Shinobu cleared her throat, attempting to regain her composure. "Little demoness. Do you realize that I am about to kill you? I am a Slayer. I hurt your kind. Very badly."
The toddler merely giggled, reaching out toward the katana's blade.
Shinobu yanked the sword back in a panic so the foolish creature wouldn't accidentally cut herself on the poisoned steel. As soon as the blade disappeared, the girl pouted her lips in disappointment, but immediately redirected her attention to Shinobu's butterfly hairpin.
"Pret-ty!" she squeaked, shuffling her feet.
Shinobu slowly lowered her sword. A short circuit was occurring in her brain. She couldn't kill this. Not because she felt sorry for a demon—no, they didn't deserve pity. But because doing so would be akin to kicking a kitten that was rubbing against your leg. It was so surreal that Shinobu's brain simply refused to issue the command to kill.
Besides, her sharp sense of smell picked up something odd. This child didn't smell like blood. Not at all. She smelled of damp earth, leaves, and... milk? None of the stench of human flesh that always accompanied man-eaters.
"Alright, fine," Shinobu sheathed her sword, massaging her temples with her free hand. The mask slid completely off her face, giving way to genuine, profound bewilderment. "I don't know whose child you are, why you turned into a demon, and most importantly, WHY YOU ARE SMILING AT ME, but I am simply going to leave. Yes. I will turn around and walk away. And you will stay here. Do we understand each other?"
The toddler blinked in confusion.
Shinobu spun on her heel and, using breathing techniques, instantly dissolved into the tree canopy, moving at speeds invisible to the human eye.
"Just a hallucination from exhaustion," she reassured herself, leaping from branch to branch. "Demons don't clap when their kin are turned into a puddle of toxic sludge. It's just stress."
Ten kilometers later, she stopped on the roof of an abandoned temple to catch her breath. The moon brightly illuminated the tiles. Shinobu sat down gracefully, adjusting her haori... and immediately felt something soft and persistent bump into her ankle.
She slowly, very slowly lowered her gaze.
Sitting beside her leg, breathing heavily but wearing an expression of absolute triumph, was that very same little demoness. How she had managed to cover ten kilometers in such a short time on her short little legs remained a mystery that would make physicists weep.
The girl looked up at her with eyes full of pure, puppy-like delight, pointed a finger at her, and declared: "Fast-y but-ter-fly! A-gain!"
Shinobu buried her face in her hands and let out a quiet, desperate groan. "What did I do to deserve this..."
From that night on, her life turned into an endless, absurd sitcom.
The little demoness, whom she mentally dubbed "Problem," flatly refused to leave her side. She didn't attack. She didn't try to bite. She just... tagged along. Everywhere.
It seemed Problem had developed some strange form of imprinting. The toddler viewed Shinobu not as a threat, but as the most captivating spectacle in her new, demonic life. And worst of all, Problem loved watching Shinobu work.
Three weeks later, Shinobu received an assignment to clear a mountain pass of a group of low-ranking demons. The fight was bloody and messy. Shinobu moved like lightning, her poison ruthlessly dissolving the monsters' flesh. She severed limbs, injected toxins, her face twisted in cold, professional cruelty. She looked like a true demon of vengeance.
She impaled the last enemy straight through the neck. He coughed up blood, cursing her with the foulest words before his body began to crumble. Shinobu, breathing heavily, flicked the blood off her blade. It was a terrifying, grim sight, not meant for a child's eyes.
"WHEEEEE!" an ecstatic squeal echoed from a nearby tree.
Shinobu's eye twitched.
Sitting on a thick oak branch, swinging her short legs, was Problem. The girl was dressed in the same baggy kimono, but now held two massive burdock leaves in her hands, waving them like a cheerleader.
"But-ter-fly is the best! Plop-plop! Boom!" the toddler commentated joyfully, attempting a clumsy parody of Shinobu's stance, nearly tumbling off the tree in the process.
The dying demon, whose head hadn't dissolved yet, glanced at the cheering demon child, then shifted his gaze to Shinobu. Absolute bewilderment froze in his eyes. "Is... is that your brat?" the demon rasped. "What the hell... a slayer dragging around a... demon imp... who's cheering for her?! Have you people in the Corps completely lost your minds?!"
"SHE IS NOT MINE!" Shinobu barked, losing the last shreds of her composure. She walked over to the crumbling head and kicked it like a soccer ball. "And I am not dragging her around! She follows me on her own, like she's glued to me! And stop waving those leaves, you little nuisance! This isn't a sports match! I am killing your kind!"
The toddler, deciding this was a game, laughed merrily, jumped off the branch (landing perfectly thanks to demonic regeneration and feline agility), and ran up to Shinobu. She held out a slightly squished but bright dandelion flower.
"For but-ter-fly," the toddler announced with an incredibly serious, solemn expression, looking up at her with huge eyes brimming with such pure, unadulterated adoration that Shinobu's heart twinged.
She looked at the yellow weed in the tiny, pale hand with its tiny claws. She looked at her own hands, covered in blood and poison. Thousands of reasons rushed through her mind as to why she should kill this creature immediately. Master Oyakata wouldn't approve. The Hashira wouldn't understand. It violated every rule.
Yet slowly, almost against her will, she reached out and took the dandelion.
The girl's face lit up so brightly it felt like she could illuminate the entire cave. She instantly wrapped her arms around Shinobu's leg, burying her face in her shin, and purred contentedly like a little kitten.
"Gods, why me?" Shinobu thought, staring up at the night sky. "I'm turning into Tomioka. I am literally one step away from buying this monster a bamboo gag and stuffing her into a box. If Kanae is watching me from heaven, she's probably dying of laughter."
Hiding a child forever was impossible. Especially when this girl slept twenty hours a day (which explained how she survived without human flesh—she replenished her energy through sleep, much like Nezuko), but spent the remaining four hours demanding an obscene amount of attention.
Shinobu had to resort to radical measures. She smuggled Problem into the Butterfly Mansion inside a massive woven medicine basket.
Her plan was simple: hide the toddler in her private laboratory, study her phenomenon (as a scientist, she couldn't ignore a demon that didn't consume human flesh), and then... she hadn't decided what would happen "then."
The plan failed on the second day.
Shinobu left the basket in the lab, strictly forbidding the toddler from climbing out, and left for a meeting.
When she returned, a suspicious silence hung over the hallways of the Mansion. No shouting from Aoi, no pitter-patter of the little helpers' feet. Shinobu tensed. Had instincts taken over? Had she made a fatal mistake bringing a monster into her home?!
She drew her blade and kicked open the living room door.
The scene before her eyes caused her to drop her katana.
In the middle of the room, on a fluffy rug, sat Aoi Kanzaki. Beside her sat Sumi, Kiyo, and Naho. And in the center of this circle of girls was Problem.
Except the toddler was no longer wearing dirty rags. She wore a clean, perfectly ironed miniature kimono in a soft pastel pink. Her hair was neatly brushed and tied into two tiny, ridiculous pigtails. Aoi, with an expression of intense concentration, was feeding the girl rice balls with honey, while the helpers clapped their hands, showing her picture cards of butterflies.
"Aoi..." Shinobu's voice was quiet and unnervingly calm. "What. Is going on. Here?"
Aoi flinched, turned around, and instantly went pale. She scrambled to her feet, shielding the child with her body. "Shinobu-sama! I can explain! I went into the lab for bandages and heard a sneeze from the basket! I prepared for battle, but... but it turned out to be a little girl! She doesn't attack! She ate all the sweet beans in the kitchen and tried to help us fold bedsheets! (She just crumpled them into a giant ball, but she tried so hard!) We can't kill her! Please, Shinobu-sama!"
Problem, spotting Shinobu, squeaked happily, broke away from behind Aoi, and dashed toward the Hashira, throwing her arms around her knees. "But-ter-fly home!" the girl announced joyfully, leaving sticky traces of honey and rice on her uniform.
Shinobu slowly covered her face with her hands. "Kanzaki. That is a demon. Demons eat people."
"She doesn't eat people! She only eats sweets! And sleeps! And she called me 'scary mommy'!" Tears of affection welled in the strict Aoi's eyes—a sight no less frightening than the demoness herself.
Even Kanao, who until that moment had been sitting quietly in the corner, stepped closer. She pulled out her coin, flipped it into the air. The coin landed. Kanao looked at the result, then shifted her gaze to the toddler, squatted down, and with utter seriousness patted the girl on the head.
"It is decided," Kanao said quietly, which signified an absolute and final verdict.
From that day on, the Butterfly Mansion transformed into a demonic daycare. Shinobu was forced to draft a set of strict rules:
Rule №1: The toddler must not step outside the mansion during the day (the sun was still lethal).
Rule №2: None of the other Hashira must know about Problem's existence.
Rule №3: If the demoness shows any sign of aggression, Shinobu kills her without hesitation. (Shinobu spoke this rule aloud every day, mostly trying to convince herself, because Problem's "aggression" was limited to pouting rumbles when her lollipops were taken away.)
She began keeping a research journal. "Day 14. Subject shows no interest in human blood. I accidentally cut my finger on a vial. Subject approached, looked at the blood, ran off to fetch a bandage, brought it to me, and blew on the wound, saying, 'Pain go away.' I am experiencing severe cognitive dissonance. My hatred of demons is warring with the urge to buy her a new toy. My life has become a farce."
Secrets never stay secret forever. And, by Murphy's Law, Shinobu's secret was bound to be uncovered by the person she loved teasing more than anyone else in the world.
Tomioka Giyu arrived at the Butterfly Mansion for a routine medical checkup following a joint mission. Shinobu was sitting in her office filling out paperwork when she heard the heavy footsteps of the Water Hashira in the hallway.
At that exact moment, the office door burst open with a bang.
Problem flew into the room. The girl was in high spirits from a new game of hide-and-seek with Aoi. She ran up to Shinobu, leaped onto her lap, and buried her face in her chest, giggling.
Before Shinobu could even react, Tomioka appeared in the doorway.
Giyu froze. His usually blank, emotionless face lengthened. His blue eyes moved from Shinobu to the demonic toddler nestled comfortably on her lap, then to Shinobu's katana lying on the desk, and back to the girl.
A silence fell over the room, so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Shinobu slowly, very slowly raised her gaze to Tomioka. Her plastered smile was strained to its absolute limit. She gently placed a hand on the girl's back, instinctively pulling her closer in a protective gesture.
Giyu opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "Kocho," his voice sounded as though he had forgotten how to speak. "That is... a demon."
"Oh, really, Tomioka-san?" Shinobu sang out venomously, with notes of sheer desperation, a vein on her temple throbbing dangerously. "And here I thought it was a very pale puppy. Your powers of observation are, as always, astonishing."
Giyu blinked slowly. The pieces were fitting together in his mind. The very same Kocho Shinobu who had fiercely argued to him that all demons were monsters, who had tried to kill Nezuko, was right now sitting with a demonic toddler on her lap. And that very toddler turned her head, looked at Giyu with her big eyes, and offered: "Un-cle has sad eyes. Un-cle want candy?"
The girl pulled a slightly squished lollipop from her pocket and held it out to one of the most lethal swordsmen in the Corps.
Giyu looked at the lollipop. Then at Shinobu. If Giyu possessed a sense of humor, he might have laughed. Instead, he simply let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumped, and he uttered a phrase that would remain forever etched in Shinobu's memory:
"I won't say 'I told you so.' But I will be thinking it."
Shinobu flushed so bright it felt like her haori might catch fire. "Listen here, Tomioka-san!" she hissed, leaping to her feet and pointing a finger at him while Problem happily hung onto her leg. "This situation is fundamentally different from yours! This is... this is a scientific experiment! I am studying the phenomenon of instinct suppression! She is not my child! I harbor no warm feelings toward her whatsoever!"
At that moment, Problem tugged on her hem and loudly declared: "But-ter-fly best mam-ma!"
Shinobu's face turned the shade of an overripe tomato. Aoi, watching from the hallway, snickered quietly into her hand.
Giyu silently took the lollipop from the girl's hands, unwrapped it, popped it into his mouth, turned around, and walked away down the corridor. "Your secret is safe, Kocho," his voice echoed from the shadows. "But for the next Hashira Meeting, I will bring Nezuko so they can play together."
"I WILL FEED YOU CYANIDE, TOMIOKA!" the Insect Hashira screamed after him in utter desperation.
Denying the obvious was becoming impossible. Shinobu had grown attached to the girl.
She still hated demons. She still killed them with a cold, cruel smile. But every time she returned from a mission—exhausted, covered in foreign blood and poison—and saw Problem tearing down the hallway toward her crying "Butterfly is back!", the ice around her heart melted a little more.
The turning point occurred during one of her toughest missions yet. It wasn't a Lower Moon, but a demon approaching that level. He possessed a Blood Demon Art that generated poisonous thorns.
The battle raged inside a ruined temple. Shinobu was injured. The demon's poison mixed with her own, causing excruciating pain. She dropped to one knee, breathing heavily, her blade trembling in her hand.
"How ironic," the demon mocked, approaching her slowly. "The poisonous butterfly dying of poison. You are so weak. Your stings are pathetic. You could never be a real Hashira."
Shinobu grit her teeth. In her mind echoed the words of the demon who had killed her sister. "Weak. Can't cut off a head." Despair began to choke her.
Suddenly, a tiny yet impossibly fast projectile flew out from the darkness.
A small stone whistled through the air and struck the demon right in the forehead. The blow wasn't fatal, but it was unexpected. The demon staggered back.
Standing on the rubble of the temple wall, breathing heavily, was Problem. The girl had broken every rule, escaped the mansion, and followed her. The toddler's eyes, usually so sweet and round, were now narrowed into vertical slits full of rage. Her fangs were bared.
"DON'T TOUCH!" the demoness screamed, her voice no longer high-pitched. Threatening, ancient notes of demonic blood resonated in her cry. "DON'T TOUCH MY BUTTERFLY! SHE IS STRONG! SHE IS THE BEST! I WILL BITE YOU!"
The demon burst into astonished laughter. "A traitor? A little pest protecting a slayer? What a pathetic sight. I'll devour you first."
He raised his arm to strike.
Shinobu hesitated no longer. The sight of this tiny creature ready to sacrifice her immortal life for her—a human who killed her kind—ignited a rage and a strength inside Shinobu she never knew she possessed.
She didn't just inhale. She consumed all the air in the temple.
"Insect Breathing. Dance of the Centipede: Hundred-Legged Zigzag!"
The sheer speed at which she moved shattered the wooden floorboards beneath her feet. She tore through the hall in a zigzag pattern, evading every thorn. The demon didn't even have time to blink before her blade plunged straight into his eye, driving through his skull and injecting a maximum, concentrated dose of wisteria toxin.
The demon shrieked, disintegrating into ash before his body even touched the floor.
Shinobu landed heavily on her feet, her chest heaving. Toxic purple dust settled around her.
She slowly turned her head. Problem was still standing on the wall, clutching another stone in her tiny hands, ready to leap into battle. Seeing the enemy defeated, the girl tossed the rock aside, her eyes becoming huge and round once more. She squeaked happily and rushed toward her.
"Butterfly won! I knew it! I always knew!" The toddler wrapped her arms around Shinobu's bloodstained leg, oblivious to the wounds and dirt.
Shinobu looked down at her. All her logic, all her rules, all her hatred—it all collapsed, leaving behind only a strange, enveloping warmth.
She dropped to her knees right into the dirt. She didn't bother using a handkerchief. She simply extended her arms and pulled the little girl tightly against her chest, burying her face in the child's messy hair.
The toddler froze in surprise, then purred happily, wrapping her chubby arms around Shinobu's neck.
"You are an absolute, unbearable, absurd nightmare," Shinobu whispered, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion, while a genuine, heartfelt smile bloomed on her lips—not a fake one. "If you ever run away from the mansion again, I will personally lock you in a cage with a padlock."
"But you won!" the toddler mumbled happily into her shoulder.
"Yes," Shinobu closed her eyes, feeling the pain of the poison recede, replaced by tranquility. "I won. Now let's go home. Aoi is probably going out of her mind, and Kanao has likely flipped her coin a thousand times."
She rose to her feet, effortlessly scooping the girl into her arms. The demonic toddler comfortably rested her head on Shinobu's shoulder, stuck a finger in her mouth, and promptly fell asleep, having exhausted her energy.
Shinobu walked through the night forest, carrying in her arms the very thing she was supposed to hate. She was still the Insect Hashira. She would still bring death to demons who devoured humans. Her poison would not weaken.
But now, returning to the Butterfly Mansion, she knew that among the medicine and the scent of wisteria, more than just ghosts of the past awaited her. Waiting for her was her very own absurd, hilarious, and completely paradoxical demonic daycare. And perhaps, for the first time since Kanae's death, Kocho Shinobu felt her heart begin to beat for real once again.
As for Tomioka Giyu... well, in a pinch, she might actually let Nezuko and her new problem play together after all. As long as they didn't wreck the Corps Headquarters. Though that, of course, is a completely different, equally absurd story.
Can we get a part 2 of gp kanae x fem reader. Where they found out the reader is pregnant.
Bloom of a New Life
Kanae Kocho x female reader
Word Count: 3472
Part 1
The mystery that transpired between you that night forever altered the atmosphere in the private quarters of the Flower Hashira. The fears that had bound your heart for long months—poisonous thoughts of your own fragility and inadequacy—all burned away, dissolving into the infinite, enveloping caress of Kocho Kanae. From the very moment the rays of the morning sun first illuminated your intertwined bodies upon the crumpled futon, your bond crossed onto a completely new, unseen, yet unimaginably strong level.
Kanae, who had always treated you with tender devotion, now looked at you as though you were made of the finest, most precious crystal. In her gaze, in her casual touches when she would casually adjust the collar of your haori or tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, there was such a deep, almost religious adoration that it took your breath away every single time. You no longer felt "too small" or "not adult enough." In her arms, under the weight of her warm, love-filled gaze, you felt like the most beautiful and desired woman in the entire Demon Slayer Corps. And most importantly, you were her woman—the only one to whom she entrusted her most intimate secret, and the only one who embraced that secret with absolute love.
Days at the Butterfly Mansion flowed one into another, turning into weeks. The peaceful routine—washing bandages, helping Aoi in the kitchen, drying medicinal herbs on the veranda—had a soothing effect on you. However, about a month and a half after that night, you began to notice strange, frightening changes in your own body.
It all started with small things you initially paid no attention to. An overwhelming, leaden exhaustion that would engulf you by midday. Before, you could flutter around the mansion until late evening helping the girls with the wounded, but now your legs felt heavy, as if filled with lead, and all you wanted was to lie down on the tatami and close your eyes. Then came heightened sensitivity. Delicate, familiar smells suddenly seemed sharp and suffocating.
But the real nightmare began later.
It was a clear, cool morning. You were standing in the kitchen helping Aoi Kanzaki prepare breakfast for the recovering slayers. The air was thick with the aroma of simmering rice, fried fish, and rich miso soup. Previously, this scent always invited a healthy appetite, but today... today everything was different.
The moment Aoi lifted the lid off the boiling pot of fish broth, thick steam struck your face. Your stomach instantly twisted into a tight, painful knot. Nausea rose up in your throat, and for a second, your vision darkened. The room suddenly felt intolerably stifling, as if the walls were closing in.
You frantically pressed your palm to your lips, letting out a muffled, pathetic sound, and, turning pale as a sheet, rushed out of the kitchen, nearly knocking down little Sumi, who was carrying a stack of clean towels.
"Y/N-san?!" Aoi’s alarmed voice called after you, but you could no longer answer.
Running to the washbasin in the inner courtyard, you leaned your trembling hands against the wooden edges and breathed heavily and raggedly, trying to suppress the surges of nausea. The cold water you splashed over your face brought only temporary relief. Your tiny body trembled like an aspen leaf in the wind. You looked at your reflection in the water's surface: pale skin, dark circles under your eyes. What was happening to you? Had you caught some kind of infection from the patients?
The thought of an illness frightened you, but even more terrifying was the thought that Kanae would worry. The Flower Hashira was currently away on a difficult, long-term mission in the north. You had promised her that you would take care of yourself, that you would await her return healthy and full of strength. And now, you couldn't even stand the smell of an ordinary breakfast.
"Y/N."
You flinched in surprise. Turning around, you saw Kocho Shinobu. The younger sister of your beloved stood a few paces away. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and there was not a trace of her usual, light, sarcastic half-smile on her face. Her deep purple, lightless eyes looked at you with a frightening, professional gravity.
"Shinobu..." You tried to force a faint smile, wiping your face with your sleeve. "Good morning. I'm sorry, I think I just overworked myself a little. I must have eaten something wrong for dinner yesterday."
Shinobu did not return your smile. She slowly stepped closer, her gaze sweeping over your pale face, assessing your posture and your irregular breathing.
"Aoi said you ran out of the kitchen as if you'd seen an Upper Rank," Shinobu’s voice was quiet, but held a tone that brooked no argument. "And this isn't the first time this past week, is it? Sumi mentioned that you refused your favorite jasmine tea, saying it smelled 'too sharp.' And Naho noticed that you're sleeping twice as much as usual."
You swallowed nervously, averting your eyes. "Shinobu, really, everything is fine. It's just stress... I'm worried about Kanae, her mission has dragged on, so I..."
"Come to the medical room. Right now."
"But..."
"Y/N," Shinobu stepped right up to you, taking you gently yet firmly by your slender wrist. "I am not just the sister of the woman you love. I am the physician of this Mansion. And I can see that something is wrong with you. Either you walk with me voluntarily, or I call the Kakushi and they carry you there on a stretcher. Choose."
Realizing it was useless to argue with the stubborn and caring Shinobu, you nodded in resignation.
The medical room greeted you with its familiar scent of sterility and dried herbs. Fortunately, today the smell did not trigger your nausea. Shinobu seated you on a high examination table and sat on a chair opposite you. She didn't immediately reach for her tools; instead, she simply looked at you for several long, tense seconds.
"Tell me honestly, Y/N," she began, her voice softening and losing its commanding edge. "When was your last cycle?"
The question caught you off guard. You frowned, trying to remember. In the bustle of the days, in constant worry for the wounded and longing for Kanae, you had completely lost track of time. You began counting back the weeks in your head, and suddenly your eyes widened.
"I... I'm not sure. A month and a half ago? Maybe a bit more," you stammered, feeling a chill run down your spine. "But I've had delays due to stress before! That's normal for my constitution, you know I've always been delicate..."
Shinobu said nothing. She gently took your right hand and pressed three fingers against the inner side of your wrist, right where a thin blue vein pulsed. Traditional pulse diagnosis—an art the Kocho sisters had mastered to perfection.
A ringing silence fell over the room. You could feel your heart pounding, ready to burst from your chest. You looked at Shinobu’s face. At first, it was merely concentrated. Then, her eyebrows raised slightly. The fingers resting on your pulse twitched almost imperceptibly. She closed her eyes, listening to the thrum of blood beneath your skin, as if reading a complex, encoded book.
After what felt like an eternity, Shinobu slowly opened her eyes and pulled her hand back.
You held your breath. "Shinobu? What is it? Am I seriously ill? Please, tell me the truth. If it's something dangerous, I need to know before Kanae returns..."
But Shinobu’s expression suddenly transformed. All her strictness, all the cold demeanor of a professional physician melted away without a trace. Her lips trembled, and tears unexpectedly glistened in her purple eyes. She looked at you with such indescribable, profound shock and joy that you were left completely bewildered.
She slowly shook her head. On her face bloomed the most genuine, warm smile you had ever seen on her.
"You aren't ill, Y/N," her voice trembled with overwhelming emotion. She leaned forward and covered your tiny, icy hands with her own. "Your pulse... it has changed. It is double. Smooth and gliding, like pearls rolling across a jade platter. It is a pulse no doctor could ever mistake."
"I... I don't understand..." you whispered, though somewhere in the deepest, hidden corners of your mind, an impossible, deafening thought was beginning to form—a thought so unreal that you tried to push it away.
Shinobu squeezed your hands tighter, a single tear spilling from her eye. "You are pregnant, Y/N. A new life has taken root inside you. You are carrying my sister's child beneath your heart."
Shinobu’s words echoed in the silence of the room like a bolt from the blue.
Time around you seemed to freeze. The air was knocked right out of your lungs. You stared at Shinobu without blinking, unable to process what you had just heard. Pregnant? A child? From Kanae?
Your hand instinctively, tremblingly lowered to your still entirely flat abdomen. Memories of that night—the passion, tenderness, and absolute oneness with Kanae—flashed vividly before your eyes. Her male essence, her seed that she poured deep within you with such reverence and love... Physiologically, it was possible. Your mind knew this, but your heart simply refused to believe in such a miracle.
And suddenly, through the veil of shock, fear broke through. That same old, ugly fear that had tormented you that night.
You looked down at your slender, fragile hands, at your narrow hips. Tears, hot and bitter, streamed from your eyes.
"Shinobu..." You burst into tears, wrapping your arms around yourself and curling into a ball on the examination table. "This can't be... How? How could I ever carry a child to term? Look at me! I'm so small... I won't make it. My body won't hold up. I'll harm them... I'll kill Kanae's child with my own weakness..."
Your panic was genuine. You were terrified by the thought that your "childlike," fragile body would become a trap or a hazard for the fruit of your love.
But Shinobu did not allow you to drown in that panic. She immediately moved close, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and pressing you tightly against herself.
"Hush, hush now, my dear. Breathe," she whispered softly yet firmly, stroking your back. "Don't you dare think like that. Don't you dare doubt yourself. Your body is not weak, Y/N. It is strong. Nature made it to give life. Women with far more fragile builds have successfully given birth to healthy, strong children."
She pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, her gaze filled with unshakeable resolve. "I am the Insect Hashira. I am the best doctor in the Slayer Corps. Do you think I would ever let anything happen to you or my sister's child? I will monitor you every single day. I will design a special diet for you, I will select the finest fortifying herbs. I won't leave your side. You will carry this baby to term, and you will give birth in absolute safety. Do you hear me?"
You looked into her determined face, and the icy lump of fear in your chest began to melt away. Her confidence was infectious.
"Do you... do you really think so?" you sobbed, wiping away tears with the back of your hand. "Do you think I can do it?"
"I know it," Shinobu smiled through her tears. She gently placed her palm over your hand, which still rested on your stomach. "Oh, Y/N... Nee-san will be the happiest person in this world. The two of you have given our family a miracle we didn't even dare to dream of."
The thought of Kanae’s reaction completely shattered your remaining fears, leaving behind only pure, dazzling happiness. Kanae's child. A tiny life combining the traits of the woman you loved most in the world and your own. It was a true miracle, born from the art of your tenderness.
The following two weeks dragged on agonizingly slow. Shinobu made you swear not to tell anyone in the mansion until Kanae returned—it had to remain your secret alone. However, your routine changed drastically. You were freed from all heavy chores. Aoi, thoroughly instructed by Shinobu without understanding why, now prepared separate meals for you that avoided harsh smells, making you drink strange-tasting yet beneficial herbal tonic brews. The butterfly girls kept glancing at you with curiosity, puzzled as to why you were resting so much.
You lived in a state of constant awe. Every morning you woke up, touched your still-unchanged stomach, and greeted the tiny life growing within you. Your love for Kanae seemed to multiply a hundredfold. You awaited her return with such impatience that you couldn't sleep at night.
And then, finally, that day arrived.
It was late evening. You were sitting in the quarters you shared with Kanae—the very room where it had all begun. You were wearing the same light, white yukata. You tried to read a book, but the lines blurred before your eyes. Your heart was pounding in anticipation. A Kasugai crow had brought news that the Flower Hashira had successfully completed her mission and was already on her approach to the mansion.
The creak of wooden floorboards in the hallway made you leap to your feet. The shoji door slid softly open.
There she stood on the threshold. Kanae.
Her Slayer uniform was covered in road dust, a small, healing scratch marked her cheek, and shadows of exhaustion lay beneath her eyes. But the moment she saw you, her face lit up with that very same light that always drove away any darkness.
"Y/N... my darling," Kanae breathed out, her voice trembling with tenderness.
She didn't waste time with formal greetings. Dropping her sword to the floor, she crossed the room in a few quick strides and dropped to her knees before the futon, pulling you into a tight, desperate embrace. She smelled of the forest, steel, and her signature aroma of camellia.
You buried your face in her shoulder, greedily breathing in her scent. Tears of relief welled in your eyes. She was back. She was alive and safe.
"I missed you so much," you whispered, kissing her neck. "It felt like an eternity."
"I'm sorry for making you wait so long, my sunshine," Kanae pulled back to look at you. Her long, warm fingers gently caressed your cheeks. "Shinobu met me at the gates. She told me you were fine, but that you were experiencing a bit of stress. Have you been eating well? Have you been sleeping? You look so pale..."
Kanae frowned, her empathy instantly catching your agitation. Her gaze grew concerned. "Y/N, your heart is beating so fast. And you... you seem different somehow. Did something happen while I was away? Did someone hurt you? Tell me, my sweet."
You looked into her rose-colored eyes, full of boundless love, and realized you could no longer keep it hidden. The moment had arrived.
Your hands trembled. You slowly lifted them and took Kanae's hands in yours. Her hands were large, strong, and calloused from her sword. You carefully guided her hands down until they rested against your stomach.
Kanae cooperatively allowed you to do so, though clear confusion showed on her face. She tilted her head, awaiting your words.
"No one hurt me, Kanae," your voice was quiet, barely a whisper, yet in the silence of the room it sounded strikingly clear. "And I'm not ill. It's just... something very important is happening to me."
You took a deep breath, gathering all your courage, and looked her straight in the eyes.
"Kanae... do you remember that night? Our first night. You told me that a woman's body is like a flower, capable of blooming and receiving the greatest miracle if given warmth and time."
Kanae's eyes widened slightly, memories of that intimate night causing a soft blush to dust her cheeks. She nodded, her gaze fixed on you.
"You gave me that warmth," tears rolled down your cheeks, but the happiest smile you could manage bloomed on your lips. "And the flower accepted your seed. Kanae... a new life is growing inside me. I'm... I'm pregnant. We are going to be parents."
The words hung in the air.
Time in the room seemed to freeze, turning into thick, golden resin. Kanae remained on her knees, her hands still resting on your stomach. Her eyes, resembling cherry blossom petals, widened to an impossible degree. Her lips parted, but no sound escaped them. She stared at you, then lowered her gaze to her hands resting on your stomach, and then looked back at you again, as if unable to comprehend what she had just heard.
The silence stretched on, and for a split second, an old, foolish fear flickered in your soul. What if she didn't want this? What if a child was too much of a burden for a Hashira who risked her life every day fighting demons?
"Kanae?.." you called out timidly, your voice trembling. "Say something... please."
But before you could get truly frightened, Kanae let out a sound. It wasn't a sigh, nor a groan. It was a choked, broken sob that ripped from the very depths of her soul.
The face of the great Flower Hashira—a woman who smiled as she severed the heads of monsters—suddenly distorted from an overwhelming, unbearably powerful rush of emotion. Her eyes filled with tears that, in the next second, poured down her cheeks in an unrestrained stream.
"Y/N..." Kanae sobbed.
She didn't pull away. On the contrary, she leaned forward, practically collapsing before you. She pressed her forehead against your stomach, her shoulders shaking with heavy, helpless weeping. These were tears of absolute, cleansing, unimaginable happiness. Her strong hands, which usually gripped a blade, now wrapped so reverently, so carefully around your waist, as if terrified of causing you even the slightest discomfort.
"My God... My God, Y/N..." she whispered through her tears, kissing the fabric of your yukata right where your tiny secret lay hidden underneath. "A child... Our child. The fruit of our love. I... I can't believe it... Is it true? Is this not a dream?"
You burst into tears as well, tangling your fingers in her long hair that smelled of the road and the wind.
"It's true, my love. It's true," you sobbed, stroking her head.
Kanae raised her tear-stained face. Her beauty at that moment was truly unearthly. Through her tears, she smiled so radiantly that it felt as though the sun had risen right inside the room. She reached out to you, framing your face with trembling hands, and began showering it with frantic, warm kisses. She kissed your lips, your cheeks, your eyes, whispering words of gratitude, mixing them with her tears.
"My brave, my incredible girl," Kanae whispered, pressing her forehead against yours, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "You are giving me a miracle I didn't even dare ask the gods for. In this cruel, blood-soaked world, you are giving me hope. You are giving me a future."
"I was afraid," you admitted in a whisper, gazing into her shining eyes. "I was afraid that I was too weak. Shinobu scolded me for those thoughts, but..."
"Shinobu is right," Kanae interrupted you with a soft yet impossibly reassuring kiss. "You are stronger than many warriors, Y/N. And you never have to be afraid again. Never."
She pulled back slightly and lowered her gaze back to your stomach. Her large, warm palm rested there with such tenderness, as if touching the greatest sanctuary in the world. In her eyes, which were just filled with tears of happiness, a fire suddenly flared—the very same fire of a Hashira that promised to destroy any threat.
"I swear to you, Y/N," Kanae's voice grew deep, firm, and solemn, as though she were making a vow before an altar. "I will protect you both. I will destroy any demon, any threat that dares come near our home. I will become an unbreakable wall for you. You and our little one will live in a world where the sun shines and flowers bloom. I will give my life, every drop of my blood, so that you will always smile."
You looked at this woman—strong, beautiful, carrying both a male nature and a gentle feminine sensitivity—and you realized that you truly had nothing left to fear.
"You don't need to give your life, Kanae," you gently ran your thumb over her cheekbone, wiping away a final tear. "You just need to be here. Be with us. Come home to us after every mission. That is all I ask."
Kanae smiled, her gaze softening. She leaned down once more, leaving a long, tender kiss on your stomach, greeting the tiny life sleeping within. Then she rose, wrapping her arms around you as tightly and carefully as she could.
That night, the Butterfly Mansion felt especially peaceful. Moonlight fell across the tatami just as before, tracing long shadows. But there was no longer any fear. In its place came boundless, absolute happiness. Two women, bound by the art of tenderness and acceptance, lay on the futon in each other's arms. And somewhere there, beneath the beat of their synchronized hearts, a new life was blooming—their personal, invincible sun, born in defiance of all laws and fears.
Hehehe back for more! Can you do another Hange please? Reader is a titan shifter who’s been one for 10 years, Her and hange became best friends immediately when they met two years ago… and both like each other, but Reader won’t accept hange when she asks reader to be her gf… maybe do time skips if a few months each with reader saying no each time, because she knows they will have limited time and doesn’t want hange to lose her so quickly? Maybe do where hange starts experimenting to find a way to break the curse (I know she can’t but I wish she could) and maybe she actually does… and reader finally accepts now that their time isn’t extremely limited… maybe gp! Reader… and a smex scene towards the end as their celebration?
The Alchemy of Eternity
Warnings 18+
Hange Zoe (aot) x g!p female reader
Word Count: 4604
Hange Zoe's laboratory always smelled of a cross between strong black tea, burnt paper, formalin, and the old dust ingrained in the stone walls of the Survey Corps headquarters. To some, this smell might have seemed unbearable, suffocating, but to you, it had long become synonymous with the word "home." You were sitting on an old, sagging sofa in the corner of the office, watching the squad leader dash from one table to another, sorting through stacks of parchments covered in small, jerky handwriting.
Her glasses had slid to the very tip of her nose, her hair was disheveled as if struck by lightning, and a fresh ink stain adorned her cheek. And yet, looking at her, you felt everything inside you clench with a painful, aching tenderness.
You met two years ago. You were a mystery to all of humanity inside the Walls—a Titan shifter, a human capable of turning into a giant monster at will. When the Survey Corps found you, you expected execution, torture, or life imprisonment in the dungeons. Instead, a crazy woman with burning eyes burst into your cell; she didn't shackle you in chains, but with an ecstatic squeal, she rushed to feel your face, bombarding you with hundreds of questions about your body temperature, regeneration, and your Titan form.
Hange became the first person to look at you not as a monster or a weapon, but as a miracle. She accepted you completely, without a trace. Even your anatomical peculiarity—the fact that you were born an intersex person, a girl endowed with manhood. For you, this had always been a source of the deepest insecurities, the reason you had walled yourself off from people even before you gained the power of the Titan. But Hange... Hange accepted this part of you first with scientific, and then with deeply human, sincere admiration, making you feel for the first time in your life not like a mistake of nature, but like someone beautiful.
You became best friends. An inseparable duo. You were her protector on expeditions beyond the Walls, and she was your anchor in the human world.
But this idyll had one dark, rotting secret. A secret Hange didn't know about yet.
The Curse of Ymir. Everyone who inherits the power of one of the Nine Titans is doomed. Thirteen years—exactly that much is given to the vessel. The hourglass of your life had been turned over a very long time ago. You had wielded this power for ten years already. Ten long, bloody years.
Only three years left. Three years before your body would begin to wither, weaken, and eventually simply crumble like old parchment.
That is exactly why, when you looked at the laughing Hange, your heart bled. You loved her. Loved her so much that the feeling sometimes made it hard to breathe. But you knew your time was running out.
It was late evening. The rain drummed furiously against the cloudy glass of the laboratory. Hange finally stopped her endless marathon around the office, sinking onto the sofa next to you with a heavy but satisfied sigh. There was enough space, but she deliberately sat so close that your thighs touched. Heat radiated from her, and this contrast with the cold of the rainy night sent a flock of shivers down your body.
"You know, Y/N," Hange took off her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose tiredly, and then turned her head to you. In the dim light of the oil lamp, her brown eyes seemed almost black, incredibly deep and serious. All of her usual goofiness suddenly evaporated. "I was thinking about the future today. About what will happen when we finally kill all the Titans."
You chuckled sadly, looking away at the smoldering coals in the fireplace. "The future is a luxury in our profession, Hange."
"Perhaps," she softly but persistently took your hand in hers, intertwining your fingers. Her palm was rough from constant work with ODM gear and chemicals. "But I want you in my future. Not as a test subject. Not as a partner in the Survey Corps."
The heart in your chest did a painful somersault. You knew where this conversation was going. You had seen those glances, those accidental touches that lasted a little longer than necessary, that tenderness she saved only for you.
"Y/N," Hange moved even closer, her voice trembling, betraying an uncharacteristic vulnerability. "I love you. I want you to be my girlfriend. I want to fall asleep and wake up next to you, not just when we're dropping from exhaustion after expeditions, but every single day."
The words hung in the air, heavy and sweet. Everything inside you screamed: "Yes! Yes, I love you too!". You wanted to throw your arms around her neck, press your lips to hers, and allow yourself at least a drop of selfish happiness.
But a number immediately popped up before your eyes. Three years.
If you agreed now, you would give her three years of illusory happiness, and then doom her to the unbearable, destructive pain of loss. Hange had already lost too many. You couldn't become just another name on a tombstone that would tear her soul apart. You couldn't make her a widow so soon.
Slowly, with physical pain comparable to tearing off your own limb, you freed your hand from her fingers.
"Hange..." your voice sounded hoarse, broken. You forced yourself to look her in the eyes, putting on a mask of cold detachment. "I... I can't."
Hange blinked as if she had been slapped in the face. The smile slowly slid from her lips. "You can't? But... why? I can see that you care about me. Y/N, did I do something wrong? Am I rushing things?"
"No, it's not you," you shook your head, getting up from the sofa, because sitting next to her and inhaling her scent was unbearable. "It's me. I'm just... not cut out for relationships. My life is too unstable. I'm a monster, Hange. A weapon. Weapons don't have romances. We are best friends, and I don't want to ruin that. Forgive me."
You turned around and almost ran out of the laboratory, leaving Hange sitting in the gloom, confused and broken. Behind the closed door, you leaned your back against the cold stone wall, covered your mouth with your hand, and cried silently.
Three months later
The relationship between you didn't fall apart, but a crack appeared in it. A thin, ringing awkwardness, like a taut string. Hange tried to act normal: she still joked, still spent time with you, but her glances became more cautious, full of unspoken questions and hidden sorrow.
She didn't give up. Throughout these months, she tried to bring it up again, gently, unobtrusively, but each time you harshly and coldly shut down those attempts, changing the subject or simply walking away. It was killing both of you.
The next expedition outside the Walls turned into a disaster.
Hange's squad was ambushed by a group of Abnormal Titans. The horses were terrified; the ODM gear was failing due to the dense forest. When one of the fifteen-meter monsters rushed at Hange, you drew blood without hesitation.
A flash of golden lightning blinded the forest. Your Titan, possessing incredible speed and hardened armor, roared as it crashed into the enemies. You tore them to pieces, broke their bones, flooding the forest with boiling blood. You defended her squad with the fury of a crazed beast. The battle didn't last long, but it pushed you to your absolute limit. Lately, you had begun to notice that transformations were getting harder and harder for you. The curse had begun to collect its toll. Your body was wearing out.
When the last Titan collapsed to the ground, you tore yourself out of the nape of your giant. Steam poured from your body; deep, crimson marks from merging with the Titan flesh marred your face. Your legs gave way, and you would have plummeted from a height of fifteen meters if someone hadn't caught you in mid-air.
It was Hange. She gently lowered you both onto a thick branch of a giant tree, pressing your exhausted body to her chest.
"Hush, hush, I've got you," she whispered, breathing heavily. Her hands were shaking as she wiped the hot sweat and blood from your face. "You saved us. Again."
You tried to pull away, but you had no strength. Your head fell weakly onto her shoulder. "It's... my job..." you wheezed.
Hange held you tighter in her arms. There was silence in the forest, interrupted only by the hissing of your Titan's evaporating flesh below.
"Y/N, stop," Hange suddenly said, and her voice sounded with frightening firmness. "Stop pushing me away. I saw the way you looked at me when you threw yourself in front of that Abnormal. You love me. I know it. I feel it in every cell of my body. Why are you torturing us both? Let me be with you. Let me love you, no matter how much time we have left in this hell."
Her words struck your strained nervous system like a hammer on glass. All the barriers you had built over these months crumbled in an instant. Physical exhaustion deprived you of the strength to lie. Anger, despair, and endless pain burst out.
Gathering the last remnants of your strength, you pushed her away. Your eyes, shining feverishly, filled with tears.
"No matter how much time we have left?!" you broke into a scream that echoed through the forest. "You don't understand anything, Hange! Do you think I'm pushing you away because I don't want to be with you?! I dream about it every single second! But we don't have that time! WE DON'T!"
Hange was taken aback, her eyes widened in shock and confusion. "What are you talking about, Y/N? We'll survive, we always survive..."
"The Curse of Ymir!" you spat out the words like the most bitter poison. Tears rolled down your cheeks, leaving clean tracks on your dirty face. "No shifter lives longer than thirteen years after obtaining the power. Not a single one! It's a law, Hange. It's physics, magic, call it whatever you want!"
Hange turned pale. All the color drained from her face; she froze like a statue. "Thirteen... years?" she whispered, and her brilliant, ever-analyzing brain began frantically putting the facts together. "But... but you said you inherited the power..."
"Ten years ago," you finished for her, your voice breaking on a sob. You wrapped your arms around yourself, as if trying to keep your body from falling apart. "Ten years, Hange. I have less than three years left. Less than a thousand days. And then I'll die."
You looked up at her with eyes full of despair. "How can I agree to be yours? How can I let you get even more attached to me, become my family, if in three years I'll leave you alone? I don't want you to watch me slowly die! I won't make you a widow barely after you've gotten used to our happiness! That's why I'm rejecting you. Because I love you too much to condemn you to this pain."
In the silence of the forest, only your ragged crying could be heard. Hange sat opposite you. For the first minute, her face reflected such pure, primal horror that you wanted to look away. The realization that the woman she loved carried a ticking time bomb hit her with crushing force.
But then something strange happened. The horror in Hange Zoë's eyes began slowly but surely giving way to something else. A fire flared up in her pupils. That same crazy, fanatical fire that appeared every time she faced an unsolvable mystery of the Titans. Only now, this fire was mixed with absolute, steely determination.
Hange suddenly leaned forward, grabbed you by the shoulders so hard that you flinched, and looked you straight in the eyes.
"Three years, you say?" her voice didn't tremble. It was even, dangerous, and incredibly loud in its confidence. "Do you think some ancient curse of a dead goddess can take you away from me?"
You blinked uncomprehendingly through your tears. "Hange, it's impossible to change..."
"Nonsense!" she cut you off, and a wild, almost maniacal smile appeared on her lips. "There is nothing impossible for science in this world! If this curse is tied to biology, to spinal fluid, to the Paths, to whatever—I will find a way to break it. I will dissect the very essence of the Titan power if I have to!"
She pulled you to her, pressing you tightly against her chest, burying her face in your hair. "I won't let you die, Y/N. Do you hear me? I won't let you go. I will break this curse even if I have to challenge the gods themselves. And until then... you will live."
Another four months later
From that day on, Hange Zoë's life turned into an obsession. She had always been a workaholic, but now it bordered on true madness. She completely delegated her field duties to Moblit and other officers, locking herself in her laboratory.
You watched with horror and a growing sense of guilt as she methodically killed herself for your sake. Hange slept for two or three hours a day, sometimes right on the floor among scattered books. Such dark shadows settled under her eyes that they looked like bruises. She lost weight; her hands constantly shook from an excess of caffeine and exhaustion.
Her research became frighteningly radical. She took your blood, tissue samples, extracted spinal fluid (which hurt like hell, but you endured it, seeing her desperate look). She studied ancient texts, ran hundreds of chemical experiments, trying to understand the mechanism of connection between the shifter and the world of the Paths.
One night, entering the laboratory, you found her crying over broken test tubes. Another synthesized compound hadn't worked on a sample of your Titan flesh.
"Hange, please, stop," you knelt in front of her, gently moving her hands, bleeding from broken glass, away. You pressed her to you, feeling how her exhausted body trembled slightly. "You're killing yourself. Please. This is the Curse of Ymir. It's magic, it's a connection of souls. You can't outsmart the gods with chemistry. Let's just spend the time I have left together. Without test tubes. Without pain. I agree. I will be yours."
Hange jerked her head up. Her eyes, red and swollen, flashed with fanatical stubbornness. "No. I won't give up. I see the pattern, Y/N! The Titan power relies on an invisible communication channel that broadcasts matter and energy into your body. If I can synthesize a retrovirus that will 'deafen' your nervous system to the Coordinate... The Paths will think you're dead. The channel will break. Your cells will return to a normal human state! I'm almost there! I won't let you give up!"
You looked at this woman, at her disheveled hair, at her crazy gaze, and your heart tore apart from love and admiration. She fought for your life with such a fury that no one had ever fought for any person in this cruel world.
And you decided to trust her madness.
The eleventh month (since the first rejection)
It happened at dawn. The sky had just begun to turn pale, gray-pink when the door to your room burst open with a crash.
Hange stood on the threshold. She looked like a ghost: pale, dirty, wearing an apron stained with blood and chemicals, but such a dazzling, triumphant smile shone on her face that the room seemed to become brighter. Clutched in her trembling hands was a massive metal syringe with a thick needle. Inside shimmered a thick, fluorescent-blue liquid, unlike anything you had ever seen before.
"I did it," she exhaled, and her voice broke into a hysterical chuckle. "Y/N, I fucking did it!"
You sat up abruptly in bed, sleep instantly vanishing. "Hange? What is that?"
She walked over to you, falling to her knees by the bed. "It's a serum. A modified strain isolated from crystallized Titan armor, mixed with alkaloids that block the transmission of nerve impulses to the spinal cord. It should sever your connection to the Paths forever. You won't be able to transform anymore. You will lose your regeneration. But the curse... the curse will be broken. You will become a normal, mortal human. With a normal lifespan."
Your breath caught in your throat. You looked at the blue liquid in the syringe, and a fire of a long-forgotten feeling began to flare up in your chest—hope.
"Will it... will it work?" you whispered.
Hange looked you seriously in the eyes. "I tested it on isolated tissue samples. It works. But the process of injecting it into a living organism... Y/N, I'm not going to lie. It will be the most terrifying agony of your life. Your body will fight to maintain the connection with the Titan. It will hurt. A lot."
You didn't hesitate for a second. You held out your arm to her, rolling up your shirt sleeve. "Do it."
Hange swallowed convulsively. She wiped the crook of your elbow with alcohol. Her hands, which had been shaking before, suddenly became firm and precise, like those of a first-class surgeon. The needle pierced the vein, and the cold, thick liquid began to flow into your bloodstream.
For the first few seconds, nothing happened.
And then the world exploded.
It felt as if molten lead had been poured into your veins. The pain was so unbearable, so all-encompassing, that you arched your back, an inhuman scream full of agony bursting from your throat. Your body began to thrash in brutal convulsions. On your face, arms, and chest, those same crimson Titan marks that usually appeared after a transformation began to show. They glowed, pulsing with heat, as if the Coordinate was desperately trying to hold onto its slave, burning your body from the inside.
Hange tossed the syringe aside and threw her whole body onto you, trying to hold you down on the bed so you wouldn't hurt yourself.
"Hold on! Hold on, my love, I beg you!" she sobbed, her tears dripping onto your burning face. "Fight it! Let go of this power!"
The pain burned out your nerves. It seemed to you that your bones were breaking and knitting back together thousands of times a second. At some point, you smelled burning meat—your own body began to evaporate, emitting thick, hot steam. You screamed until your vocal cords tore, until darkness mercifully swallowed your consciousness.
You woke up with a feeling of incredible, frightening lightness.
The room was bright. Sun rays broke through the window, playing on the wooden floor. You were lying in bed, covered with a blanket. The first thing you realized was that the pain was gone. Completely. There wasn't even that familiar, background heaviness in your bones that had accompanied you for the last ten years.
You slowly turned your head. Hange was sitting on the floor, resting her head on the edge of your bed. She was asleep, her hand tightly squeezing yours until her knuckles were white.
You tried to sit up. Your body responded with weakness, normal, human weakness after a long fever. You freed your hand from Hange's grip. She immediately flinched and woke up, instantly jumping to her feet.
Her eyes were red, her face exhausted, but a wild hope could be read in it. "Y/N? How are you feeling?"
You looked at your hands. They were pale, without a single trace of Titan marks.
"I... I don't know. I feel... empty?" You tried to focus, tried to find that spark, that connection to the Paths that always pulsed in the back of your mind, waiting for the command to transform. But there was nothing there. Only silence.
Hange, trembling all over, took a small scalpel from her pocket. "We have to test it," she whispered.
Carefully, trying not to cause unnecessary pain, she made a small incision on your forearm. Scarlet blood welled up from the wound. You both held your breath.
A second. Two. Five. Ten.
The wound didn't smoke. No steam came out. The blood just slowly trickled down your skin, just as it should have trickled from any normal, mortal human. There was no regeneration.
Hange's syringe had worked. She had cut Ymir's invisible thread. She had broken the curse.
The scalpel fell to the floor with a dull thud. Hange covered her mouth with her hands, tears streaming from her eyes. These were tears of absolute, pure, unclouded happiness. She fell to her knees before your bed, burying her face in your hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
It slowly began to dawn on you. You were no longer a monster. Your hourglass had been shattered. You had ahead of you not a pathetic three years, but decades. A whole life. A whole life that you could live.
Tears rolled down your cheeks. You slid off the bed onto the floor, falling next to Hange, and tightly, desperately hugged her around the neck, burying your face in her disheveled hair. You sat on the floor, hugging and crying, intertwining into a single whole, celebrating the victory of science, will, and love over death itself.
When the initial emotions settled a bit, you were still sitting on the floor, breathing heavily. You pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. Hange's face was wet with tears, but right now it seemed the most beautiful face in the universe.
You raised your hand and gently, tenderly ran your thumb across her cheekbone. Your eyes shone with such love that the feeling could almost be touched.
"Hange Zoë," your voice was hoarse but steady. You took a deep breath. "A year ago you asked me a question. And I turned you down because I was a fool, certain of my impending death. But now... now that you've given me a whole eternity..."
You leaned closer, so your breath burned her lips. "Ask me again."
Hange's eyes widened. A smile, bright as a supernova, lit up her exhausted face. She gently cupped your face with both hands.
"Y/N," her voice trembled with unbearable happiness. "Will you be my girlfriend? My partner? My future?"
"Yes," you exhaled. "Yes, a thousand times yes."
Your lips finally met. It was a kiss full of desperation, passion, and incredible, intoxicating relief. Hange kissed you greedily, imperiously, her tongue exploring your mouth as if she were trying to drink you in after a long drought. Your hands slid down her back, pulling her closer, pressing her body against yours. You had suppressed your desires for so long, built walls for so long, that now your passion burst forth in an all-consuming flood.
Hange forcefully pressed you onto the bed, hovering over you. Her hands quickly, impatiently pulled your shirt off. She was a scientist, she knew your body inside and out, but right now her gaze was not the gaze of a researcher, but of a starving lover. She looked at your naked body, at the smooth curves of your chest, at your tense stomach, and absolute admiration burned in her eyes.
She leaned down, covering your collarbone with hot, wet kisses, trailing down to your chest. Her lips gently captured your nipple, her tongue began to tease it playfully, making you arch your back and let out a low, guttural moan.
"You are so beautiful..." Hange whispered, her breath burning your skin. "Gods, you have no idea how long I've dreamed of touching you like this."
You didn't remain in debt. Your hands deftly unbuttoned her shirt, pulling the fabric off her shoulders. Hange's skin was hot, covered in a light sheen of sweat. You pulled her to you, switching places, ending up on top. Your lips found her neck; you began to leave light bites and kisses on it, making the Major gasp with pleasure.
Your hands slid lower, unfastening the belt of her pants. Hange helped you, getting rid of the rest of her clothes. Soon you were both completely naked.
Hange looked at your body with undisguised reverence. Your intersex nature, which used to make you burn with shame and insecurities, was to her just another facet of your perfection. Your manhood, already tense and throbbing with arousal, was not an anomaly to her, but a beautiful part of the woman she loved.
She reached out, gently touching your throbbing flesh with the tips of her fingers. You exhaled sharply, throwing your head back as her hand wrapped around you. Hange's movements were confident, affectionate; she knew how to give you pleasure. She stroked you while her lips continued to explore your chest and stomach.
"Hange..." you moaned, feeling the tension in your lower stomach twist into a tight spiral. You didn't want her doing all the work. You wanted her. All of her.
You gently moved her hand away and, sliding down, positioned yourself between her spread thighs. Hange drew in a loud breath, her hands reflexively clutching the sheets. Your lips touched her wet, sensitive center. You began to slowly, teasingly caress her with your tongue. Hange cried out, her hips involuntarily thrusting towards your lips. You knew anatomy just as well as she did, and right now your caresses were aimed at driving her crazy. Your tongue rhythmically stimulated her clitoris, while your fingers slipped inside, making her writhe and moan your name.
"Y/N... God... please..." Hange sobbed, completely losing control over her brilliant mind, surrendering to the power of pure, primal instincts.
When she was on the edge, you stopped, making her let out a disappointed whimper, and rose again, hovering over her. Her eyes were clouded with lust, her lips swollen from kisses.
You carefully guided yourself to her entrance. Hange was so wet and hot that you slipped inside without effort. You both gasped loudly as your bodies connected in absolute, intimate closeness. The sensation of her tight, throbbing walls wrapping around you was so overwhelming that your vision darkened for a second.
Hange wrapped her legs around your waist, pulling you closer. "Yes... move, please..." she whispered, digging her nails into your back.
You began to move. At first slowly, languidly, enjoying every centimeter of the descent. In the silence of the room, only the wet sounds of connecting bodies, your erratic breathing, and quiet moans full of tenderness could be heard. Gradually, the pace increased. You moved faster and deeper, your hands tightly gripping her hips, and your lips continuously kissing her face, neck, and shoulders.
Hange responded to you with wild, unbridled passion. She arched to meet your every thrust, her moans growing louder and louder. This wasn't just a physical union. It was a dance of life, a celebration of the fact that you had defeated death, defeated the curse, and now all this time belonged only to you.
"I love you so much... so much..." Hange whispered, her body beginning to tremble slightly. The muscles inside her began to contract, squeezing you tightly.
Her orgasm was powerful, all-consuming. She cried out, throwing her head back, her nails leaving deep scratches on your back as waves of incredible pleasure rolled through her body. Her pulsing was the last straw for you. You gave a few deep, sharp thrusts and, with a loud groan, spilled inside her, feeling your own body shudder from a shattering orgasm.
Exhausted, but absolutely, inexpressibly happy, you collapsed onto the crumpled sheets, breathing heavily. Hange buried her face in your neck, her arms tightly hugging your waist, as if she were still afraid you would disappear.
You gently stroked her disheveled hair, feeling her heart beating in unison with yours.
The sun outside the window rose higher, flooding the room with bright, golden light. Your hourglass had been shattered. Ahead lay the unknown, the war with the Titans, the harsh daily life of the Survey Corps, but none of that mattered anymore. Because now you had a future. And in this future, in this endless eternity, you were in the arms of a crazy genius, a woman who had deceived the gods to save your life.
And you knew for certain that for her sake, you would live this life as brightly as possible.
Helloo. May I ask for a Kanae x fem reader in a modern au.
The reader is a famous idol and kanae is her personal bodyguard, while the other hashiras are her other public bodyguards who protect her from the huge crowds.
The reader really has severe trust issues after her former bodyguard attempted to violate her, and has been traumatized with men ever since. So the company assigned a female personal bodyguard for her. The company hired a group of elite bodyguards which is the hashiras
The reader was really wary of the men, but kanae helped her get comfortable around them. In the process, slowly. The both of them eventually started falling for each other, whenever they're alone the reader would always find an excuse to hold kanae's hand and ask for head pats whenever she's done practicing and is exhausted with practice. The hashiras see this knows none of them will confess unless they're pushed to do so (let's pretend there's no dating ban for idols here).
One day, while they were hanging out and shinobu and mitsuri were keeping the reader busy by shopping with her and trying clothes. The others were giving kanae the push she needed, and tengen had a bright idea. While the other's were busy talking, he secretly paid a woman to flirt with kanae once her and the reader were alone.
He then pulled the other hashiras aside, and while kanae and the reader were busy laughing and teasing each other. The woman approached kanae and asked for her number, which made the reader silent while kanae rejected her politely. When the woman insisted, the reader took kanae's hand and looked up to kanae. Then kanae introduced the reader as her girlfriend while pulling her close to her.
After that, the woman left. Kanae pulled the reader and they continued hanging out again.
But after things were settled and the reader got home, the pulled kanae inside her bedroom, which she never did before because of how much she was traumatized. The reader also opened up about her insecurities, and how much other people had looked down on her just because she doesn't meet the idol's standards in height as it is also one of the reasons why she was taken advantage of. Then amidst this opening up, kanae assured her and confessed to the reader. Then they got together.
Melody Behind the Butterfly’s Wings
Kanae Kocho x female reader
Word Count: 4769
The roar of the crowd was deafening. It vibrated directly through the air, pushed through the concrete foundations of the stadium, and echoed heavily in your chest. Tens of thousands of lightsticks sliced through the darkness of the concert hall, merging into a single, pulsing sea of light. On stage, right in the center of this chaos, stood you—[Y/N], a pop idol whose name never left the top charts across Asia. Your voice was flawless, your choreography honed to the millimeter, and the smile you offered your fans seemed the embodiment of absolute, sincere happiness. None of those adoring people screaming your name had any idea how heavy that smile truly was.
When the curtain finally dropped and the spotlights went out, the illusion vanished. Breathing heavily, you walked down the stairs backstage. Your legs hummed from hours of dancing in high heels, and an unceasing ringing echoed in your ears. But physical exhaustion was nothing compared to the tension that bound your nervous system.
The stage was the only place where you felt safe because an invisible boundary lay between you and the rest of the world there. But the moment you found yourself backstage, among the technical staff, managers, and stagehands, a familiar, sticky knot of panic rose in your throat.
Every time a large man among the technicians walked too close, your breathing faltered. Your shoulders instinctively tightened, and your fingers clenched into fists, your nails digging into your palms until your knuckles turned white. In your memory, like a worn-out reel of film, memories surfaced of the day that split your life into "before" and "after" forever.
It happened six months ago. Your former bodyguard—a man the agency trusted with your life, whose duty was to protect you from crazy fans and stalkers—turned out to be the main threat himself. You remembered the heaviness of his hands, the smell of alcohol on his breath, the locked dressing room door, and that paralyzing, animal terror when you realized no one was coming to help. You managed to break free by hitting him with a heavy bottle of hairspray and running into the corridor. The scandal was swept under the rug, the man was put behind bars, but the crack in your psyche turned into a gaping chasm. Ever since, the presence of men in enclosed spaces caused you uncontrollable panic attacks. You stopped sleeping, flinched at every rustle, and refused to leave the house unless strict contract requirements demanded it.
That was when your agency, realizing the full gravity of the situation (and unwilling to lose their main asset, who wasn't even burdened by a dating ban), took unprecedented measures. They terminated the contract with the regular security firm and turned to the elite.
That was how the "Hashira" Security Agency appeared in your life.
They were top-class professionals. They cost astronomical sums, but their reputation was flawless. However, your manager's primary condition was singular: your personal, inseparable bodyguard—the person who would be with you in the dressing rooms, in the car, and at home—had to be a woman.
And that woman was Kocho Kanae.
"You did wonderfully, [Y/N]-san," a soft, melodic voice rang out, pulling you from the abyss of dark memories.
You raised your eyes. Kanae stood before you. She wore a strict, impeccably tailored black suit, a white shirt, and a tie. Her long, jet-black hair fell freely over her shoulders, pinned at the sides with delicate butterfly-shaped hairclips. There was a strange, almost hypnotic grace to her presence. She moved silently, like a shadow, yet radiated such a powerful aura of calm and safety that your tense muscles involuntarily relaxed.
Kanae handed you a bottle of water and a fresh towel. There was neither harshness nor fuss in her movements. She stopped at precisely the distance that was comfortable for you, without violating your personal space.
"Thank you, Kanae," you smiled faintly, accepting the water. Your fingers brushed against hers by chance, and a pleasant, soothing shiver ran through your body. "I'm so tired. I just want to go home."
"The car is already waiting at the back entrance. The guys cleared the perimeter, there are no fans there. We can leave as soon as you're ready," Kanae smiled softly in response, her purple eyes glowing with genuine care.
You nodded, throwing an oversized jacket over your shoulders. Beside Kocho Kanae, the monsters of your past didn't seem quite so terrifying.
Leaving a concert hall was always a complex operation. But ever since the Hashira guarded you, everything had changed. Your agency hired an entire team to ensure your public safety, and they worked like a perfectly oiled machine.
When the doors opened, you saw them. Uzui Tengen, a tall, muscular man with striking silver hair, stood by the exit, drawing the press's attention with his flamboyant appearance and charisma, acting as a brilliant diversion. Rengoku Kyojuro and Himejima Gyomei formed an impenetrable human wall that not even the most aggressive fan could break through. Sanemi Shinazugawa and Obanai Iguro scanned the crowd with prickly, piercing gazes, cutting off any suspicious movements. And Tomioka Giyu controlled the escape routes.
At first, their presence terrified you. They were large, strong men who radiated danger. Your trauma made you shrink into a ball every time Sanemi growled loudly at annoying paparazzi, or when Tengen turned too sharply in your direction.
But here, Kanae came to the rescue once again.
She became more than just your bodyguard; she became your bridge to healing. Kanae was the eldest in the Kocho family, and her maternal, empathetic instinct was incredibly strong. She understood your fear without words.
"Sanemi-kun, please speak a little quieter, you're scaring [Y/N]-san," Kanae would gently yet authoritatively remark as you walked toward the car. And to your immense surprise, the stern, scarred Shinazugawa would instantly fall silent, guiltily lowering his head and stepping back a couple of paces to give you more space.
"They look scary," Kanae once told you as you sat in the armored van while Rengoku drove. "Kanae-san just whispered to me, but trust me, [Y/N]-san, every single one of them has a heart of gold. They are here so you can sing and smile without looking over your shoulder. They would never harm you. I vouch for each of them with my life."
Gradually, day by day, Kanae taught you how to trust again. She showed you that male strength could be directed toward protection rather than destruction. She asked Rengoku to serve you tea when you were in the dressing room so you would get used to his loud yet kind voice. She allowed Tengen to tell you his wild stories about his wives so you would see him not as a threat, but as an amusing, slightly eccentric friend. The Hashira, instructed by Kanae about your condition, behaved toward you as gently as if you were made of the thinnest glass.
Yet, despite all the progress in overcoming your fear of men, your heart chose an entirely different path. It reached out to the one who had become your main sanctuary—to the woman with eyes the color of evening twilight.
Your relationship had long since crossed the boundaries of a professional contract. Within the walls of your luxury apartment, free of fans, cameras, and other bodyguards, Kanae stayed with you. Officially, she was just supposed to stand watch in the living room or guest room. But loneliness frightened you no less than the crowd.
It started with small things. After grueling, hours-long choreography rehearsals, when your body ached and your nervous system was exhausted to the limit, you sat on the living room sofa, hugging your knees. Kanae would bring you hot tea and sit beside you, at a respectful distance, ready to listen to your worries at any moment.
On one such evening, the silence in the apartment felt especially heavy. You looked at Kanae, at her relaxed posture, at how the floor lamp's light played in her hair. An immense, unbearable need for tactile contact, for human warmth of which you had been deprived due to your fear, suddenly washed over you.
Slowly, hesitatingly, you reached out your hand. Your fingers trembled as you crossed the distance between you and timidly, barely touching, placed your palm over hers resting on the sofa's armrest.
Kanae froze. She shifted her gaze to your hand, then to your face. Tears of exhaustion and silent pleading welled in your eyes. You expected her to pull away, to remind you of subordination. But instead, Kanae smoothly turned her palm over and interlocked her fingers with yours. Her hand was warm, slightly rough from constant hand-to-hand combat training, but so dependable.
"Kanae..." your voice broke into a whisper. "I'm so tired. Can you... can you stroke my head? Please."
It was the plea of a small, frightened girl hiding behind the mask of an untouchable pop idol.
Kanae’s smile grew so tender it made your heart ache. "Of course, sweetie," she answered quietly. For the first time, she dropped the formal "-san" suffix.
She moved closer. You instinctively leaned in, resting your forehead against her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her perfume—the light fragrance of blooming wisteria. Kanae’s free hand descended onto your hair. She began to slowly, rhythmically stroke your head, running strands through her fingers. Every movement of hers was filled with such boundless, healing care that all your fears, complexes, and anxieties dissolved like sugar in hot water. You closed your eyes, feeling tension leave your body, giving way to a sweet, warming feeling of infatuation.
Ever since that evening, it became your secret tradition. Every time the doors of your apartment closed, erasing the boundaries between idol and bodyguard, you sought her hand. You held her hand when you watched movies. You asked her to stroke your hair when you couldn't sleep. And Kanae never refused. Her touches became your personal brand of therapy, and her smile your most precious treasure.
Yet neither of you dared to speak aloud what had long lingered in the air. Kanae was held back by her professional duty and fear of crossing your newly formed personal boundaries. And you were held back by your own complexes and insecurities.
Fortunately, the Hashira Security Agency employed not only stern fighters, but also incredibly perceptive people.
They saw everything. Any professional bodyguard can read body language. And the Hashira, possessing phenomenal observational skills, doubly so. They saw how your gaze always searched for Kanae in a crowd. They noticed how Kanae grew tense and ready to kill anyone who looked at you sideways, even though she continued to smile outwardly. They saw you blush when your shoulders accidentally brushed.
"Those two are going to drive me crazy with their indecision," Uzui Tengen rolled his eyes, sitting in the security agency's break room. "It's completely un-flamboyant! Kanae circles around her like a bee around a flower, but is afraid to land. And our precious client looks at Kanae as if she's a goddess descended from heaven."
"Kanae-san is simply very responsible," Rengoku noted, crossing his arms over his chest. "She believes her feelings might harm the client! That's noble, but fundamentally wrong!"
"If they keep this up, I'll go over and bang their heads together myself," Sanemi growled, polishing his knife. "It's irritating."
Kanae’s younger sister, Shinobu, who also worked at the agency, sighed heavily. "Onee-san is too delicate. And [Y/N]-san is too traumatized to take the first step. They need a catalyst. A strong emotional push that will make them forget the rules."
Tengen’s eyes gleamed predatory. He snapped his fingers, adorned with massive rings. "Leave it to me! I have the most brilliant, most extravagant plan in the history of the security business! Tomorrow is [Y/N]'s day off, and the agency approved a group outing to the city. We'll set everything up."
The next day, the weather in Tokyo was ideal. The management of your agency agreed to a rare outing: you were allowed to visit a large upscale shopping mall on the condition that the Hashira accompanied you in civilian clothes, dispersed around the perimeter. There were no dating bans in your contract—your image was built on talent and sincerity, not the illusion of accessibility to fans.
You put on simple yet stylish clothes, hiding your face behind dark glasses and a cap, and for the first time in a long while, felt like an ordinary girl.
Shinobu and Mitsuri Kanroji (who worked alongside Obanai) took on the role of your girlfriends.
"[Y/N]-chan! Look at this dress! It's simply made for you!" Mitsuri eagerly dragged you into an upscale boutique, waving a hanger with a pale pink sundress. "You'll look so cute in it!"
Shinobu, walking beside you, smiled cunningly. "Agreed. I'm sure someone won't be able to take their eyes off you if you wear it on your next... evening hangout."
You flushed a deep crimson, understanding Shinobu's hint, but let yourself be dragged into the fitting room. It was fun. You laughed, tried on outfits, and discussed fashion with the girls. For the first time in many months, you felt so alive and carefree. The male Hashira kept a respectful distance, monitoring the boutique's entrances and escalators, ensuring your complete safety.
And Kanae... Kanae stood by the window, watching you laugh, and her heart filled with absolute, boundless happiness. Seeing you smile, free from panic attacks, was the greatest reward for her.
While you and Mitsuri were choosing shoes, Tengen quietly approached the rest of the guys and Shinobu. "Listen up. Right now, we're heading out to the open terrace with fountains. We're going to smoothly blend into the crowd and 'lose' them from sight, creating the illusion that they're left alone. I've already checked the perimeter, it's safe. And then my trump card enters the game."
He gestured toward a tall, stunningly beautiful, and very confident-looking woman standing near a coffee shop nearby.
"I paid her a tidy sum," the Sound Pillar smirked smugly. "She's a professional actress. Her task is to approach Kanae when they're alone and start flirting very, very aggressively. Let's see how our precious pop star reacts to competition. Jealousy is the best stimulant for courage!"
"That is outrageous and extremely unprofessional," Tomioka Giyu frowned.
"It's genius," Shinobu retorted, her eyes sparkling gleefully. "Onee-san will never realize it's a setup, and [Y/N]-san will finally take the initiative. Let's move."
The outing shifted to the open, sun-drenched terrace of the shopping mall. A massive fountain beat in the middle of the square. The Hashira, as if on cue, silently dispersed, leaving you and Kanae right in the center, alone.
You walked slowly along the fountain's edge. You took off your cap, exposing your face to the light breeze. In your hands was pistachio ice cream that Kanae had bought you a few minutes ago.
"Are you having fun?" Kanae asked, walking slightly behind, her gaze caressing your profile.
"Very," you turned to her with a radiant smile. "Thank you for organizing this. I haven't felt... normal in so long."
Kanae laughed softly, adjusting a strand that had come loose from your hairstyle. "You are normal, [Y/N]. You're wonderful. And I'm glad you're smiling."
You looked into each other's eyes, and the world around seemed to cease existing. The air between you grew thick, electrified. Kanae took a step closer, her breathing faltering. You leaned forward as well, feeling your heart beat at a frantic rhythm.
"Excuse me!" a sudden, loud, and very confident female voice rang out.
The spell shattered. You both startled and turned around.
Standing before you was the very woman Tengen had hired. Tall, in a form-fitting red dress, with brightly painted lips and a predatory look. She completely ignored you (thoroughly disguised by dark glasses) and focused all her attention on Kanae.
"I just couldn't walk past," the woman coquettishly flipped her hair back, stepping uncomfortably close to Kanae. Her voice oozed honey and blatant flirtation. "I was sitting at a café and watching you. You look stunning. You have such incredible posture and those butterflies in your hair... simply charming."
Kanae, always impeccably polite but completely unaccustomed to such pressure from strangers, was slightly taken aback. Her bodyguard instincts kicked in for a second, but she saw no threat in the woman. "Thank you," Kanae smiled politely, taking half a step back to maintain distance. "You're very kind."
But the woman wasn't backing down. She stepped forward, her hand with a flawless manicure reaching out and casually touching the lapel of Kanae's jacket. "I'm a photographer. And I'd love to work with you. But I must admit, my interest isn't purely professional," the woman smiled invitingly, lowering her voice. "Maybe we could grab coffee? Right now? Or would you leave me your phone number? I promise, it won't be boring."
You froze. The ice cream in your hand began to melt, dripping onto the asphalt. Your complexes, which had slept all day, suddenly struck you in the gut. This woman was tall. She was incredibly confident, uninhibited, and bold. She was the exact opposite of you—a small, broken girl who feared her own shadow and needed constant protection. Why should Kanae choose you when there were such bright, strong women around?
Kanae, noticing you tense up and pale, instantly lost all interest in politeness. Her smile turned cold and professional.
"Pardon me, but I must refuse," Kanae's voice turned hard as steel. She softly yet firmly removed the woman's hand from her jacket. "I am currently at work. And even if I weren't, I am not interested in making acquaintances. Have a good day."
Yet the hired actress was working for her fee two hundred percent. "Oh, come on," she laughed invitingly, taking another step and nearly pressing against Kanae. "What work on such a lovely day? Your friend won't mind if I steal you for half an hour, right? Come on, give me your number. I know how to be very persistent."
The woman reached out to take Kanae's hand.
And right then, something snapped inside you.
The fear of being rejected, the fear of not being good enough, suddenly receded before a powerful, scorching, primitive wave of jealousy and possessiveness. This was your Kanae. The very same Kanae who stroked your hair. The very same Kanae who chased away your nightmares.
Before the bodyguard could push the annoying stranger away, you took a sharp step forward.
You tossed the unfinished ice cream into the nearest trash can, and your small yet strong hand grabbed Kanae's wrist in a death grip. You squeezed her fingers, interlocking them with yours, and pulled Kocho toward you with force, making her stand almost flush against you.
The actress froze in surprise. Kanae widened her eyes in shock, looking down at you.
You didn't take off your glasses, but your chin was stubbornly lifted. You stood straight, taut like a string, staring at the tall woman before you. Your voice, usually so soft and timid, now rang out loud, clear, and with undeniable authority honed by years of performing before tens of thousands of crowds.
"She already told you she's not interested," you said coldly and harshly. Your hand squeezed Kanae's palm even tighter. "And it's not about work. It's about the fact that she is with me. And I really don't like when someone tries to flirt with my person right in front of me. So I'll ask you to step away."
Tengen, watching the scene through binoculars from the second-floor balcony, silently screamed with delight, triumphantly thrusting his fist into the air. Shinobu smiled contentedly.
Kanae, hearing your words, felt her heart skip a beat and then race at a crazy rhythm. You, her small, frightened client, had just publicly staked claims on her. A wave of absolute, burning adoration washed over Kocho completely. All professional barriers collapsed in a single second.
Kanae hesitated no longer. With her free hand, she grabbed your waist, pulling you against her authoritatively and tenderly. She looked at the stranger with her signature piercing gaze, which now lacked a single drop of politeness.
"You heard my girlfriend," Kanae's voice was like velvet wrapped around a steel blade. Her smile turned predatory. "She really dislikes pushy people. And I really dislike when anything upsets my girlfriend. I strongly recommend you leave before I call mall security."
Realizing her mission was over-fulfilled (and slightly frightened by Kanae's aura), the actress raised her hands placatingly. "Oh, sorry. I didn't know you were together. Have a nice life," she spun around on her heels and quickly vanished into the crowd.
You were left alone. Kanae still held your waist firmly, and you still gripped her hand. Your breathing was fast, your chest rising heavily. The adrenaline that had made you act began to recede, replaced by fear of what you had just done. You called her your girlfriend. And she played along to get rid of the stranger.
You slowly let go of her hand and tried to step back, lowering your head. "Sorry..." you muttered, burning with shame. "I shouldn't have done that. It was unprofessional. I just... she was pressing you so hard, and I was afraid that..."
Yet Kanae wouldn't let you pull away. She kept her hold on your waist. "It's alright, [Y/N]," her voice was remarkably raspy. "You did the right thing. Let's go. It's time to head home."
The rest of the way to the car and the entire drive to your penthouse passed in a deafening, ringing silence. The Hashira escorting you exchanged understanding smiles but uttered not a word.
When the front door of your apartment closed, cutting you off from the outside world, the silence became unbearable. You took off your jacket and shoes, feeling as though you had just run a marathon. Your thoughts were in complete chaos. She called you her girlfriend. But that was just a game to deflect attention, right? As a bodyguard, she had to play along.
Kanae stopped in the hallway, checking security systems out of habit, though her thoughts were far from work.
"I'll draw a bath and make tea," Kanae said routinely, without looking at you.
Yet you couldn't take it anymore. This uncertainty, the gap between what happened at the square and this cold politeness now, was killing you. Your old fears mixed with new emotions, creating an explosive cocktail.
You spun around. Your eyes, stripped of protective glasses, were full of tears and despair. "No," you said firmly.
You walked up to Kanae, grabbed her by the wrist, and pulled her along. Kanae gasped in surprise but obediently followed you.
You led her down the hallway, past the living room, straight to the massive oak door of your bedroom. This was your absolute sanctuary. A place where you had never let a single person enter since that horrible incident with your former bodyguard. Even cleaning staff entered only under your strict supervision. Your bedroom was the fortress of your fear.
You flung the door open and dragged Kanae inside. Then you slammed the door, turned the lock, and leaned your back against it, cutting off retreat for both of you.
The room was plunged in semi-darkness. A wide bed, heavy curtains, not a single unnecessary item. Kanae froze in the middle of the room, stunned by your actions. She knew what this step meant for you. You had let her into your most vulnerable space.
"[Y/N]..." she began quietly, taking a step toward you.
"Why did you say that?" your voice broke, tears rolling down your cheeks. You could no longer hold up the mask of a successful, strong star. You were just a broken girl who desperately wanted love. "Why did you play along out there at the square? Why did you call me your girlfriend?"
"I wasn't playing along..." Kanae tried to say, but you interrupted her, words pouring out of you in a torrent of pain and complexes.
"You saw her! You saw that woman! She's tall, she's bold, she's beautiful! She doesn't have panic attacks when someone gets too close!" you hugged yourself, sliding down the door to the floor. "And me? Look at me, Kanae. I don't even measure up to idol standards. I'm too short, too fragile. Everyone has always looked down on me. That bastard... my past guard... he looked down on me too. He thought that because I was small, I was weak. That meant he could do whatever he wanted with me, and I couldn't fight back."
You sobbed, choking on the pain you had carried inside for months. "I hate my height! I hate my weakness! I'm constantly terrified! Why should you bother with a coward like me when there are women who can offer you a normal life instead of a babysitter job for a hysterical mess?!"
The words hung in the air like a heavy, leaden weight. Your trauma, your deepest complexes lay bared before her.
Kanae didn't hesitate from afar. She quickly crossed the room, dropped to her knees right in front of you on the soft carpet, and resolutely yet incredibly tenderly framed your face with both hands. She forced you to lift your head and look into her eyes.
In her purple eyes, there was neither pity nor professional detachment. They blazed with an ocean of love, so deep and all-consuming that your tears momentarily stopped.
"Stop," Kanae's voice was stern yet soaked in such tenderness that everything inside you trembled. "Never, do you hear me, [Y/N], never speak of yourself like that again. You aren't weak. You survived what would have broken most people, and you continue to step onto the stage, bringing light to millions. You are the strongest, bravest woman I have ever met."
She began covering your face with light, weightless kisses—kissing your tear-stained eyes, your cheeks, your forehead. "I don't need tall, confident strangers. I don't need anyone except you. Your height, your fragility—these aren't your flaws. They're what make you perfect in my eyes. When I look at you, I don't see a victim. I see my queen, for whom I am ready to burn this entire world if anyone dares to hurt you."
You gasped raggedly, your hands timidly resting on her shoulders. "Kanae..."
"Out there by the fountain... that wasn't a game, [Y/N]," Kanae pulled back by a millimeter to look straight into your soul. Her voice trembled with overwhelming emotion. "When you took my hand and called me yours... it was the happiest moment of my life. I love you. I've been in love with you since the very first day I saw you backstage when you were trembling with fear yet still went out to meet the fans with a smile. I love your hair, your voice, the way you ask me to stroke your head. I love all of you, entirely, with all your fears and scars."
Tears poured from your eyes anew, but this time they were tears of absolute, cleansing grace. The massive, heavy wall of your complexes crumbled under the weight of her sincerity. She didn't consider you a burden. She considered you her miracle.
You hesitated no longer. You leaned forward, wrapped both arms around her neck, and pressed your lips to hers.
Kanae responded instantly. It was a kiss blending salty tears, desperate tenderness, and passion held back for months. She wrapped her arms around your waist, pulling you so close that not a single millimeter of free space remained between you. Her lips were soft yet incredibly persistent. She kissed you with such care as though you were made of the finest porcelain, yet with such passion as though she wanted to dissolve into you completely.
You answered her, feeling your fingers bury themselves in her long dark hair. All fear, all pain of the past vanished, burning away in the fire of that kiss. In Kocho Kanae's embrace, there was no room for monsters. Here, there was only safety, warmth, and boundless love.
When you pulled apart, breathing heavily, Kanae pressed her forehead against yours. Her chest heaved, and her lips wore that very sincere, loving smile meant exclusively for you.
"Does this mean I can officially call you my girlfriend not just in front of annoying actresses hired by Tengen?" Kanae whispered with a mischievous, happy note.
You froze for a second, processing her words. Your eyes widened. "Wait... hired by Tengen? So it was a setup?!"
Kanae laughed softly, melodically, kissing the tip of your nose. "Oh, darling, the Hashira can be very dangerous matchmakers. But I don't regret anything. If not for this brilliant, as Uzui would say, plan, I probably wouldn't have dared to break professional ethics for a long time."
You gasped indignantly, but immediately burst into laughter, burying your face in her shoulder.
"I'm firing all of them," you muttered through laughter, feeling utterly happy.
"Just not me," Kanae whispered, holding you tighter. "My contract with you is now lifelong. And it is non-cancellable."
Sitting on the floor of your bedroom, which no longer felt like a fortress of fear but had become your private sanctuary, you realized you had finally found your primary melody. And that melody played within the heartbeat of the woman who held you in her arms.
Hellooo. I saw this one idea on TikTok and it also gave me an idea to request here and I hope you don't mind heh.
May I ask for a shinobu x f reader. Where the reader is a professional ice skater. They've been married for years and they are as happy as they can get. Then one day, the reader has to go for a competition where someone sabotaged her service vehicle that had gotten her into an accident and rushed into the hospital where the kocho sister owned.
The reader got into a coma for months and when she finally woke up, she got into amnesia and she couldn't remember anything not even her own name. Shinobu knew the possibility for the reader to get an amnesia was high and sudden memory drop on the reader will only cause her more pain. So shinobu stayed by the reader's side without mentioning that they are married, kanae was concerned but when she observed closer. She noticed how the reader looked at shinobu with those same eyes she used on shinobu whenever she was calming her sister down from snapping and she knew what's going on from then and only watched it unfold.
The reader always feels nostalgic whenever shinobu is around and eventually she falls in love with shinobu again. But the reader thought she didn't have any chance as she saw shinobu's ring finger occupied by their own wedding ring.
Shinobu was not oblivious about it, she deliberately made the reader fall in love with her again by doing the same things they used to do when they were still dating and shinobu indulged her with a confession, not the typical one but with the revelation of them actually being married.
Dance on the Shards of Ice
Shinobu Kocho x female reader
Word Count: 3440
Ice had always been your element. Cold, brilliant, uncompromising—it never forgave mistakes, yet it generously rewarded the perfect glide. You were a professional figure skater whose name thundered across global arenas. Your jumps defied the laws of gravity, and your grace on the ice made stadiums fall into an awe-struck silence. Your career was at its peak, but your greatest gold medal, your most precious achievement, was the life you built beyond the rink.
There, Shinobu was waiting for you.
You had been married for many years, and every day spent together felt like a fairy tale brought to life. Shinobu Kochou—a brilliant doctor, co-owner of a prestigious private clinic, a woman with an incredibly sharp mind and an even sharper tongue. Yet with you, she shed her prickly armor. At home, she was simply your loving wife, brewing chamomile tea for you after grueling practices, massaging your tired muscles, and falling asleep with her nose pressed against your neck. Your life was as happy as it could possibly be in this bustling, unpredictable world.
Yet other people's success always breeds envy.
It was the day of the National Championship finals. You were the main favorite, ready to claim yet another gold. Stepping out of the hotel, you got into the company car provided by your sponsors. The driver gently pulled away. You closed your eyes, mentally running through the elements of your free skate, picturing Shinobu watching you from the stands, proudly clutching a bouquet of your favorite flowers.
You didn't know that overnight, someone whose heart had been poisoned by jealousy and malice had crept into the parking lot. The brake lines had been severed with surgical, villainous precision.
The disaster struck on the steep descent of the overpass. In a panic, the driver slammed his foot down on the brake pedal, but the car only gathered speed, turning into an uncontrollable metal projectile. The screech of tires, the driver's scream, the deafening crunch of tearing metal, and the sound of shattering glass—all of it merged into a single symphony of terror. At full speed, the car smashed through the barrier and crashed into a concrete bridge pier. The world instantly plunged into absolute, pitch-black darkness for you.
You were rushed to the nearest major medical center—the Kochou sisters' clinic.
As the blood-soaked stretcher was wheeled into the emergency department, Shinobu was just finishing her rounds. Catching sight of your pale, battered face, she dropped her tablet. Her heart skipped a beat, and the world around her ceased to exist.
"Y/N..." she breathed, rushing toward you and pushing the orderlies aside. Her hands, always so confident and steady, were shaking.
"Doctor Kochou, step back! She has a severe traumatic brain injury, multiple fractures, we're losing her!" the emergency doctor shouted.
Shinobu knew the protocol. She knew she couldn't operate on her own spouse. It violated all medical ethics and clouded the judgment. But surrendering your life into someone else's hands was physically unbearable. Only thanks to Kanae's iron grip—her older sister, who literally dragged Shinobu away from the operating room—did the Insect Hashira keep from breaking down in hysterics right there in the hallway. The surgery lasted ten hours. Ten hours of hell during which Shinobu sat on the floor of the staff room, clutching her wedding ring in her hand and silently begging all the gods in the universe not to take you away from her.
You survived. Yet you slipped into a deep, medically induced coma.
Three endless, agonizing months passed. Every day, Shinobu sat by your bed. She changed your IV drips herself, checked the monitor readings herself. She talked to you, read books to you, told you how much she missed your laughter and how much she hated the silence in their empty home.
As a doctor, Shinobu fully understood the risks. The head injury had been catastrophic. The probability that you would wake up with severe cognitive impairments was frighteningly high.
Then, one rainy autumn morning, your eyelashes fluttered.
Shinobu, dozing in the chair beside the bed, instantly woke up at the change in the heart monitor's rhythm. She bolted upright, her eyes wide with hope.
You slowly opened your eyes. The light in the room stabbed at your retina. You winced, groaning softly. Your head was splitting, and your body felt foreign, heavy, filled with lead.
"Y/N... darling, can you hear me?" Shinobu's voice trembled with tears. She leaned over you, her violet eyes shining with such boundless, desperate love that it could have melted any glacier. She reached out to take your hand, to press it against her lips.
Yet you weakly pulled your hand away. Your gaze, sliding across her face, was empty. There was no recognition in it, no warmth. Only the primal, deep fear of a person waking up in the unknown.
"Who... who are you?" your voice was hoarse, breaking. You scanned the white walls of the room, the beeping monitors, and then looked back at her. Panic began to engulf you. "Where am I? And... who am I? I don't remember. I don't remember anything!"
Shinobu's hand hung suspended in the air. Her heart, having just soared to the heavens from the joy of your awakening, plunged and shattered into pieces.
Amnesia.
The worst-case scenario of all possibilities had become reality. You remembered neither your brilliant career, nor your parents, nor the years you had spent together. To you, Shinobu Kochou, the love of your life, was simply an unfamiliar woman in a white coat.
Shinobu's brilliant medical mind instantly suppressed the hysterics of a loving wife. She knew that abrupt, aggressive memory recovery—trying to forcibly make you remember facts from your past life when your brain was still so vulnerable—could lead to irreversible psychological trauma. Pressure would only cause you greater pain, triggering rejection and paranoia. She had to protect you. Even if it meant tearing her own soul to shreds.
Shinobu slowly lowered her hand. She straightened up, taking a deep breath, hiding all her agony behind a professional, gentle smile.
"Hush, please, don't worry," her voice became even, soothing, devoid of the intimate tenderness it held a second ago. "You're in a hospital. You were in a serious car accident and spent a few months in a coma. My name is Doctor Kochou Shinobu. I'm your attending physician. You're safe."
You looked at her, breathing heavily, trying to grasp onto any thought in your empty head.
"Doctor Kochou..." you whispered, tasting the name. It felt strangely familiar, yet slipped away like sand through your fingers. "I... I don't remember anything. There's just white noise in my head."
"That's normal after an injury like that," Shinobu gently adjusted the blanket, taking care not to brush against your skin so she wouldn't break down crying. "We're going to restore your memory gradually. Step by step. Trust me."
The long and difficult rehabilitation process began. Your body, accustomed to the colossal physical demands of a figure skater, had grown weak. You were learning to walk again, to hold a spoon again, to live again. And all this time, Doctor Kochou was right there.
She came to see you every day. Strict, professional, always in a flawlessly white coat with her butterfly hairpin in her hair. She didn't tell you that you were married. She told you your name was Y/N, that you were a former athlete, but she kept the details of your personal life concealed, citing that you needed time for your brain to start generating memories on its own.
Kanae, the head physician of the clinic and Shinobu's older sister, watched this scene with a heavy heart. She saw how Shinobu locked herself in her office in the evenings and wept from powerlessness, unable to embrace her own wife. Kanae several times made a move to tell you the truth, but Shinobu strictly forbade it.
Yet soon, Kanae began to notice something remarkable.
It happened on the day of your very first attempt to walk down the corridor without crutches. Your legs buckled, and you would have fallen if Shinobu hadn't caught you. In a panic, you clutched at her coat, breathing heavily, frustrated by your own weakness.
Unable to bear it, Shinobu lost her composure for a second. Her face twisted with pain for you, tears welled in her eyes, and her hands shook. She had always hated her own helplessness, and now, seeing your suffering, she was ready to snap.
And that was when Kanae saw it.
You, remembering nothing about yourself, suddenly lifted your gaze to Shinobu. Your eyes, previously filled with panic and disappointment, instantly changed. They gained that very same deep, warm, almost maternal serenity that had always been your trademark. You didn't know who this woman in front of you was, but your instinct, your soul, which loved her more than life, worked faster than your mind.
Softly, almost weightlessly, you placed your trembling palm over the hand Shinobu had wrapped around your waist.
"Doctor Kochou... it's alright," your voice was quiet, even, and incredibly calm. You looked straight into her eyes, and that gaze conveyed such absolute, unconditional support that Shinobu instantly froze. "Don't worry. I'll manage. You're a great doctor. I'm going to be fine."
Kanae, standing in the doorway of the room, covered her mouth with her hand, smiling happily through her tears. She recognized that look. With that exact look, you had always calmed the fiery, prickly Shinobu whenever she came home exhausted and angry at the whole world. You might have forgotten your name, you might have forgotten your medals and your home, but you hadn't forgotten how to love her. Your soul remembered Shinobu.
Kanae quietly stepped back into the corridor. She understood everything. She didn't need to interfere. Love, erased from memory, was already planting new roots. All she could do was watch this story write itself anew.
Weeks went by. You began noticing strange things about yourself.
Every time Doctor Kochou entered the room, your heart performed a joyful somersault. The scent of her perfume—a mix of lavender and wisteria—gave you goosebumps, warming a thick, sweet feeling of nostalgia deep in your chest. You felt as though you knew every curve of her face. When she frowned while studying your chart, you felt an unbearable urge to reach out and smooth away the wrinkle between her eyebrows. When she smiled her polite, professional smile, something inside you screamed that the smile was fake, that you knew her real, genuine smile.
You were falling in love with your attending physician. Falling deeply, hopelessly, and desperately.
You felt comfortable sitting in silence with her. You liked listening to her voice. You caught yourself awaiting her morning rounds with such eagerness as if your life depended on it.
Yet one day, while Shinobu was checking your blood pressure, your eyes dropped to her left hand. A simple yet elegant white gold band gleamed faintly on her ring finger.
Your heart plummeted into an abyss.
She is married.
The thought struck you harder than the physical pain of your fractures. That day, you grew unusually quiet. You turned toward the window when she tried to speak to you, asking to be left alone under the pretext of fatigue. Your soul was tearing apart from guilt and helplessness. How could you fall in love with a married person? How could you be so selfish? Doctor Kochou must have a wonderful family, someone waiting for her at home while she spent time with you. You stood no chance. You were just a broken patient with no past.
Shinobu was not blind. She possessed incredible perceptiveness and saw perfectly how your behavior had shifted. She noticed how your gaze, full of dawning tenderness, suddenly slammed into her ring and then dimmed, replaced by cold detachment.
Her brilliant mind quickly added two and two together. You had fallen in love with her all over again. But your nobility prevented you from breaking up a "foreign" marriage.
Shinobu could have told you everything right then and there. She could have fetched the documents, shown photographs. But she saw how you suffered from the lack of an identity. She wanted you to fall in love with her not because it was written on a marriage certificate, but because your heart chose her all over again. She decided not just to tell you the truth. She decided to make you walk the exact same path you had walked years ago.
She was going to make you fall in love with her all over again, ignoring all the rules.
Her tactics shifted. Professional distance was cast aside. Doctor Kochou transformed into a woman persistently yet gracefully pursuing your attention.
One evening, long after official visiting hours had ended, the door to your room opened. Shinobu entered not in a white coat, but in an elegant casual dress. In her hands, she held two paper cups and a paper bag.
"Doctor Kochou?" you raised yourself up on the pillows in surprise. "Did something happen with my test results?"
"Drop the formalities, Y/N, we aren't on rounds right now," she smiled softly, sitting down in the chair by the bed and handing you one of the cups. "I figured hospital food must have driven you out of your mind by now. This is hot chocolate with double marshmallows and a hint of cinnamon. And fresh ginger cookies from the bakery around the corner."
You froze, taking the cup into your hands. The aroma of hot chocolate hit your nose, and a vivid flash of lightning crossed your mind: snow, ice, laced-up skates, and someone's warm hands handing you the exact same cup.
"How on earth... do you know that I like this exact kind of chocolate?" your voice trembled.
"Just a guess," Shinobu slyly narrowed her eyes, taking a sip from her own cup. "Your medical chart says you're a figure skater. And all skaters love hot chocolate after the ice. Don't they?"
You couldn't help a smile. "I suppose so. Thank you... Shinobu."
The next day, she brought you a book. It was an old, tattered volume of poetry. "I found this in the clinic library. Thought you might be bored," she said, leaving the book on the bedside table.
When you opened it, you realized you knew every single line by heart. It was the very same book Shinobu used to read aloud to you when you were sick many years ago. With every poem you read, flowers blossomed in your soul.
Shinobu began breaking clinic rules for your sake. She came at night when you couldn't sleep due to phantom pains. She no longer sat in the chair. She sat on the edge of your bed, took your hand in hers, and quietly, soothingly told funny stories about Kanae and the other doctors.
One day, when you were strong enough to get around in a wheelchair, Shinobu secretly wheeled you out into the hospital garden.
It was late spring. The garden was planted with wisteria trees that were now in full bloom, dropping purple petals onto the pathways. The air was saturated with a sweet, intoxicating scent.
Shinobu stopped the wheelchair beneath the largest tree. She walked around the chair and stood in front of you. Moonlight fell across her face, making her look like an ethereal creature.
"Pretty, isn't it?" she asked quietly, catching a falling petal.
"Very," you weren't looking at the flowers. You were looking at her.
At that moment, you forgot about her ring. You forgot about the amnesia. You forgot about decorum. Your heart was screaming so loudly that you could no longer hold it back.
"Shinobu..." you reached forward and gently took her hand. The very same hand where the wedding ring gleamed. Your fingers shook, yet you didn't let go. "I know I have no right. I know that you're... that you're married. And I know I'm just a broken person with no past. But I can't pretend anymore."
Shinobu held her breath. Her eyes widened.
"I've fallen in love with you," your voice was full of despair and absolute sincerity. Tears welled in your eyes. "Ever since the day I woke up. Every look you give me, every smile... I feel like I've known you my whole life. I don't want to ruin your family. I just wanted you to know. Forgive me."
You lowered your head, expecting her to pull her hand away. Expecting her to say it was unprofessional, a mistake.
Instead, you heard a quiet, silvery laugh.
In shock, you raised your head. Shinobu was laughing. It wasn't a cruel or mocking laugh. It was the laugh of someone from whose shoulders an enormous, unbearable mountain had just fallen. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but her face radiated such absolute happiness that it took your breath away.
She dropped to her knees right there on the path strewn with wisteria petals, coming face-to-face with you.
"Oh, my foolish, noble Y/N," she whispered, her voice trembling with overwhelming emotion. She cupped your face in both hands, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks with her thumbs. "You aren't ruining my family."
"But... your ring..." you looked at her left hand uncomprehendingly.
"My ring?" Shinobu smiled through her tears. She raised her left hand, showcasing the thin white gold band. "Yes, I am married. To the most stubborn, most talented, and most wonderful person in the world. A person who loves hot chocolate with cinnamon, who knows old poetry by heart, and who calms me down with a single glance when I'm ready to explode with anger."
Your brain raced to piece the puzzle together. Your eyes widened.
Shinobu unbuttoned the top buttons of her coat and reached for her neck. She pulled out a thin silver chain that had been hidden under her clothes the entire time.
A ring hung from the chain. Completely identical to the one on her ring finger.
"When they brought you to the ICU after the crash, the orderlies had to take it off your hand because of the swelling," Shinobu whispered, lifting the chain over her head. "I've worn it right against my heart this entire time. Waiting for you to be ready to wear it again."
She placed the chain with the ring into your trembling palm. The metal was warm from her skin.
"You... we..." you couldn't string two words together. The shock was colossal, yet alongside it came a feeling of relief so profound as though the missing piece of your soul had finally clicked into its rightful place.
"Yes, my love. We are married," Shinobu held back no longer. She pressed her forehead against yours, her breath mingling with yours. "You are my wife. I didn't tell you because I was afraid of scaring you. Afraid you would hate me for pushing. I wanted you to choose me all over again. Without hints."
Tears poured from your eyes in a torrent. You looked down at the ring in your hand, and then at the woman kneeling before you. Phantom memories, fragments of feelings, scents, and touches suddenly made sense. The void in your head hadn't filled with facts, but your heart... your heart had known all along.
You dropped the chain, threw both arms around Shinobu's neck, and pulled her toward you.
Your lips met hers in a desperate, deep kiss. It was no longer the kiss of a patient and a doctor. It was the kiss of two people who had found each other in the dark, fighting through amnesia, fear, and pain. You kissed her as if trying to breathe into her all the love you couldn't express in words. Shinobu answered you with matching passion, her hands tangling in your hair, holding you tight as if terrified you would vanish again.
She tasted like tears, chamomile tea, and the promise of eternity.
When you finally pulled apart, breathless, Shinobu gently stroked your cheek.
"I still don't remember our wedding day," you whispered, burying your nose in her palm, feeling like the happiest woman in the universe. "I don't remember how we met."
"That doesn't matter," Shinobu smiled, her violet eyes shining in the moonlight. She picked up the ring from the chain and slowly, reverently slid it onto the ring finger of your left hand. It fit perfectly. "We have our whole lives ahead of us to make new memories. We can go on our first date a thousand times over. I will make you fall in love with me every single day if I have to."
You looked down at your hand, where the ring now gleamed, and then up at Shinobu. "You won't have to try hard. My heart will always choose you. Even if I forget everything else in the world, I'll remember how much I love you."
Beneath the blooming branches of the wisteria, in the hospital garden that witnessed your rebirth, the ice of your amnesia finally melted away. You hadn't recovered your past that evening, but you had recovered something far greater. You had recovered your future. And in that future, full of new victories, falls, and endless love, Doctor Kochou Shinobu would always be holding your hand.
Can you do a shinobu x fem reader who got put into a coma a bit after Kanae died. The reader and shinobu started dating in their teenage years, best friends with Kanae. Very polite and silly with the rest of the butterfly sisters. While shinobu and the reader were dating, shinobu was extremely lovestruck by the reader. reader was fairly calm but liked to mess with shinobu a lot, since they loved making shinobu lose her temper. But was very peaceful to be around, something Kanae and the reader had in common. The reader was really distraught after Kanae died but didn’t isolate themselves, being loving and there for shinobu as much as they could be.
A month after Kanae died, the reader was sent on a mission with some other random slayer and at some point during the fighting, the reader had gotten a strong strike and had their head slammed against a pile of Stone. The reader was rushed back to the Butterfly Mansion and was said to be in a coma.
4 years passed, during these years, Shinobu sat by the readers bedside quite often, whenever she’s sad, stressed, calm, whenever she can. Since the reader always calmed her nerves. Talking to the unconscious reader.
When the reader finally awakens, shinobu is on a month long mission. The first face the reader sees is Inosuke, who was crawling on the ceiling above them , wandering around without a care, and was being nosey. The first thought the reader had was “what the fuck?” And “what is happening?”. Soon Aoi finds out when hearing Inosuke standing over the reader yelling some crazy nonsense. Aoi takes care of the reader and pushes them around on a wheel chair, talking to them and updating everything that has been happening when they were in a coma, getting encouragement from Tanjiro or the other butterfly girls for talking or slight movement.
When shinobu gets back, she is spent, exhausted and immediately heads for the readers room, hoping for the comforting presence of the reader. the reader isn’t there, which caused shinobu to get confused and assumed they got moved to another room, and immediately goes to Aoi who informs her and points to a tree where the reader was sat upright against the tree to avoid from falling over, with a butterfly girl resting on their lap. And another holding a book for them to read.
When Shinobu approached, the reader didn’t recognize her for a moment before it clicked, instantly teasing her. About how different she looks. And comforting her as she weeps in the readers lap.
Shinobu was On it with the reader, helping them constantly to regain their strength, feeding them, getting convinced to completely abandon her plan, whatever. Eventually, the reader was mostly recovered, and shinobu proposes, and they get married after the war.
A Promise Frozen in Time
Shinobu Kocho x female reader
Word Count: 4285
The Butterfly Estate always smelled of the exact same things: sharp, medicinal herbs, clean linen, freshly brewed green tea, and the sweet, lingering scent of wisteria. This scent had become your definition of the word "home."
Your story in the Demon Slayer Corps was inextricably linked to two sisters whose names meant lightness and beauty: Kanae and Shinobu. You grew up together. Back when you were still awkward teenagers, you shared the same training, the same secrets, and the same dreams. Kanae was your best friend—a person with whom you could sit in absolute silence for hours without feeling the slightest bit of awkwardness. You both possessed that rare, gentle aura of peace that acted on those around you like a cool compress on a burning wound.
Yet, while you and Kanae shared an absolute, quiet understanding, things were entirely different with her younger sister, Shinobu. Shinobu was a spark. Fiery, sharp, and possessing an incredibly prickly personality, she would flare up at the slightest provocation. And, by some cruel irony of fate, this was precisely what attracted you to her the most. You started dating back in your teenage years, when those first, clumsy feelings were just beginning to blossom. Shinobu was madly in love with you, to the point of a blush coloring her cheeks and a catching breath. And you… you were head over heels in love with her, but you expressed it in a rather specific way. You utterly adored teasing her.
"Shinobu," you would say with an entirely serious, impassioned face while she tried to concentrate on sharpening her blade. "Today I saw you trying to reach the jar on the top shelf in the kitchen. If you'd like, I can ask Oyakata-sama to issue you a special little stool. So you can actually be seen from behind the table."
Shinobu's face would instantly be covered in red patches of fury.
"Y/N! I will kill you! I swear, I'll add a paralytic to your tea!" she would shout, rushing at you with her fists, while you only chuckled quietly, easily dodging her blows, and finally just caught her in a tight embrace, pressing her against your chest until she stopped resisting, burying her burning face in your shoulder.
Next to you, her prickles vanished. Your calm nature quenched her anger, turning it into warmth. It was the perfect equilibrium.
And then the world collapsed.
Kanae's death tore your reality into bloody fragments. When her broken body was brought back, it felt as though sunlight had left the Butterfly Estate forever. Your own heart was shattered to pieces, the bitterness of loss suffocating you and preventing you from even drawing a breath. But you could not allow yourself to break. Not when Shinobu was screaming from unbearable pain, tearing her vocal cords, begging her sister to open her eyes. You locked your own tears deep inside, becoming a stone wall for Shinobu. You did not leave her side for a single step. You held her when she shook from hysterics, you fed her with a spoon when she refused to eat, you whispered words of love to her for hours until she drifted off into a heavy, exhausting sleep. You surrounded her with such dense, unconditional love that you kept her from finally going mad.
Yet fate, apparently, decided that a single tragedy was not enough for the Kochou sisters.
Exactly one month after Kanae’s death, you were sent on a mission. It was supposed to be a routine territory-clearing assignment in the north. Shinobu did not want to let you go, her tenacious fingers clutching the fabric of your haori until the very last moment. But the duty of a Demon Slayer waited for no one. A random swordsman from the lower ranks was assigned as your partner.
The demon turned out to be an ambush. It was a mutant with incredible physical strength, hiding in mountain caves. The battle was brutal. Your partner panicked, making a critical error that exposed your flank. You managed to push him out of the line of attack, but you couldn't dodge in time yourself.
The blow was of such monstrous power that your body was thrown back a dozen meters. The world exploded with a blinding flash of pain as your head smashed with a sickening crunch into a pile of sharp, rocky stones. The last thing you felt was the taste of your own blood on your lips and the scent of damp earth. And then absolute, pitch-black darkness set in.
You were delivered to the Butterfly Estate by Kakushi. Your skull was fractured, your breathing barely detectable. Shinobu, who was only just beginning to recover from the loss of her sister, met the stretcher in the corridor. They say her scream that day was more terrifying than on the day of Kanae's death. She operated on you herself; her hands, covered in your blood, worked medical miracles. She saved your body. But your mind had left this world.
The diagnosis sounded like a death sentence: a deep coma.
A year passed. Then a second, a third…
Four long years passed as the Butterfly Estate lived without your voice. Everything changed during that time.
Shinobu, unable to bear the double loss, buried her true self. She put on Kanae's haori, plastered her soft, ever-present smile onto her face, and hid her anger so deeply that it turned into a freezing, lethal poison. She became the Insect Hashira. She became frighteningly polite, flawless, and completely hollow inside.
Yet this emptiness had one single sanctuary. Your hospital room.
Your room became a shrine for Shinobu. When the fake smile became too heavy, when the muscles in her face cramped from the pretense, and when her fury toward demons threatened to break free and burn her to ash, she would come to you. She would slide the shoji door shut behind her, and the mask would fall.
Shinobu would sit on the chair by your bed, take your limp, emaciated hand in hers, and simply breathe. Even while unconscious, your body radiated that very same aura of absolute peace that had always saved her.
"Hello, my love," Shinobu would whisper in the silence of the room, running her fingers through your hair, which the estate helper girls regularly washed and brushed. "Today at the Hashira Meeting, Tomioka-san acted like an idiot again. You would have loved the way I teased him…"
Sometimes she would simply remain silent, resting her forehead against the edge of your bed, allowing tears to silently roll down her cheeks.
"Please, wake up," she would beg on nights like those, squeezing your hand so tightly as if trying to transfer her life force to you. "I need you. I'm not coping, Y/N. I'm so tired of pretending. Please, come back to me."
Yet you remained motionless, like Sleeping Beauty trapped in an endless winter while the rest of the world moved forward.
Awakening was nothing like a flash of light. It felt like a long, agonizing ascent from the bottom of a dark, viscous ocean. First came the smells—sterility, alcohol, and a faint hint of wisteria. Then came touch—the hardness of the mattress beneath your back, the heaviness of your own body, which felt as though it had been made of lead.
And finally, your hearing returned.
The sounds were muffled, as if you were underwater. Someone's loud, unintelligible shouts echoed in your aching head. With enormous effort, overcoming weakness, you tried to pry open your heavy eyelids. The light stabbed your eyes, making you wince, but on the second attempt, your vision slowly began to focus.
You expected to see the wooden ceiling of the infirmary. Perhaps the anxious face of Kanae or the tearful eyes of a young Shinobu.
Instead, the very first thing you saw, once your gaze finally sharpened… was a bare-chested, muscular guy with a wild boar's head who was literally crawling across the ceiling directly above your bed, clinging to the wooden beams like a giant, abnormal spider.
"THE CORPSE BLINKED!" the boar roared in an unnatural, rough voice, pointing a finger at you from the ceiling. "I TOLD YOU SHE WAS MOVING! HEY, CORPSE! IF YOU'VE RISEN FROM THE DEAD, FIGHT THE GREAT INOSUKE-SAMA! I WILL BATTLE THE ZOMBIE!"
Your brain, having not functioned for four years, tried to process this information. The loading process crashed completely.
"What the… hell?" raced through your mind. "Where am I? Am I dead? And why are talking pigs crawling on the ceilings in hell? What on earth is going on here?!"
You tried to open your mouth to ask at least one of these logical questions, but only a pathetic, raspy squeak escaped your parched throat.
The door to the room slammed wide open. A girl with two ponytails flew into the room—you barely recognized Aoi, as she had grown up and matured immensely.
"Inosuke! How many times have I told you not to bother patients, especially in the room—" Aoi trailed off mid-word. Her strict gaze shifted from the idiot on the ceiling to you.
Upon seeing your open eyes, filled with primordial bewilderment, Aoi froze like a pillar of salt. The towels she was holding dropped to the floor with a dull thud. Her eyes widened to impossible proportions, her lips trembling.
"Y/N-san…?" she breathed out in a voice blending horror, hope, and absolute shock. "Oh gods… OH GODS! NAHO! SUMI! CALL THE DOCTOR! Y/N-SAN HAS WOKEN UP!"
Absolute, uncontrollable chaos erupted. Inosuke jumped down from the ceiling with a crash, continuing to roar something about a duel with a zombie until Aoi shoved him out by the scruff of his neck, crying her eyes out the entire time. Three butterfly girls—Sumi, Kiyo, and Naho—ran into the room. They had grown up too. Seeing your open eyes, they burst into tears right on the spot, hugging one another.
You lay in the middle of this bedlam, feeling as though you had woken up in a parallel universe where logic had ceased to exist. Your body refused to obey you; your muscles had atrophied to the point where you couldn't even lift a hand.
Aoi, quickly pulling herself together and wiping away her tears, rushed over to you. She brought water, carefully moistening your parched lips.
"Don't try to speak, Y/N-san. You've been unconscious for a very, very long time."
"Sh-Shinobu…? K-Kanae…?" those were the very first words you forced out with immense difficulty. Your voice sounded like the squeak of a rusted door hinge.
Aoi's face faltered, pain flashing in her eyes. She gently stroked your hand. "Shinobu-sama is currently away on a long mission; she will be back in a few days… And as for the rest… we'll talk later. You need to regain your strength."
The weeks that followed turned into a kaleidoscope of information, rehabilitation, and excessive overprotection. Aoi cared for you personally. You were transferred to a wheelchair since your legs, which hadn't walked in four years, refused to support your body weight. When Aoi wheeled you out onto the veranda for the very first time, you couldn't believe your eyes. The wisteria tree in the courtyard, which you remembered as quite young, was now huge and sprawling.
Aoi brought you up to speed. She told you about the four years of your sleep. About how Shinobu became the Insect Hashira. About the new demon slayers. You listened, your heart bleeding at the thought of what your beloved had had to endure in complete solitude.
Before long, new faces appeared in your life. Tanjiro Kamado, a boy with a scar on his forehead and an aura as warm and pure as the morning sun, took it upon himself to become your primary support system.
It was simultaneously touching and unbearably ridiculous.
"Y/N-san! Today you were able to lift a spoon all by yourself! This is just an incredible success! You're so strong!" Tanjiro cried out sincerely, with tears in his eyes, standing before your wheelchair while you labored to bring porridge to your mouth with a trembling hand.
The butterfly girls immediately chimed in: "Hurray! Y/N-san lifted a spoon! Such a good job!"
You, being a calm person with a good sense of humor, looked at this circus of encouragement with a light, tired smile.
"Guys… I am over twenty years old. I'm just eating porridge. You're celebrating as if I just killed an Upper Rank," you said hoarsely, but with obvious irony.
"NO! EATING PORRIDGE IS ALSO A GREAT FEAT!" Inosuke burst in, barging onto the veranda. "I CAN EAT TEN BOWLS! FIGHT ME IN A PORRIDGE-EATING DUEL, ZOMBIE WOMAN!"
You merely rolled your eyes, feeling your heart fill with warmth despite the weakness and pain in your atrophied muscles. They hadn't known you before your coma, yet they treated you like family. And still, every second of every day, you waited for only one person.
The month-long mission had turned out to be absolute hell for the Insect Hashira. The demon nest in the south was massive, and battles waged almost without interruption. Shinobu returned to the Butterfly Estate on autopilot. Her uniform was torn, blood had dried on her cheek, and her muscles ached from lactic acid and exhaustion.
The fake smile she had worn nonstop throughout the entire month now felt like an unbearable weight. Her face was pale, her eyes drained of life. All she wanted was to reach your room, fall to her knees by your bed, bury her face in the blanket beside your motionless hand, and allow herself to be weak for at least ten minutes. To feel your soothing presence, which always chased away her nightmares.
She pushed open the estate's front doors. It was unusually quiet. Ignoring the commotion in the other wings, she headed straight for the medical block.
Shinobu slid open the shoji door of your room. "I'm home, my love…" she whispered quietly, tiredly, lifting her gaze.
The words stuck in her throat.
The bed was made up perfectly. No IV drips. No smell of medicine. It was empty.
Shinobu's heart skipped a beat, then plunged into a wild, panicked gallop. Air instantly vanished from her lungs. Her eyes widened in primal terror.
"Where is she? Why is the bed empty?! Is she… is she dead? While I was gone, she passed away?!"
Panic, black and suffocating, engulfed the Insect Hashira completely. Forgetting her exhaustion, she spun around and sprinted down the corridors, her breathing breaking into a rasp.
"AOI!" she screamed so loudly that the windowpanes rattled. "AOI, WHERE IS SHE?! WHAT HAPPENED TO Y/N?!"
Aoi ran out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, and upon seeing Shinobu's terrified, distorted face, she understood everything. The younger girl's face lit up with a broad, radiant smile as tears of joy, which she had held back for the past three weeks, burst from her eyes.
"Shinobu-sama!" Aoi rushed toward her, catching her shaking hands. "She's not in the room! She's out in the courtyard!"
Shinobu didn't wait to hear any more. She broke away and ran toward the exit leading to the inner courtyard, her heart hammering somewhere in her throat, deafening her.
She burst onto the sunlit veranda and froze in her tracks.
Beneath the huge, sprawling tree in the courtyard, sitting on a spread blanket, was you. You had been specially seated with your back propped against the thick trunk so you wouldn't topple over, as your back muscles were still too weak. On your lap, curled into a ball, little Naho was sleeping peacefully. Sumi sat nearby, holding an open picture book and reading it aloud, while Kiyo carefully fed you slices of a sliced apple.
You looked thin, pale, with deep shadows under your eyes, but your face was alive. Your chest rose and fell evenly, and the most familiar, peaceful half-smile played on your lips.
Shinobu stopped breathing. Her sword fell from her weakened fingers with a clatter and struck the wooden floor of the veranda. Her medical bag slipped from her shoulder. The sound of dropping weapon made you slowly turn your head.
Your gazes met.
For a split second, your post-coma fogged brain didn't recognize the woman standing on the veranda. You remembered Shinobu as a teenager—with shorter hair, a different uniform, and a bright, fiery expression. Standing before you now was a young woman. Her hair was pinned into a strict bun, and resting on her shoulders was the familiar haori with the butterfly pattern… Kanae's haori. But most importantly—her face. An unnatural, eerie, hollow smile was frozen on it, trembling and cracking at the seams right now, revealing an abyss of pain and shock.
Yet it took only a moment for your soul to recognize her. Her eyes—the color of those piercing violet eyes—had remained unchanged.
"Shinobu."
The butterfly girls, spotting the Hashira, instantly fell silent. Naho woke up, and realizing the situation, Sumi and Kiyo quickly but carefully helped her up, all three of them silently retreating into the house, leaving the two of you alone.
Shinobu took an uncertain, staggering step. Then another. Her legs buckled, and she covered the final meters almost running, collapsing to her knees right on the grass in front of you. She was terrified to touch you, terrified that this was merely another cruel illusion, a hallucination born of exhaustion that would vanish the moment she reached out.
"Y/N…?" her voice was thinner than a squeak, breaking on the very first letter. Her fake smile was still convulsively plastered across her face, creating a terrifying contrast with the tears streaming from her eyes.
You looked at her. Your heart clenched with pain at the sight of what the death of her sister and your absence had turned her into. But you were yourself. Despite your four-year slumber, your nature hadn't changed. And the best way to bring your Shinobu back was to do what you did best.
You swallowed, clearing your parched throat, and raising one eyebrow, you rasped, but with obvious mockery:
"Oh. You know, I slept for four years, but even so, I didn't expect you to become… even shorter. Are you shrinking out of spite?"
Shinobu froze. Her wide, tear-filled eyes stared at you.
"And what is this outfit?" you slowly, with difficulty, raised a trembling hand and weakly poked a finger at the fabric of her haori. "Did you just steal Kanae's clothes because the children's department didn't have your size? And that smile… Gods, Shinobu, you look like a creepy porcelain doll from those scary fairy tales we read as kids. Stop smiling like that, I'm terrified you're going to bite my face off."
The silence that fell over the garden was deafening.
And then the mask that Kochou Shinobu had worn for four long, agonizing years shattered to pieces. The cracking was almost physically tangible.
Her fake smile distorted, her lips trembled, and her brows arched pitifully. She emitted a sound resembling the cry of a wounded animal and collapsed forward. She buried her face in your lap, clutching at the fabric of your hospital haori with such desperate strength as if trying to sew herself to you.
And she sobbed. These weren't quiet, aesthetic tears. This was a real, ugly, primal hysterics. She howled, suffocating, her shoulders shaking convulsively. All of it poured out in those tears: the pain of Kanae's death, the four-year nightmare of solitude, the fear of losing you, the burden of the Hashira title, and the poison eating away at her soul.
With immense effort, overcoming the weakness in your muscles, you lowered both hands onto her back. Your palms rested softly on her shoulder blades, and your fingers buried themselves in her dark hair, pulling out the butterfly hairpin and letting the strands spill freely.
"I'm here," you whispered quietly, infinitely tenderly, stroking her trembling back. Your voice no longer dripped with sarcasm; it was that very same warm, soothing ocean she had missed so much. "I'm here, my butterfly. I'm not going anywhere ever again. I'm sorry for making you wait so long. Cry. Let it all out."
Shinobu pressed against you so tightly as if she wanted to sink into your bones, her sobs echoing across the inner courtyard, but for the first time in four years, these were tears not of absolute despair, but of incredible, healing relief.
From that day on, Shinobu took your rehabilitation under her absolute, dictatorial control.
No Aoi, no Tanjiro. The Insect Hashira personally curated your diet, forcing you to eat nourishing soups with a spoon. When you tried to protest that you could feed yourself, she would silently smile her "creepy doll smile" (as you continued to call it) and menacingly hold the spoon up to your face until you gave in. She personally gave you painful massages on your atrophied leg muscles, ignoring your hisses and curses, and made you do exercises until you dropped from exhaustion.
Her strictness was saturated with such manic care that you couldn't stay angry at her.
Yet during the long evenings when the two of you were alone, you began to notice the darkness that still lived inside her. Shinobu slipped up. She told you about the Upper Rank Two. About Kanae's killer. And, most frighteningly, she told you with bone-chilling calmness about her plan. About the massive doses of wisteria poison she was taking to become a living bomb. About her readiness to be eaten by a demon for the sake of revenge.
You listened to her, sitting in your wheelchair, your face growing more and more like stone.
When she finished, expecting your approval or sympathy, you did something she never expected. With incredible effort, leaning on the armrests, you forced yourself to stand. Your legs trembled, your knees buckled, but you stood. Shinobu rushed toward you in a panic to support you.
You grabbed her by the shoulders, looking straight into her eyes. Your gaze was as hard as steel.
"Do you think Kanae would have wanted this?" your voice was low, saturated with hidden fury. "Do you think she sacrificed her life so her younger sister could willingly feed herself to a monster?"
"Y/N, you don't understand, I'm not strong enough to cut off his head…" Shinobu tried to object, looking away, but you shook her.
"I didn't sleep for four years just to wake up and go pick out a coffin for you, Kochou!" you snapped her last name sharply for the first time. "Revenge that costs you your life is not a victory. It is surrender. You're a genius doctor, you're a Hashira! Find another way. Create a poison that can be injected, make a weapon, find allies! But if you die…" your voice cracked, fury giving way to despair, "if you die, you will kill me too. Because I won't survive this world without you."
Shinobu stared at you with wide-open eyes. Your words punched through that thick wall of fatalism she had built around herself. She had grown accustomed to thinking her life had no value, that she was merely an instrument of revenge. But watching you stand on trembling legs, risking a fall just to beat some common sense into her, she realized she had a reason to live. For you.
Slowly, she sank to her knees before you, wrapping her arms around your waist and burying her face in your lap.
"I… I'll try," she whispered, and that whisper held surrender. "I'll find another way. I promise you."
That promise changed everything.
Another year passed. Your iron will and Shinobu's genius did their work—you fully recovered. You took up the blade once more, though your movements became more economical and fluid, stripped of youthful recklessness. Shinobu, abandoning her suicide plan, threw herself into developing toxins with doubled intensity, joining forces with Tamayo and Yushiro.
The war against demons reached its bloody climax. The battle inside the Infinity Castle claimed many lives, but thanks to changed tactics, poisons that could be delivered without self-sacrifice, and the support of Inosuke and Kanao, the Upper Rank Two fell. Shinobu survived. Battered, poisoned by her own overwork, but alive.
When Muzan was finally defeated and the sun rose over the torn battlefield, you found her among the ruins. You simply collapsed into each other's arms, smeared in blood and dust, unable even to cry from exhaustion. It was the end of the nightmare.
And a few months later, when the Corps was officially disbanded and wounds began to heal, the day arrived that washed away all bad memories.
Spring at the Butterfly Estate was exceptionally bright. The wisteria tree beneath which you had reunited after your coma was in full bloom.
You were sitting on that very same veranda. Shinobu no longer wore the mask. Her smile was genuine, soft, and slightly shy. She nervously twisted the hem of her civilian kimono.
"Y/N," she called out, not looking at you. "You always loved teasing me. You laughed at my height, at my seriousness."
"And I'll keep doing it for the rest of my days," you chuckled, taking a sip of tea. "It's my primary mission in life."
Shinobu raised her head, her violet eyes shining with that exact spark for which you had fallen in love with her so many years ago. She pulled a small velvet box from her sleeve and handed it to you.
"Then, I suppose, you'll have to do it officially. As my wife," a rich blush colored her cheeks, but her voice did not waver. "Marry me, Y/N. Let's live the life the demons stole from us. A normal, boring, happy life."
You looked at the simple, elegant ring inside the box. The icy lump that had so frequently lodged in your throat during the years of war finally melted away. You smiled warmly, setting your cup on the floor, and leaning forward, you gently kissed her lips.
"I do," you whispered, taking the ring. "But if you think our life is going to be boring, you're deeply mistaken, Kochou. I haven't even made fun of your snoring in your sleep yet."
Shinobu laughed happily and brightly, wrapping her arms around your neck. And at that moment, beneath the rustle of falling wisteria petals, both of you knew that the spring you had waited for so long had finally arrived. And it would last forever.
I don't know if you've seen haikyu but I'd like to request one that is inspired with that.
Let's just say the hashiras were famous volleyball players, the boys and girls are separated ofc.
It's a Kanae x fem reader one, and kanae is their setter and the reader is their attractive girl manager. They liked each other since middle school, but only got tgt when they got in highschool. Even in middle school, kanae has always been athletic tgt with her little sister shinobu, who is their libero, while mitsuri is their ace (the one with the most powerful spike)
They're the most peaceful and protected couple, because whenever someone tries to flirt with one of them. Their friend group (Which is the other hashiras) always ward them off with their intimidating aura, because unfortunately, both of them are dense when someone else is flirting with them.
Then one day, when they arrived in a venue for a national tournament. One of the most formidable volleyball players thought that it's okay for him to mess with the reader, who was busy organizing the needs and requirements for their school's volleyball team. He started talking and flirting with him and the reader just thought he was being friendly, before any of the hashiras could interfere, surprisingly, kanae went ahead and made it clear that the reader is taken by her, and it is the first time that they saw kanae being scary. While the reader is confused on what's going on.
After she assured the reader that nothing bad was going on, she secretly asked the boys to defeat them mercilessly and the hashiras were happy to do so.
The Perfect Set for a Butterfly
Kanae Kocho x female reader
Word Count: 3949
The Kimetsu High School gymnasium was always filled with a special, almost magical symphony of sounds. The sharp, piercing squeak of sneaker soles against the perfectly polished parquet. The dull, rhythmic thuds of balls bouncing off walls and floors. The loud, adrenaline-filled shouts of players coordinating their actions on the court. And hovering over all this magnificence was the lingering scent of warming ointment, sweat, and pure, inexhaustible youth energy.
Kimetsu High School was famous nationwide for its volleyball program. Both the men's and women's teams, known in sports circles as "Hashira" — the Pillars — were absolute favorites in any tournament. These weren't just teams; they were true families bonded by blood, sweat, and thousands of hours of grueling training.
On the women's side of the court, a real show was unfolding.
"Mitsuri, go!" a ringing voice echoed under the gym's vaulted ceiling.
The ball, receiving a perfect spin, soared into the air in an impeccable, high arc. Beneath the net, Kanroji Mitsuri sprang up like a spring. Her pink-and-green braids whipped through the air, and her arm—possessing incredible, almost frightening strength for a girl of her build—came down on the ball. BAM! The sound of the impact was like a cannon shot. The ball slammed into the opposite side of the court with such speed that the blockers didn't even have time to blink, let alone raise their hands. Mitsuri was their undisputed ace, an irresistible force tearing through any defense.
Yet this crushing spike would have been impossible without the person directing that power.
Kocho Kanae, captain and setter of the women's team, landed softly on the parquet. Her movements were devoid of any harshness, resembling the smooth, hypnotic flight of a butterfly. Kanae was the brain and heart of the team. Her long dark hair, decorated with butterfly hairpins, was slightly ruffled, but a soft, calming smile shone on her face. She possessed a talent for reading the court in a fraction of a second, her fingers touching the ball as softly as if it were crystal, while still delivering sets with mathematical precision, directing them straight into the attacker's hand.
"Great receive, Shinobu!" Kanae praised, turning to her younger sister.
Shinobu, playing the libero position, merely nodded slightly, wiping sweat from her forehead. If Kanae was an elegant butterfly, Shinobu was a stinging wasp. The petite girl compensated for her lack of physical strength with incredible, phenomenal speed and reflexes. Not a single ball touched the floor on her side of the court; she hurled herself after the most hopeless balls, saving them with impossible dives.
And watching all this magnificence from the sidelines with a clipboard in hand was you.
You were the manager of the Hashira women's team. And, as everyone at the school (as well as rival schools) unanimously agreed, you were the most beautiful, organized, and indispensable manager in the prefecture's history. You wore a neat Kimetsu school sports jacket, your hair was tied back in a convenient ponytail, and a whistle and stopwatch hung around your neck. Your eyes carefully tracked every movement of the players, your fingers rapidly taking notes on the statistics sheet, recording successful attack percentages and reception errors. Beside you stood perfectly lined-up sports drink bottles, lovingly mixed to individual proportions for each girl, and a stack of snow-white, fresh towels.
Yet your eyes most often, almost unconsciously, returned to one specific figure on the court. To Kanae.
When Kanae turned around and caught your gaze, her smile grew even warmer, even brighter. She winked at you, and you felt a blush bloom on your cheeks, your heart beginning to beat in the rhythm of a volleyball. You were together. The most beautiful, most discussed, yet most mysterious couple at Kimetsu Academy.
Your story began long before you put on your high school uniforms. Back in middle school, Kanae was already a local sports star. She shone on the court, attracting the attention of all scouts. You, on the other hand, were a quiet, somewhat shy, but incredibly responsible student who adored volleyball but lacked the physical attributes to play. That was why you chose the path of a manager.
You remembered that day as if it were yesterday. You were trying to drag a huge basket filled to the brim with heavy balls to the storage room. Your arms were trembling, your fingers had turned white from the strain, and the basket threatened to slip out of your grasp at any second. Suddenly, the weight vanished. You looked up and saw Kanae. Her face was lightly covered in sweat after practice, but her breathing remained steady. She easily grabbed the edge of the basket with one hand, smiling at you in a way that took your breath away.
"Let me help. Such fragile hands were made to write brilliant strategies, not lug heavy things," her voice was soft, rippling like a spring stream.
From that day on, everything changed. Kanae began seeking out your company. She stayed after practice to help you pack the net or mop the floor. You started walking home together, lingering for a long time by the local bakery, buying melon buns and talking about everything under the sun. You learned that behind the image of the perfect athlete hid an incredibly kind, caring, and sometimes surprisingly naive girl. And Kanaë learned that beneath your shyness lay a sharp mind, an amazing sense of humor, and boundless loyalty.
You fell in love with each other as naturally as spring arrives. No drama, no extra words. It was a mutual, quiet attraction.
You officially became a couple during your first year of high school. It happened after a crushing team defeat in a qualifying tournament. Kanae blamed herself for her sets not being precise enough. She sat on the bench in an empty gym, hiding her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling slightly. You walked over, sat beside her, and simply hugged her, pressing her head to your shoulder.
"Your sets are perfect, Kanaë," you whispered, burying your fingers in her dark hair. "You are the best thing in this team. And the best thing in my life. Please, don't cry. I will always be here to support you."
Kanae lifted her tear-filled eyes, looking at you with such awe and adoration that words became unnecessary. She leaned forward and timidly, incredibly gently, covered your lips with hers. The taste of salty tears mixed with the sweetness of your first kiss. From that moment on, you were inseparable. You were the most peaceful, vanilla, and protected couple in school.
Protected because you had the best, albeit most terrifying, security system in Japan.
The whole school knew of your incredible, almost comical naivety. Neither you nor Kanae ever noticed when people tried to flirt with you. Your brains simply weren't tuned to that frequency.
If some cute guy from a parallel class walked up to you, leaned against the wall, flexed his muscles, and said, "Hey, gorgeous. Want to go look at the stars together sometime this evening?", you, with the sincere enthusiasm of a manager, would reply, "Oh, are you into astronomy? The space club meets on Thursdays in the physics room! I can give you the schedule!" The guy would walk away completely confused, while you genuinely rejoiced at helping the school club find a new member.
Kanae was no better. When love letters sprayed with cologne and asking to meet behind the school were slipped into her locker, she treated them like challenge letters for a training match from other teams. She would show up to the meeting spot in full athletic gear, volleyball tucked under her arm, ready to crush the "rival" on the court, leaving the poor suitors in a state of profound shock.
This total blindness to everyone else's romantic intentions could have been a problem were it not for your friends. The Hashira men's volleyball team took on the voluntary duties of your personal bodyguards. They considered Kanae their sister and you the most precious treasure of their club.
The moment anyone suspicious approached you or Kanae with romantic intentions, the air around them instantly grew heavy and threatening.
Usually, Uzui Tengen and Shinazugawa Sanemi appeared first. Sanemi, the men's team ace with terrifying scars on his face, would simply stand behind the hapless Romeo, crack his knuckles, and pin him with a glare that made his blood run cold. Tengen, the brilliant captain, towered over the guy, crossing muscular arms over his chest, and stated something like, "Your attempts to hit on our manager are totally unbrilliant. One more step, and I'll brilliantly spike a ball right into your face at the next practice."
If that wasn't enough, Iguro Obanai joined in. He would materialize silently out of nowhere, his heterochromatic eyes radiating pure, unadulterated menace, with his mascot—a realistic toy snake, Kaburamaru, which he used for intimidation—resting on his shoulders. And Rengoku Kyojuro would simply step in close, smiling his wide, dazzling smile, which nonetheless radiated such a powerful, terrifying aura of fiery determination that the boys fled in terror before even finishing their sentences.
You and Kanae never understood why people ran away so fast the moment your friends walked over to say hello.
"Oh, Sanemi-kun, Tengen-kun, you've scared off all the students with your loud entrance again," Kanaë would gently scold them, handing them water bottles. "That young man never got around to telling me about his serving tactics."
Sanemi would merely snort and turn away, while Tengen smirked smugly, "Don't worry, Kanaë! His tactics were totally boring and didn't deserve your attention! We're just protecting the aesthetics of our club!"
You lived in your ideal, protected bubble of love and volleyball. Until that very day when the bubble almost popped at the biggest arena in the country.
The Spring High National Tournament, known as Haruko, was the pinnacle of high school volleyball. The Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium hummed like a disturbed beehive. Thousands of spectators in the stands, dozens of TV cameras, cheering squad drumbeats, and deafening fan shouts merged into a single, continuous roar. The air here was thick, saturated with the scent of adrenaline, warming ointments, and excitement. The floor creaked with hundreds of pairs of the best volleyball sneakers from all over Japan.
For you, as a manager, this day was a true test of endurance. You rushed through the corridors and halls of the arena like wind-up toys. Your hands were full of heavy folders with tournament brackets, player medical charts, spare knee pads, and practice court schedules. You had to register both teams—men's and women's—check spelling in the rosters, coordinate warm-up times, and make sure everyone had enough water and ice in case of injuries.
You stopped by the official table in the arena's main corridor, trying to sort a stack of documents that threatened to spill onto the floor any second. Your breathing was slightly ragged, sweat beaded on your forehead, but you were completely focused on the task. You didn't even notice the admiring glances players from other teams shot your way. In your strict yet form-fitting Kimetsu sports jacket, with a light flush on your cheeks from running around, you looked breathtakingly attractive.
Somewhere in the warm-up gym, Kanae was currently stretching, preparing her long, graceful legs for upcoming jumps. She was wrapping her fingers with athletic tape to protect her joints during sets. Her eyes constantly searched the crowd for you, and when she didn't find your figure, a slight shadow of worry crossed her usually serene face.
The Hashira men's team was also warming up nearby. Sanemi was furiously slamming balls into the parquet, checking the net, and Rengoku was loudly cheering on the team. They were too absorbed in preparing for their opening match against Shishio High School—a team known for aggressive, nearly rough players.
None of them saw a predator approach you.
You were just trying to staple two sheets of Shinobu's statistics when a massive shadow fell over your table, blocking the ceiling lights.
You looked up. Standing before you was a guy towering over you like a mountain. He was at least one hundred and ninety centimeters tall. He wore the black-and-red uniform of Shishio High. He had broad shoulders, a predatory squint in his dark eyes, and a confident, almost arrogant smirk that caused most girls to either faint or run away. He was their team's ace, a player known for his rough style and bad reputation off the court.
He leaned one muscular arm against the table right next to your documents, bending down so close you caught the sharp scent of his cologne.
"Hey, gorgeous," his voice was low, with a husky tone he clearly considered seductive. He slid a greasy, appraising look down your figure. "You're from Kimetsu, right? Manager? Isn't the work a bit too heavy for a fragile, cute doll like you?"
Owing to your absolute, impenetrable naivety, you completely missed the subtext of his words. Your brain registered it as sincere concern for your well-being from a fellow sports colleague.
"Hello!" you smiled brightly, adjusting your name badge. "Oh, no, not at all! This is wonderful work. My team is very strong, and helping them is a great honor for me. You're from Shishio, right? You have a match against our men's team soon! Wishing you good luck and a fair game!"
The guy paused for a second. He was used to girls either blushing and giggling or acting aloof. Your radiant, completely innocent business politeness threw him off, only stoking his competitive drive. He took it as a challenge.
"We won't need luck, we're gonna smash your guys into the floor anyway," he smirked smugly, leaning in closer. His hand slowly reached toward your face, as if intending to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "You know, I've always felt sorry for beauties like you wasting time taking care of losers. How about after the tournament I show you how real winners unwind? Give me your Line, I'll text you the address."
You frowned slightly, pulling away from his hand, still oblivious to the fact that he was blatantly hitting on you.
"I'm afraid you're underestimating our guys, they've practiced very hard," your tone grew slightly more professional and stern. "And as for contact info, if your team wants to organize joint training camps after Nationals, you should speak with our coach. I can give you our club's official email address."
The guy clicked his tongue in annoyance. His patience was wearing thin. He wasn't used to rejections, even veiled ones. "Stop playing dumb. You know exactly what I mean," his voice grew harsher, and the hand leaning on the table shifted, blocking your path to retreat. He loomed over you, invading your personal space, trying to physically dominate you. "I'm talking about you and me. Alone. Without your volleyball idiots."
You finally began to feel uncomfortable. His behavior crossed the boundaries of politeness. You pressed your document folder to your chest like a shield. "Excuse me, but I am very busy. I need to deliver these rosters. Please let me pass."
"And if I don't want to?" he grinned, reaching out to grab your wrist.
At that moment, the Hashira men's team, walking out of the locker room, noticed the scene. Sanemi's eyes instantly bloodshot. Tengen clicked his teeth, and Obanai placed a hand on his shoulder as if preparing to unleash his snake. In sync, like a pack of enraged wolves, they stepped toward you. They were ready to tear this arrogant jerk to pieces, throwing away tournament rules and possible disqualification. No one dared touch their manager.
But they were too late. Someone else was faster.
The air around suddenly turned icy. The noise of the massive arena seemed to hush, muffled by some invisible, overwhelming force. The temperature dropped several degrees.
Between you and the looming guy, a figure glided forward smoothly, absolutely silently.
It was Kanae.
She didn't run. She didn't shout. She simply materialized out of nowhere, moving with a frightening, deadly grace.
Her long, elegant hand, wrapped in white athletic tape, landed on the guy's forearm. At first glance, the touch seemed as light as a butterfly's wingbeat. But Kanae's fingers—the fingers of a setter, daily pushing a heavy ball thousands of times with incredible precision and strength—clamped down on his muscle with such inhuman, steel-like tightness that the guy let out a soft, stifled squeak of sharp pain, instinctively jerking his arm away from you.
Kanae smoothly pushed you behind her back, shielding you with her body. Her left hand rested on your waist, pulling you tightly against her in a possessive, absolutely unquestionable gesture of protection.
You blinked in surprise, looking at your girlfriend's back. You had never seen her move so fast and sharply outside of a volleyball court.
The guy from Shishio, rubbing his aching forearm, glared angrily at Kanae. "Hey! What the hell are you doing, psycho?! That hurts! I was just talking to your manager!"
Kanae lifted her face to him.
And at that moment, everyone watching the scene—the stunned Hashira boys, Shinobu approaching from the other side, and players from other teams—felt a sticky, primal chill of horror run down their spines.
Usually, Kanae's face radiated warmth, kindness, and softness. Her eyes were always smiling. But not now.
A smile still played on her lips. But it was a smile that breathed absolute, bottomless darkness. Kanae's eyes were half-closed, but looking through her eyelashes at the guy wasn't a human. It was something ancient, territorial, and deadly dangerous looking back at him. Her aura was so heavy, oppressive, and terrifying that even Sanemi, used to aggression, involuntarily swallowed, feeling a shiver.
"Pardon me," Kanae's voice was quiet, polite, and melodic. But every letter in it was forged from arctic ice. It was a tone allowing neither objections nor dialogue. It was a sentence. "You seem to be lost."
The guy swallowed. All his arrogance began to evaporate under that inhuman gaze. He instinctively took a step back, feeling his self-preservation instinct screaming at him to run. "I... I just wanted to get acquainted..."
Kanae opened her eyes completely. The purple abyss swallowed him.
"She. Is. Very. Busy," Kanae articulated every word. Her hand on your waist squeezed slightly tighter. "And, more importantly, she is mine. My manager. My girlfriend. My world. If I see you within arm's reach of her ever again, if I hear even by the corner of my ear that you are breathing in her direction... I will make sure your hands can never touch a volleyball again. I will snap every single one of your fingers with the exact same ease I use to serve a ball. Do you understand me?"
It wasn't an empty threat. It was a statement of fact.
The guy's face paled, turning an earthy shade. He looked at her taped fingers, remembered the pain of her grip, then looked into her empty, dark eyes and realized she wasn't joking. She truly could and would do it. Without saying another word, he spun on shaking legs and practically bolted down the corridor, trying to vanish from sight as quickly as possible.
As soon as he vanished, Kanae's heavy, terrifying aura dissolved without a trace, as if it had never been. The air grew light again.
She turned to you. The darkness in her eyes instantly vanished, replaced by familiar, sincere love and warmth. She took your face in both hands, gently and tenderly stroking your cheeks with her thumbs.
"Y/N, sunshine, are you okay? Did he frighten you?" her voice trickled like a spring stream again. She looked worried and incredibly caring.
You, caught in your usual blissfully naive state, merely blinked uncomprehendingly. "Oh, Kanae, I'm completely fine! It's just that this young man was a bit strange. First he asked about the schedule, and then suddenly turned pale and ran off. Do you think maybe he remembered he forgot to turn off his iron at home before the tournament? Or maybe his stomach acted up from nervousness? Poor thing."
Shinobu, standing nearby, covered her face with her palm and groaned softly at your impenetrable naivety. The boys from the men's team, still in shock that their angelic Kanaë had just radiated serial-killer aura, exchanged glances with open mouths.
Kanae laughed softly and melodically, kissing your forehead. "Yes, sweetheart. He probably just remembered very important business. Don't mind it. Come on, we're heading out for warm-ups soon, I need your help with the bottles."
"Of course!" you nodded happily, picking up your folders.
As you packed the rosters into your bag, Kanae turned away for a second. She walked over to the Hashira men's team, who were still clustered together, looking at her with awestruck terror.
When she reached them, her soft smile shifted slightly. The corners of her lips crept up into a predatory, sinister grin, and a shadow of that same darkness flickered back into her purple eyes.
She looked at Sanemi, Tengen, and Rengoku.
"Boys," Kanae whispered so quietly only they could hear. Her voice was sweet, yet radiated frost. "Your first match today is against Shishio High. That guy who just ran off... he's their middle blocker. He plays with number seven."
She paused, her eyes narrowing.
"I want you to crush them. Grind them into the parquet. I want the score to be 25–0. I don't want that number seven to score a single pathetic point, put up a single block, or run a single successful attack. Destroy him morally and physically on the court. Do you understand me?"
Sanemi, whose face twisted into a maniacal, cruel grin of anticipation, cracked his neck loudly. "You can count on it, Kanae. I'm going to spike that ball right into his stupid face so hard he forgets his own name."
Tengen grinned complacently, crossing his arms. "We'll hand him the unbrilliantly most humiliating defeat in Nationals history. He'll regret ever being born."
Rengoku Kyojuro smiled his signature, dazzling smile, but a ruthless inquisitor's fire burned in his eyes. "With the greatest of pleasure, Kocho! We will defend our manager's honor on the battlefield! No mercy!"
Kanae nodded with satisfaction, her sinister aura evaporating once more. "Thank you, boys. You're the best."
She spun around, transforming back into an angel, ran back to you, softly took your hand, intertwining your fingers, and together you headed toward your court.
The Kimetsu High men's team match against Shishio went down in Haruko tournament history as the most brutal, one-sided beating. The Hashira played like demon-possessed men. They didn't just win; they methodically, ruthlessly broke the opponent's spirit.
Number seven took the brunt of it. Every time he tried to jump for a block, Sanemi hammered through his hands with such force the guy was literally thrown backward. Tengen set "dead roofs" (solo blocks) on him, slamming the ball right beneath his feet. Obanai, utilizing his unpredictable, slithering attacks, forced him to collapse onto the parquet over and over, unable to react in time. Number seven was pale, breathing heavily, and looked as though he wished the ground would swallow him whole right then and there. The score truly was a blowout.
And on the neighboring court, where the women's team played, everything was calm and wonderful.
Kanae, in her element, delivered one ideal, elegant set after another. Her movements were light and graceful. Winning another point off Mitsuri's powerful spike, Kanaë turned toward the bench.
She found you with her gaze. You stood there, stopwatch around your neck, smiling happily, logging the newly earned point in the scorebook. Your eyes shone with pride for your team.
Kanae smiled back at you, brought her fingers to her lips, and blew you a kiss right during the match, causing the stands to erupt in roaring cheers and your cheeks to burst into a bright blush.
She was the ideal setter. And she knew for certain: as long as you stood by the sidelines, not a single ball would drop on their side, and not a single stranger would dare approach her untouchable manager. Because butterflies, no matter how pretty they seem, can be terrifyingly dangerous when protecting what they hold dear.
Can you do shinobu x fem reader who high key has very intense cuteness aggression. Like they can be calm one moment till they look at someone cute for a moment too long before, intensely having cuteness aggression. The reader tries to be less intense with the butterfly girls or anyone else, like the kamaboko squad or mitsuri, then they’ll try to be not as intense, probably just calling them extremely cute through very tightly clenched teeth and pinching their cheek. Likes to be a little more extra with Aoi or Kanao, sometimes to mess with them, as if pretending they’re about to bite one of their faces. Mostly doing the fake face biting threat at Aoi to freak her out, probably just more to squeeze Kanaos face.
Still very harshly having cuteness aggression towards them, but with shinobu it’s the most intense. Doesn’t try to be not intense. Like, she could be talking to Shinobu normally and then stare at her in silence for a moment before the aggressive and out of pocket words start out of nowhere. Then comes the threatening shaky hand gestures, like they want to squeeze shinobu till she pops. Or how badly they just want to bite her face, probably would if it gets to that point to freak out shinobu, not hard obviously. entire body vibrating like they’re physically holding back while saying threatening words very quickly. The words sounding angry and harsh but they’re not, just pouring out. Isn’t likely to do this at a hashira meeting, probably just poke her cheek. Or pinch it.
That’s all, love your stories
How to Crush a Butterfly in Your Embrace
Shinobu Kocho x female reader
Word Count: 4222
The human psyche is an incredibly complex, tangled, and sometimes completely illogical labyrinth. Every Demon Slayer in the Corps had their own quirks, their own ways of coping with the endless stress, blood, and loss that haunted them every night. Some, like Giyu Tomioka the Water Hashira, retreated into a dense, impenetrable wall of alienation and silence. Others, like Kyojuro Rengoku the Flame Hashira, burned with an unnaturally bright, almost frightening optimism, drowning out the darkness with their booming laughter. Some hid their pain behind endless aggression and fury, like Sanemi Shinazugawa.
But your "quirk" was of an entirely different, completely unique kind. In the medicine of a distant future, this phenomenon would be termed "cute aggression." It is a paradoxical glitch in brain function where a person, faced with something unbearably, overwhelmingly adorable, experiences such a colossal surge of positive emotions that the nervous system simply cannot cope with the overload. To avoid "burning out" from the sugar rush, the brain decides to compensate for this sweet explosion by releasing pure, uncontrollable aggression. The desire to squeeze, crush, bite, and snarl—all of this was merely a crooked mirror of your enormous, overflowing tenderness.
Normally, you were the epitome of calm and reason. You could cold-bloodedly chop off a demon's head without batting an eye, and you could meditate for hours under an icy waterfall maintaining a stone-cold expression. But the moment you saw something charming—the moment your gaze lingered on someone cute for just a fraction of a second longer than the allowed three seconds... your internal fuse would burn straight to hell.
Restraining yourself in the Demon Slayer Corps was quite a task because, to your misfortune, you were surrounded by people whose cuteness occasionally bordered on the illegal.
Take Mitsuri Kanroji, for example. The Love Hashira was a walking generator of cotton candy and pink petals. When Mitsuri cheerfully ran up to you holding a box of fresh sakura mochi, her huge green eyes shining with such pure, sincere joy, your breath instantly caught in your throat.
"Y/N-chan! Look what I brought! I made them myself, try them quickly!" Mitsuri chirped, her pink-and-green braids bouncing funnily in time with her steps.
At that moment, your jaw clenched so hard that the grinding of your teeth could be heard at the other end of the courtyard. Your hands, hidden in the pockets of your uniform, curled into fists until your knuckles turned white. Your brain literally screamed: She is so cute, I want to tear her cheeks off!
"Mitsuri..." your voice came out low, raspy, through tightly clenched teeth, as if you were holding a growling beast inside. "If you... right now... don't stop looking at me like that..."
"Huh? What is it, Y/N-chan? Don't you like them?" Mitsuri tilted her head sideways in bewilderment, making her a hundred times cuter.
Your self-control cracked. You yanked your hands out of your pockets, grabbed the Love Hashira by both cheeks, and pulled them outward with force, snarling through your teeth: "You are so unbearably good that I'm about to physically throw up from cuteness! I swear, I'm going to bite your ear off someday, Kanroji!"
Mitsuri, used to your strange expressions of affection, merely mumbled unintelligibly through her stretched cheeks and laughed happily, knowing that your harsh tone hid boundless affection.
With the "Kamaboko squad," the situation was no better. Tanjiro Kamado, with his aura of absolute, sacred purity, was a walking catastrophe for your psyche. When that boy smiled with his radiant, pure smile, thanking you for some minor thing, you felt that familiar, dangerous pressure building up in your chest.
"Y/N-san, thank you so much for helping with the training! You're so kind!" Tanjiro said, bowing.
You looked at him for exactly three seconds. On the fourth, your face twisted into a grimace of ferocious threat. You made a sharp lunge, grabbed Tanjiro's face with both hands, and began mercilessly kneading his cheeks as if it were bread dough.
"Kamado," you hissed, while your whole body shivered minutely from the restrained desire to squeeze him even harder. "Your aura is so pure that I want to shatter your ribs in a hug. If you smile at me that brightly one more time, I'll rip your heart out and eat it from an excess of feelings. Do you understand me?!"
Tanjiro, whose cheeks were already burning red from your harsh pinches, merely nodded stoically, groaning in pain: "Y-yes, Y/N-san... I u-understand..."
Even the eternally screaming Zenitsu in his sleep, when his face became childishly serene, triggered your urges to grab his hair and shake him until he lost consciousness—simply because he looked too defenseless. You tried to avoid the younger slayers, realizing that your methods of expressing affection could leave psychological (and physical) bruises on them.
If you somehow managed to keep yourself within the bounds of decency with other slayers, limiting yourself to harsh pinches and fierce whispers, your brakes failed with serious glitches on the grounds of the Butterfly Mansion.
The little helper girls—Sumi, Kiyo, and Naho—were a test of your willpower. When the trio ran around with clean towels, their identical ponytails and big round eyes acted on you like a red flag to a bull. You couldn't pass by without catching at least one of them, trapping her in a tight, almost bear-hug grip, and growling into the crown of her head: "I'm going to pickle all of you in a jar right now and look at you forever, you little unbearable lumps!" The girls usually squeaked, but they quickly got used to it, realizing that you would never truly hurt them.
But with Aoi Kanzaki and Kanao Tsuyuri, your level of audacity multiplied exponentially.
Aoi was always strict, eternally dissatisfied with something, and constantly yelling at patients. Her attempts to seem adult and stern were so adorable that your brain refused to take her seriously.
One day, Aoi was scolding Inosuke because he had stolen food from the kitchen again. Her face flushed, her hands were propped on her hips, and her voice rang with indignation. You stood nearby, leaning against the wall, and watched her silently. Your eyes narrowed. That same paradoxical aggression began to boil inside.
You slowly, almost silently detached yourself from the wall and walked up behind Aoi. Looming over her, you leaned down sharply so that your face was a couple of centimeters from her ear.
"Aoi," you said in an utterly flat, soul-chilling serial killer voice.
The girl flinched and spun around sharply, nearly dropping the tray of medical supplies she was holding. "Y/N-san?! What are you..."
"I'm going to bite your face right now," you interrupted her, staring at her with a fixed, predatory gaze. You bared your teeth slightly, as if truly preparing to sink them into her nose or cheek.
Aoi's eyes widened with primordial terror. Her stern mask vanished instantly, giving way to panic. "Wh-what?! What for?! I didn't do anything!" She backed away, pressing the tray to her chest like a shield.
"Because you're standing here, getting angry, wrinkling your little nose, and trying to look fierce, while actually you look like a fluffed-up sparrow," you took a step forward, your hands twitching slightly toward her, fingers curling. "It's outrageous. My psyche can't handle this. I swear, Kanzaki, one more outraged squeak from you, and I'll genuinely bite your cheek as a joke so you'll stop being so cute."
Aoi squeaked, spun on her heels, and bolted down the corridor with such speed that the wind stirred her hair. You remained standing in place, breathing heavily and trying to calm the trembling in your hands caused by an overdose of cuteness.
With Kanao, everything was different. The Tsuguko of the Insect Hashira was quiet, silent, and practically devoid of emotion. Her large, empty purple eyes and eternal faint half-smile worked like hypnosis on you.
When you caught Kanao sitting on the veranda mindlessly tossing her coin, you uttered no threats. You simply walked right up to her, sat down next to her, and stared at her in silence. Kanao shifted her empty, questioning gaze onto you. You looked at each other in total silence. A second. Two. Three.
And then your self-control snapped with a crack.
With a loud, aggressive exhale, you threw both hands up, grabbed Kanao by the cheeks, and squeezed them together with force, turning her neat, refined little face into a funny fish mug. Kanao's lips puckered into a pout, and her eyes widened slightly in surprise.
"Why are you so small? Why are you so perfect and quiet?" you hissed, violently shaking her head from side to side while the girl submissively endured your execution. "Your silence drives me insane! I want to flatten your face into a pancake! Look at you, you're not even fighting back, and that makes me want to crush you even harder!"
Kanao only mumbled unintelligibly through her compressed cheeks, her hands resting limply on her knees. She knew that this act of outright physical assault masked your strange, distorted form of care. You could knead her face for a minute or two before letting go with a heavy sigh, leaving red marks from your fingers on her pale skin, and walking away, muttering curses about how hard it is to live in a world full of adorable children.
But all of this—Mitsuri, Tanjiro, Aoi, Kanao—was merely a light warmup. Merely a pale shadow of the storm that unfolded inside you at the sight of one specific person.
Shinobu Kocho. The Insect Hashira. Mistress of the Butterfly Mansion.
To most slayers, Shinobu was a terrifying figure. Her eternal smile, hiding lethal poison and deep-seated fury, made many keep their distance from her. Her sharp tongue and habit of passively-aggressively threatening people scared them to death. But to you... oh, to you, she was a walking, breathing, absolute trigger of cute aggression.
In Shinobu, everything came together: her miniature height, which prevented her from even chopping off a demon's head; her graceful, almost weightless movements resembling the fluttering of a butterfly; her huge eyes resembling two deep amethysts; her gradient hair; even her fake, venomous smile seemed unbearably charming to you.
With Shinobu, you didn't even try to hold back. It was physically impossible. Near her, your brakes simply failed.
It was an ordinary, unremarkable day. The two of you sat in her laboratory. Shinobu was neatly sorting dried herbs while talking to you about a new wisteria-based poison formula she was developing. Her voice was even and melodic, her hands fluttering over the table.
You sat across from her, propping your chin on your hand, listening. For the first time five minutes, at least.
And then your gaze caught on how funnily she wrinkled her nose when she couldn't immediately separate the intertwined roots. How a lock of her black-and-purple-tinted hair fell onto her pale cheek. How her lips moved, uttering complex medical terms.
Your brain stopped processing information. Shinobu's words turned into white noise. That scorching, unbearable feeling began to swell in your chest. Blood rushed to your face, teeth instinctively clenched so hard your jaw creaked.
Shinobu, noticing you had stopped answering, looked up at you. "Y/N-san? Are you listening to me?" She tilted her head sideways, her eyes blinking questioningly.
That tiny detail—the head tilt—was the final straw. The trigger. The detonator.
The air in the laboratory shifted instantly. Your body began to vibrate literally. You straightened up in your chair, your hands resting on the table trembled minutely, fingers curling as if preparing to close around someone's throat. Your gaze became so wild, crazy, and aggressive that any Upper Rank demon would have preferred to flee upon seeing you like this.
"T/N?" Shinobu's smile faltered slightly, a note of tension slipping into her voice. She knew that look of yours. Oh, she knew very well what was about to start.
And a torrent of words poured out of you. A fast, furious, uncontrolled waterfall of threats uttered on the verge of a hysterical growl.
"Shinobu Kocho, I swear by all the gods of this earth, I am going to destroy you right now!" you hissed, jumping to your feet and looming over the table. Your hands trembled from colossal tension, hanging in the air a few centimeters from her shoulders, as if you were physically stopping yourself from grabbing her. "You're sitting right here! Wrinkling your damn perfect nose! Your eyes look like two stupid, huge, unbearably gorgeous amethysts! Why are you so small?! Why are you so fragile?! You're shaking me up!"
Shinobu, used to your fits, still instinctively pressed back into the back of her chair. Your aggression looked frighteningly real if one didn't listen to the meaning of the words.
"Y/N-san, please calm down..." she tried to say, maintaining her smile, though a bead of sweat appeared on her forehead.
"I WON'T CALM DOWN!" you growled, walking around the table and looming right over her. Your whole body vibrated like a taut string. "I look at you, and I want to squeeze you so hard your ribs crack and you pop in my hands like an overripe plum! Your smile pisses me off with its cuteness! I want to take you, roll you up into a little ball, stuff you in my pocket, and never show you to anyone! You're just... you..."
Words ran out as emotions overwhelmed the speech apparatus. You emitted a low, frustrated growl. No longer able to restrain your physical need, you leaned sharply toward her face. Shinobu held her breath, expecting a blow or a bear hug.
Instead, you sank your teeth into her cheek.
It wasn't a real, painful bite. You simply closed your teeth on her soft skin, slightly, almost gently nipping her, and immediately pulled away with a groan, burying your forehead in her shoulder.
"I want to bite your face off so you'll stop being so perfect," you muttered thickly and powerlessly into the fabric of her haori, still trembling minutely from an excess of feelings. "You're driving me crazy, Shinobu. I hate you for how adorable you are."
Silence reigned in the laboratory for a few seconds. And then the room was filled with the quiet, sincere, silvery laughter of the Insect Hashira.
Shinobu, who a second ago was preparing to be crushed by your aggressive embraces, was now laughing, softly stroking your hair. She wasn't frightened by your terrifying threats at all. She knew that behind that maniacal growl, behind the trembling hands and the desire to "crush her until she pops," lay a love so huge, clumsy, and all-consuming that you simply didn't know how to express it otherwise.
"You are completely out of your mind, Y/N," Shinobu purred, rubbing her slightly reddened cheek where the marks of your teeth remained. "I promise not to wrinkle my nose next time I'm sorting herbs. I don't want to lose my face."
"Won't help," you grumbled without raising your head from her shoulder. "You even breathe in a way that makes me want to strangle you out of tenderness."
If you could give free rein to your instincts (and teeth) within the Butterfly Mansion, you had to switch to extreme self-control mode outside of it. And the most terrifying trial for your nervous system was always the Hashira Meetings.
Master Ubuyashiki's residence. Perfectly laid gravel, blooming wisteria, the serious faces of the Corps' strongest swordsmen. The atmosphere demanded absolute concentration, respect, and subordination.
You stood in the ranks of the Hashira, trying to breathe evenly and rhythmically. Everything went well until Shinobu stood next to you.
She was in her full uniform, the butterfly haori fluttering softly in the wind. Her hair was neatly pinned up. She looked strict, collected, and professional. But to your cute-aggression-broken brain, this was tantamount to torture. Strict Shinobu was even cuter than relaxed Shinobu.
Oyakata-sama began his speech. His quiet, soothing voice carried over the garden. You tried to listen to him, you swear you did. But out of the corner of your eye, you caught movement.
Shinobu, standing to your left, shifted slightly from foot to foot, and the wind stirred a lock of her hair, revealing the pale, graceful line of her neck. She raised her chin slightly, listening attentively to the Master.
A chemical alarm siren went off inside you.
Your breath caught. Your hands, folded at your sides, instantly clenched into fists so hard your nails dug into your palms until they bled. Your jaw snapped shut, neck muscles tightening to the limit. Sweat beaded on your forehead.
Don't look at her. Don't look at her. Oyakata-sama is speaking. You can't just pounce on her right now and start screaming about how you want to crush her little bones. Don't you dare. Get a grip on yourself, your internal voice screamed in panic.
But your body demanded a release of energy. Vibration, that same minute, uncontrollable tremor, gripped you from head to toe. You looked like you were trying to hold back a volcanic eruption inside yourself.
Sanemi Shinazugawa, standing on the other side of you, glanced sideways. Noticing your shaking, tension-distorted face covered in sweat, he frowned. "Hey," he hissed barely audibly. "Why are you shaking? Smell a demon or having a seizure?"
You didn't even look at him. Your eyes were glued to Shinobu's profile. If you didn't do something, you were simply going to explode.
Unable to restrain yourself any longer, you threw your hand out to the side sharply, like a snake. Your index finger poked Shinobu right in the cheek with maniacal cruelty. Poke! It was a strong, aggressive, painful jab.
Shinobu flinched imperceptibly, her smile faltering for a second. She didn't turn her head to avoid showing disrespect to Oyakata-sama, but you saw her back tense up.
This didn't calm your brain down. You moved your hand lower, found a spot on her side unprotected by the haori fabric, and pinched her with a death grip. You pinched her so hard, pouring all that aggressive tenderness raging inside into it.
Shinobu hissed quietly, barely audibly through clenched teeth. She slowly, very slowly slanted her purple eyes toward you. Her gaze held a clear promise to add a dose of laxative or paralytic to your evening tea.
You looked back at her. Your face was still twitching, your teeth bared in a fierce, eerie grimace, and your eyes burned with the madness of a person fighting the urge to bite her nose off right in front of the Corps Master.
Sanemi, observing this silent, aggressive scene of violence against the Insect Hashira's side, merely twirled his finger at his temple and looked away. Sick in the head, both of them women, he thought.
You spent the rest of the meeting periodically aggressively poking Shinobu in the shoulder, side, and thigh, leaving her tiny bruises that were your only salvation from disrupting the meeting with your screams about her unbearable cuteness.
Evening of the same day. The Butterfly Mansion plunged into darkness and silence. The patients were asleep, and the helper girls had long since gone to their rooms.
You sat on the edge of the veranda, looking at the moon. Your body felt exhausted after a whole day of fighting your own emotions.
Quiet, soft footsteps heralded Shinobu's appearance. She stepped onto the veranda dressed in a light night yukata. Her hair was loose, flowing freely over her shoulders in a dark waterfall. Like this, she seemed even smaller, even more vulnerable, and... even more unbearable.
You tensed up immediately, instinctively pressing against the wall and looking away. "Don't come closer, Shinobu. I'm on edge today. I'm not responsible for myself."
But Shinobu ignored your warning. She walked right up and sat down next to you, her shoulder almost touching yours. She smelled of freshness and lavender.
"You bruised my side during the meeting," she said softly, with a note of playful reproach. "Tomioka-san looked at us like we'd lost our minds."
"I told you I was sick," you growled, still refusing to look at her, clutching the hem of your haori. "You should stay away from me. My brain can't handle it. I'm dangerous. Today I pinched you. Tomorrow I won't hold back and I'll break your spine in a hug just because you yawned cutely. It's not normal, Shinobu. It's an unhealthy reaction."
Shinobu sighed quietly. She turned to you, her hand resting gently on your tense, trembling palm. "Y/N. Look at me."
It was the worst idea in the world. But you couldn't refuse her. You turned your head slowly. Moonlight fell on her face, illuminating her huge, deep eyes, which lacked their usual venomous falsehood right now. Only softness, sincerity, and some incredible, naked vulnerability.
She smiled gently. The truest, warmest, and purest smile she was capable of.
"Why are you running from this?" Shinobu asked quietly, her voice like velvet. "Do you think your threats scare me? Your scary faces and clenched fists?"
A nuclear bomb went off inside you.
Your cute aggression, multiplied by deep, long-hidden romantic feelings, shattered all remaining barriers. Your eyes darkened, your breathing became fast and intermittent. Tremors seized your body with such force that the veranda boards shook.
"RUN!" you hissed desperately, jumping to your feet.
But Shinobu stood up too, blocking your path. She looked at you with defiance and absolute trust.
Your self-control collapsed entirely.
With a low, growling sound that would have suited a wild beast better, you lunged at her. Your hands, previously clenched into fists, flew open and wrapped around her fragile body. You pressed her against the veranda wall, looming over top. Your fingers dug into the fabric of her yukata, crumpling it.
"Are you mocking me?!" your voice was fast, loud, and full of mad aggression. Words flew out of your mouth like bullets. "You're standing here, shining your eyes, letting your damn hair down! You look like an angel descended from heaven, and it pisses me off to the point of teeth-grinding! I want to tear you to pieces! I want to eat you alive! I want to sink my teeth into your neck and not let go until you dissolve inside me! You're an unbearable, stunning, perfect woman!"
Shinobu was pinned to the wall, your chest heaving heavily, pressing against hers. She felt your colossal strength, felt every muscle in your body trembling with the desire to squeeze her tighter. But in your eyes, filled with wild, aggressive fire, she saw only one thing.
Love.
"Then do it," Shinobu whispered, a blush flooding her cheeks and her lips parting. "Bite me, Y/N."
Her words were the final straw. You growled, tilted your head sharply, and truly sank your teeth into the curve of her neck. It wasn't a light nip like in the laboratory. It was a greedy, possessive, aggressive bite that made Shinobu gasp loudly, arching her back and digging her fingers into your shoulders.
Yet even in this act of "violence," there wasn't an ounce of real cruelty. Your teeth didn't break the skin to draw blood; they merely left a bright, red mark on the pale canvas of her body. You bit her, breathed her in, your hands tightly gripping her waist as if trying to snap her in half, but actually just holding her as close as physics possibly allowed.
Pulling away from her neck, you breathed heavily right onto her lips. Your face was still distorted in a stern, vicious grimace, teeth bared.
"I love you to such a point of dizziness that my brain just rots when you're around," you hissed, staring into her pleasure-and-shock-hazed eyes. "If you say anything cute to me right now, I'm going to demolish this veranda to hell."
Shinobu laughed happily and silvery, wrapping her arms around your neck and pulling your aggressively distorted face to hers.
"I love you too, my crazy, aggressive Y/N," she whispered, and her lips covered yours.
The kiss was just like your expression of feelings—wild, assertive, full of restrained might and endless tenderness. You kissed her as if wanting to devour her whole, your hands roaming her body, gripping her hips, shoulders, burying themselves in her hair. You fought the urge to tear her apart from an excess of feelings, channeling that energy into passion.
Your relationship became a secret shrouded in darkness (and bruises).
Your cute aggression didn't disappear anywhere. On the contrary, having grown closer to Shinobu, having gained legal access to her embraces, you became even more dangerous to her physical well-being.
In the morning, waking up and seeing Shinobu's sleepy, rumpled face on the next pillow, you might start a quiet, fierce growl, after which you would pounce on her, crushing her in a crushing bear hug and biting her nose until she started laughing and fighting back, begging you to let her breathe.
Shinobu, in turn, figured out how to use this. If she wanted your undivided, animal attention, it was enough for just smiling at you with her most sincere, gentle smile or wearing her butterfly hairpin slightly crooked.
And you exploded. Your hands would start shaking, your eyes would darken, and you would deliver another tirade about how you were going to crush her into powder right now, followed by a passionate, aggressive tackle.
To everyone else, you remained the strict Insect Hashira and the unyielding slayer. Sanemi, Giyu, and the rest only occasionally noticed new bite marks on Shinobu's neck or how aggressively you pinched her cheek during meals. They preferred not to ask questions, assuming that some horrific sadistic rituals were practiced in the Butterfly Mansion.
None of them knew that behind your every predatory grin, behind your every threatening growl, and behind your every attempt to "crush her until she pops" hid a love so huge and tender that your body simply couldn't find any other way to express it. And Shinobu, your little, venomous butterfly, was absolutely happy to be crushed in those embraces over and over again.
Halloooo, I absolutely love what you write, I appreciate it so much now that there's more to read about Kanao and god, they're all so good
I was wondering if you could write two different scenarios:
One in which the female reader is Uzui’s ‘tsuguko’, is in love with Kanao and tries to win her over, but fails because of her shyness, which she only shows when she’s with Kanao. She’s naturally flirtatious (?), so she finds this all very strange; perhaps Uzui’s wives and even Uzui himself give her advice on all sorts of things, but she keeps failing miserably. Until she finally gets fed up and ends up confessing her feelings to Kanao, only to realise that her failures were worth it in the end, because Kanao felt the same way about her.
The other scenario would take place in a more modern setting, such as Kimetsu Gakuen. Kanao is known for excelling at physical activities and the like; I wonder if she’s also clever in other subjects? I don’t know, but I thought it would be something like a ‘friendly rivalry’, where the female reader and Kanao have a sort of rivalry at school, but outside that context they’re secretly a couple. Perhaps the scenarios are sweet and cheesy, but in the end something happens that jeopardises their relationship; maybe someone meddles and tries to expose them. The female reader, feeling hurt, decides to end the relationship. She wanted to protect Kanao from the problem so that she wouldn’t be affected, but it didn’t do much good, as Kanao ended up looking for a way to resolve the issue and insisted on getting back together with the female reader.
Sorry if it's too much or not very detailed; English isn't my first language. Have a good day/night
Hi, thanks for your kind words. I really appreciate it, and I'm so glad you like it. There are more stories about Kanao now simply because there have been more requests. Send me your requests, and I'll be sure to respond to them—in the order they come in, of course :)
Two Rhythms of One Heart
Kanao Tsuyuri (kny) x female reader
Word Count: 3690
Being a Tsuguko of Tengen Uzui himself is no easy task. It requires not only outstanding physical abilities and perfect hearing, but a specific type of character. And you had that character. Bright, daring, and self-confident—you would burst into any room like a firework. Demon Slayers knew you as the girl who could easily flirt with anyone, from stern Kakushi to shy rookies. Your jokes were sharp, your smile was dazzling, and your self-assurance seemed unshakable. You were the true apprentice of the Sound Hashira: brilliant, loud, and completely fearless.
At least, that was the case until Kanao Tsuyuri appeared in your field of vision.
As soon as that quiet, graceful girl with the butterfly hairpin was nearby, all your vaunted confidence instantly evaporated, leaving behind only a stuttering, blushing shell of a person. Your flirting ability suffered a critical failure. Your sharp tongue suddenly stuck to the roof of your mouth, and your hands began to nervously tug at the fabric of your uniform. It was catastrophically ridiculous.
The last time you tried to talk to Kanao in the Butterfly Mansion garden, it ended with you tripping over your own shoe, mumbling something incoherent about the weather, and running away, leaving Kanao blinking her large purple eyes in mild bewilderment.
"It’s just unbearable," you groaned, hiding your face in your palms while sitting on the tatami mats in the Uzui estate. "I’m bringing shame to the title of your Tsuguko, Tengen-sama. I’m not brilliant. I’m pathetic."
Sitting around you in a semicircle was a peculiar "war council" consisting of the Sound Hashira and his three beautiful wives. They had been watching your romantic suffering for months, and today, their patience had finally run out.
"Oh, come on, Y/N, don't say that!" Suma immediately sobbed, scooting closer and stroking your back. "Love is so complicated! When I fell in love with Tengen-sama, I cried all the time too, and didn't know what to do!"
"Suma, you still cry all the time," Makio noted reasonably, crossing her arms over her chest. "Y/N’s problem is that she loses her nerve. Listen to me carefully, Y/N! You just need to walk up to her, grab her by the shoulders, look her straight in the eyes, and say: 'I like you! Be mine!' Aggressively, directly, and without the mushy stuff!"
"That’s too harsh, Makio," Hinatsuru gently objected, pouring green tea for everyone. "Kanao-san is a very gentle and quiet girl. Y/N, you need to show your soft side. Give her flowers. Give her a sincere compliment. Show her that behind your bright exterior lies a caring heart."
Tengen Uzui, sitting at the head of the table with his usual grin, clapped his hands to attract everyone's attention. "My wives, as always, speak words of wisdom! But they forget the most important rule!" He pointed his finger at you, his jewelry sparkling. "It must be BRILLIANT! Y/N, you are my apprentice. Your confession should explode like a firework at a festival! Combine their advice, add a spark, and she won't be able to resist!"
Inspired by this strange but sincere support, you decided to act. The plan was simple: use all the advice in turn until one of them worked.
The next day, you began executing "Suma’s Plan." The essence was to appear cute, defenseless, and a little vulnerable. Seeing Kanao on the training ground, you tried to pretend you had injured your ankle and made a quiet, plaintive sound, expecting her to rush to your aid. Instead, your cry sounded like the squeak of a suffocating mouse. Kanao did indeed approach you, but her face expressed not romantic sympathy, but sincere medical concern. "Y/N-san? Are you having an asthma attack? Should I call Aoi?" she asked in her quiet, steady voice. Burning with shame, you muttered that you had simply choked on your own saliva and retreated in haste. "Suma’s Plan" had failed miserably.
Then came "Hinatsuru’s Plan." Flowers and tenderness. You spent three hours gathering the most beautiful bouquet of wild lilies and bluebells. You rehearsed a soft, charming smile in front of the mirror. But when you found Kanao on the veranda feeding birds, your pulse jumped to two hundred beats per minute. Your palms were sweating. Walking closer, you wanted to elegantly hand her the flowers, but your foot treacherously caught on the edge of a floorboard. You lost your balance, waved your arms, and the bouquet flew straight into Kanao’s face, showering her with petals and pollen. "Oh god! Sorry! I didn't mean to attack you with flowers!" you screamed in a panic, crawling on your knees and gathering the crumpled buds while Kanao silently brushed the pollen from her hair, looking at you with the same unreadable expression. The second attempt turned into a total fiasco.
That left "Makio’s Plan." Directness and aggression. You gathered all your will into a fist. You were a Tsuguko of the Sound Hashira. You had killed dangerous demons. You could confess to a girl! Seeing Kanao in the Butterfly Mansion hallway, you headed toward her with a quick, decisive step. Kanao stopped, looking questioningly at your tense face. You walked right up to her, raised your hands to grab her by the shoulders (as Makio taught), opened your mouth to shout your confession... and froze. Looking into her deep, calm eyes, breathing in her light scent of wisteria, you realized you couldn't squeeze out a single sound. Your face turned the color of a ripe tomato. You stood there for five seconds, then made an unintelligible sound, spun on your heels, and literally ran away, leaving Kanao standing in the empty corridor with her head slightly tilted.
By evening, you were completely destroyed. Your ego was trampled, and your hopes were shattered to pieces. You sat on the edge of a far veranda of the Butterfly Mansion, away from everyone, dangling your legs and staring at the evening sky. Your sword lay beside you. You felt like the biggest loser in the history of the Corps.
Quiet, almost weightless footsteps interrupted your self-reflection. You didn't even turn your head, already knowing who they belonged to. That light fragrance always gave her away.
Kanao sat down next to you in silence. Not too close, but not too far. A silence fell, broken only by the chirping of cicadas. You expected her to take out her coin to decide whether to talk to you or not, but the coin remained in her pocket.
"You are acting... unusually, Y/N-san," Kanao finally said. Her voice was as quiet as the rustle of leaves, but it held a strange, uncertain note. "Usually you joke a lot with others. You laugh with Uzui-san. But when I am nearby... you run away. Or you throw flowers at me. I... did I do something wrong? Did I offend you?"
These words hit you straight in the heart. The realization that your ridiculous attempts had made her think you disliked her was the last straw. Your patience snapped, giving way to desperate, naked sincerity.
"No! No, Kanao, you didn't do anything!" you turned to her sharply, your eyes glistening with welling tears of frustration. "I’m the idiot! I’m a complete, absolute idiot who can't string two words together when you’re looking at me!"
Kanao’s eyes widened slightly, clearly not expecting such an emotional outburst.
"I can flirt with anyone," you continued, gesturing desperately. "I can joke, I can be loud and 'brilliant' like Tengen-sama teaches. But with you... with you, none of that works. Because I like you, Kanao. I like you insanely! To the point where my brain just shuts off. I tried to be cute, I tried to be romantic, I tried to be decisive, but all I do is embarrass myself. Forgive me. Forgive me for acting like a lunatic."
You breathed all of this out in one breath, feeling your cheeks burn. You turned away, unable to look at her reaction, expecting a polite rejection or the awkward silence she usually bestowed upon interlocutors.
But silence did not follow.
Instead, you heard a quiet, melodic sound. It was laughter. Real, sincere, soft laughter from Kanao. You turned back in shock. Kanao was covering her mouth with her palm, her purple eyes shining with warmth and amusement, and a light, charming blush played on her cheeks.
"Y/N-san..." she said, calming down, but her smile remained. "Did you really think I didn't notice?"
You blinked, completely confused. "Um... well... yes?"
Kanao slowly reached out to you and gently covered your hand with hers. Her palm was warm and a little calloused from sword training.
"I don't know how to read emotions as well as others," she admitted, looking straight at your joined hands. "I often need a coin to know what to do. But when you tripped in the garden... when you gave me that disheveled bouquet... when you looked at me so tensely in the hallway... I didn't need a coin. My heart was beating so fast that I scared myself."
She raised her gaze to you, and absolute, unshakable sincerity could be read in her eyes. "I like you too, Y/N. Your brightness... it warms me. Even when you act ridiculous. Especially when you act ridiculous for my sake."
Your brain froze for a second, processing the information. All your failures, all those humiliating moments—they didn't just fail to push her away; they showed her your true feelings. You, a Tsuguko of the Sound Hashira, couldn't do it "brilliantly." You did it clumsily and sincerely. And that was exactly what worked.
A wide, your true, confident smile blossomed on your face. You intertwined your fingers with Kanao’s, feeling your heart pounding wildly, but this time—from absolute happiness. "So... the flowers actually worked after all?" you chuckled quietly. "If you don't throw them in my face anymore, then yes," Kanao replied softly, and for the first time, a light, playful note sounded in her voice. And at that moment, under the moonlight, you realized that sometimes the most ridiculous failures lead to the most perfect victories.
There was an unwritten rule at Kimetsu Academy: never stand between Kanao Tsuyuri and Y/N L/N. Their rivalry was legendary; it was whispered about in the hallways, discussed during recess, and teachers only sighed heavily when the two of them crossed swords in class again.
Kanao was the school star. Captain of the kendo club, the pride of the track and field team whose 100-meter dash records seemed unreachable, and on top of that, an honors student with impeccable behavior. Her quiet, frighteningly calm aura made other students look at her with awe.
And then there was you. Bright, ambitious, and incredibly stubborn. If Kanao got a 98 on a math test, you would break your back to get a 99. If she won a kendo tournament, you would challenge her to a duel during P.E., exerting yourself to the last drop of sweat. Your friendly rivalry grew into a real school war of wits and ambition. You constantly exchanged cold looks across the classroom, made sarcastic comments about each other's answers, and competed for the title of best student of the year.
Everyone at Kimetsu Academy was sure that you couldn't stand each other.
And everyone at Kimetsu Academy was deeply mistaken.
Saturday noon in a small, cozy cafe on the edge of town was filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and vanilla. At a far table, hidden from prying eyes by a massive potted ficus, sat two girls.
"You were trying to needle me in history again today, Y/N," Kanao took an elegant sip of her milk oolong. Her voice was devoid of its usual school coldness; it held only soft, almost purring tenderness.
You laughed, reaching across the table and covering her palm with yours. With your thumb, you affectionately stroked her knuckles. "Admit it, my argument about the Edo period was much more convincing than yours. Besides, if I didn't argue with you, Mr. Rengoku would start to suspect something. We need to maintain the image of sworn enemies, forgot?"
Kanao smiled slightly, her purple eyes warming when she looked at your intertwined hands. "Sometimes I get tired of this image. I would prefer to hold your hand in school hallways, and not just here, where no one sees us."
You had been dating in secret for almost half a year. That spark of rivalry that initially fueled your hostility at some point grew into mutual admiration, and then—into a deep, adolescent love. You knew each other better than anyone else. You knew that behind the mask of an ideal athlete hid a girl who loved sweet pancakes and was afraid of thunderstorms. And Kanao knew that your ambition was just a way to prove your worth to yourself. Your secret weekend dates were your personal refuge from the bustle of Kimetsu Academy.
But every secret has an expiration date.
The problems started on Monday. When you opened your shoe locker, a folded sheet of paper fell out. Unfolding it, you felt your blood run cold. It was a photograph. It captured you and Kanao in that very cafe on the weekend. You weren't just sitting next to each other—the photo captured the moment you leaned across the table and tenderly kissed her on the cheek. The quality was excellent; your faces were clearly visible.
Taped below the photo was a note typed with letters cut out of a magazine: "The ideal star of Kimetsu Academy and her main rival... How touching. What will the school council say if they find out about such a violation of morals? What will the coaching committee say, which is considering her for a national scholarship? I’m waiting for 50,000 yen in the old gym shed by Wednesday, or this photo will end up on the bulletin board and in the principal’s mailbox."
You broke out in a cold sweat. Blackmail. Kimetsu Academy had strict rules regarding relationships between students, especially if it could provoke a scandal. But the point wasn't even the rules. The point was Kanao’s scholarship. You knew how hard she worked for this chance. A scandal of this kind could forever cross out her athletic career and the reputation of her adoptive family—the Kocho sisters, who taught at this very school.
You walked around in a fog all day. You couldn't let her future collapse because of you. You couldn't let her become the object of dirty gossip. The decision that formed in your head was painful, tearing your heart to pieces, but it seemed to you the only correct one.
After school, you wrote Kanao a short message asking to meet behind the old gym building.
She arrived on time, with a light smile on her lips, which immediately faded when she saw your pale, tense face. "Y/N? What happened? You look like a ghost," Kanao stepped toward you in concern, reaching out her hands.
You stepped back, hiding your hands in your skirt pockets so she wouldn't see them shaking. Your heart screamed in pain, but you forced yourself to put on that same cold mask of a rival you wore in class. "We need to break up, Kanao."
Kanao froze. Her eyes widened in shock. "What? What are you talking about? Is this some kind of joke?"
"No jokes," your voice was steady, even though everything inside was tightening into a tight knot. You weren't going to show her the photo. If she found out about the blackmail, she would try to fight, and that would only make the situation worse. "I just realized it was a mistake. This game of secret relationships... it distracts me from my studies. We are too different. Our rivalry is the only real thing between us. I don't want to continue this farce anymore."
The words cut your tongue like broken glass. You saw Kanao’s face go pale, saw tears gathering in her purple eyes that she was trying so desperately to hold back. "Y/N... you’re lying. I can see you’re lying. Yesterday you said..."
"Yesterday I was mistaken," you cut her off harshly, turning away so you wouldn't see her pain. "Goodbye, Tsuyuri-san. Let’s pretend this never happened."
You turned and walked away, almost breaking into a run, not looking back so you wouldn't rush to her and take your words back. You cried all night, buried in your pillow, convincing yourself you had made the right choice. You protected her.
The next few days turned into hell. At school, you were enemies again, but now there was no spark of excitement in your eyes—only icy cold and unbearable weight. Kanao was unnaturally quiet, her answers in class were monosyllabic, and at kendo practice, she attacked with a frightening, almost cruel ferocity.
Wednesday was approaching. You gathered all your pocket money and borrowed a bit from friends under silly pretenses to collect the required amount for the blackmailer. You were going to pay and finish it once and for all.
On Wednesday after school, you headed to the old gym shed with an envelope of money in your pocket. Your hands were sweating. Approaching the ajar door, you heard voices and froze.
"...did you really think you could threaten me and Y/N with this trash?" The voice coming from inside was icy, permeated with threat and mortal danger. It was Kanao’s voice.
In shock, you peeked through the gap. The scene inside made you hold your breath. Kanao was standing in the middle of the shed. On the floor, cowering in fear, sat a guy from a parallel class—a known school bully and gossip. Kanao held his phone in her hand.
"I know about your bets on underground school tournaments," Kanao continued in a cold, ruthless tone, towering over him. "I know about the money you stole from the radio club fund. I collected all the evidence while you thought you had us on a hook."
She threw a fat folder of printouts onto the floor in front of him. The guy trembled. "T-Tsuyuri-san, I... I didn't mean anything! I just thought..."
"You don't know how to think," Kanao cut him off. She picked up his phone and with a few sharp movements deleted the photos, and then, to the guy’s horror, simply threw the phone onto the concrete floor and stepped on it with the heel of her school shoe with force, crushing the screen into smithereens. "If you ever come near me or Y/N again, if even a word about this situation goes beyond this shed, these documents will end up on Principal Ubuyashiki’s desk, and then—at the police station. You will be kicked out of the Academy with a 'wolf ticket' (blacklisted). Do you understand me?"
The guy nodded convulsively, barely crying from fear, muttering apologies.
Kanao turned and walked toward the exit. You recoiled from the door in a panic, but it was too late—she walked out and collided face to face with you.
You froze, looking at each other. There was no more sadness of a dumped girl in Kanao’s eyes. Fury and unshakable determination burned there. She grabbed your wrist with such force that you let out a quiet gasp, and dragged you behind the shed building, away from prying eyes.
She pressed your back against the brick wall, leaning on both sides of your head with her hands, not giving you a single chance to escape. A classic school "kabedon," but performed with such intensity that your throat went dry.
"You... you knew about the blackmail?" you stammered, feeling incredibly stupid.
"Of course I knew, you idiot," Kanao hissed, her face centimeters from yours. Her breath scorched your cheeks. "He sent me the same copy of the photo on Sunday evening. I spent two days hacking his social media, finding his dirty secrets, and compiling a dossier to destroy him if he dared to open his mouth."
You blinked in amazement. Your quiet, ideal Kanao had just pulled off a threat-neutralization operation worthy of a secret service agent. "But... but why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I wanted to solve the problem before it touched you!" Kanao raised her voice, her eyes filling with tears, but this time they were tears of anger. "And you? What did you do?! You decided that it was better to break my heart, lie to me to my face, and dump me, just to 'protect' my scholarship?!"
"I didn't want your future to collapse because of me!" you also couldn't hold it in, tears sprayed from your eyes. "I love you, Kanao! I wouldn't have survived if you were expelled or disgraced because you were with me! I thought it would be better for you!"
Kanao exhaled loudly, her forehead pressed against yours. Fury left her body, leaving only exhaustion and deep attachment. "Never," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Do you hear me, Y/N? Never again dare to make decisions for me. My future is worth nothing if you aren't in it. I am not a porcelain doll that needs to be hidden from problems. I can stand up for both of us."
You sobbed, your hands, previously pressed to your chest, sliding onto her waist, hugging her tightly. "Forgive me... forgive me, Kanao. I was such a fool. I was so afraid of losing you."
"You would have lost me if you hadn't come here today with that stupid envelope of money," she smiled bitterly, closing her eyes. "We are a team, Y/N. In class, we are rivals, but in life—we are one whole. Remember that."
"Remembered," you whispered, pressing your lips to her cheek, salty with tears.
Kanao pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes, and then decisively covered your lips with hers. In this kiss was the taste of shed tears, the bitterness of the past days, and the sweet, absolute certainty that no more obstacles, blackmailers, or school rules would stand between you.
"And now," Kanao said quietly, pulling away and adjusting your rumpled school tie, the same light, smug smile playing on her lips again, "wipe your tears. We have a chemistry test tomorrow, and I won't let you think that this incident will give you any slack. I’m still going to beat you by two points."
You chuckled through your tears, feeling the weight finally fall from your shoulders. Your Kanao was back. Your rival. Your love. "Dream on, Tsuyuri-san. I’ve already learned all the formulas. You’ll have to eat my dust."
And, holding hands, you stepped together from the shadow of the old shed back into the bright light of Kimetsu Academy, ready to challenge anyone.
Soooo you're a big Harry Potter fan too holyyyy. I haven't seen a writer for them for awhile now, considering how old the fandom is already. Let alone a lesbian type of content ones.
Please keep up the good work and thank you for sharing with us your great writing skills
Thank you so much for such kind words! ✨ Even though the fandom is old, there are still so many untold stories within it. I’m very happy that my work resonates with people, especially in this format. Thank you for reading and supporting me; it’s incredibly valuable!
P.S. I’m currently thinking of an idea for a fanfic in the Harry Potter universe, but it won't be coming out anytime soon.
hi, i've done a few requests here, and i just wanna say your motivation to write this long is literally inspiring. i've always had a hard time getting something out, i pretty much post one story before dipping for a few months. right now my last one was in like february-march, so to see someone who posts stories with over a thousand words like every other day is really impressive to me. not only that, but you always write everyone's silly ideas, like the deadpool one, the princess one, the demon one, etc etc, i actively enjoy them even if they weren't my requests. i think if i was writing this much for so long i would've had an insane burn out, but you just keep going. even if people's requests are super specific, you still write out every detail they wanted, that's something i love about your writing. i would struggle if the request was like that. anyways, i just wanted to say you're a super awesome writer.
question, what was your favorite story to write and least favorite (if you're comfortable with sharing)?
okay see ya
Hi! Thank you so much for such kind words. I’m so happy to be an inspiration to someone — it sounds incredible and is insanely flattering! ❤️
About burnout: actually, it happens to me too, it just doesn't last long, maybe a week or a little more. Sometimes I take breaks and don’t post anything for a few days because I’m just plain lazy. There are days when I just want to lie down and do absolutely nothing. So, as long as I have the motivation to write, I make the most of it, because that laziness can hit very suddenly and unexpectedly.
Answering your question: I don’t have any specific favorite or least favorite stories. But, of course, sometimes I get requests that raise some questions. Sometimes you look at some absurd idea and think, "How on earth did this person even come up with this?" 😂
For example, like you mentioned regarding Deadpool. Before that request, I hadn't watched the movie at all, and I had to watch it for the sake of the story. And, as it turned out, it wasn't in vain that I had avoided it—the movie didn't click with me, even though I’m a fan of the Marvel universe. Honestly, I don't understand all the hype around that character at all.
Thanks again so much for your message! Write at your own pace; the most important thing is that you feel comfortable. See you! ✨
