Kyojuro being afraid of love because of what he's seen it do to his father. He knows himself well enough to recognize he might not be all that different. His father was a good man too, after all. Full of passion and love and kindness. He's afraid of how the potential grief of lost love might change him: that he might end up the same way.
Giyu being afraid of love because it never lasts. Time and time again he loses people, so what's the point in trying anymore? In caring? Why put in the effort when he knows they'll just be the next one to leave him behind?
Gyomei being afraid of love because he simply can't find it in himself to trust people anymore. No matter how innocent, no matter how well intentioned. He has so much care built inside of him, it's almost terrifying for him to imagine letting it free again. His life has taught him that the world is cruel, that his love can't survive it.
Sanemi being afraid of love because he knows he's dangerous. Just like his father. Brash and angry and violent. He's so afraid he'll hurt the people he loves that he pushes them away in hopes of saving them. He believes it's the best he can do for them.
Tengen being afraid of love because he was conditioned to consider it weak. To love is to be vulnerable, to put a part of yourself into someone else and hope they keep you safe. Unpredictable, reckless. He fights with those thoughts constantly, knowing better. But that doesn't mean he doesn't still feel it.
Obanai being afraid of love because he doesn't believe he deserves it. A cruel upbringing and the harsh jagged scars on his face tell him he isn't worthy of anything kind. And so he becomes harsh to avoid it --- mean so he doesn't have to feel it. If he doesn't deserve love then why be kind? He believes himself a monster, so he's going to act the part.
Mitsuri being afraid of love because she fears rejection. Time and time again the world has told her that she doesn't play her part as a wife well, that no one could love someone like her. She wants it so badly, but deep down a part of her is convinced that maybe she truly isn't worth it.
Shinobu being afraid of love because she simply can't handle it. There is too much grief --- too much anger in her heart. She lost the person she loved most in the world already, to even dare to try and fill that hole doesn't even cross her mind. She can't imagine something else ever hurting like this. She wouldn't survive it. She didn't.
Aside from being a Hashira himself, he raised Giyuu (and Sabito). He made men out of them, put swords in their hands and produced the next Water Hashira, so the place he left behind wasn't going to be empty.
He raised Giyuu to be disciplined, calm, strong with a sword and without it, and sent him on his way when it was time. Gave him life lessons as well as battle lessons.
He accepted Tanjiro, made a man out of him, put a sword in his hand, taught him to survive and to fight. He taught him discipline as well, trained him to be a Hashira himself at one point, successfully securing the next two Water Hashiras in a row.
He protected Nezuko, took care of her for two years while also teaching Tanjiro, essentially caring for two children alone, one of them being a demon. Then, when duty called again, he showed up with no hesitation and no ceremony, no demand for anything, to care for Nezuko again.
And we all know why he was there. His real duty was to kill Nezuko should the demon slayers fail, so that Muzan doesn't find her. And he also accepted that duty, with no complaints, even if it would destroy him to see another one of his children die, especially by his own hand. But he sucked it up and showed up, ready to do what he has to do, if he has to do it.
All this AFTER he was strong enough as a Hashira to retire of old age.
Tags/TW: Hurt/Comfort, Graphic depictions of violence
Giyu Tomioka
It wasn't supposed to happen this way.
Frantic breath, feet frozen solid to the ground. His bones ached, his body nearly spent. The only warmth was the blood that soaked his uniform, but even that was cooling against the sudden paleness of his skin. His eyes are wide, emotion no longer hidden, nothing left to keep the shock at bay.
It wasn't supposed to end this way.
He panics, thoughts too fuzzy at the sight to remember his years of training. You were…still. So very still. You weren't moving- why weren't you moving?
He whispers your name as if you might hear him. But still you don't move, not an inch. He watches as crimson slowly seeps into the pure white snow, your back turned to him as you lie there. For a moment, for a breath, yet for an eternity. He just stares. Too afraid for it to be real, too terrified that it's happened again.
There's noise, yelling, something in the distance. But he can't hear it, he can't see it. He can't, he…he can't do this again.
Just as the dread begins to build bile in his throat you finally, finally move. But it's stilted, wrong, like something else moved you. Your head turns over, eyes wide and empty, horror painted permanently on your features, blood trailing from your bruised lips as they part, just before you speak.
“Giyu!” His name, clear and loud, like lightning against his ears, shoots his body straight up. The entire scene around him changes, his mind reeling as he tries to make sense of it. His eyes stayed glued to the empty wall in front of him, noticing the sheets gripped between his fists and the warmth that melts away what had once been an icy breeze up his spine. He takes staggered breaths, blinking, trying to understand what is happening when a hand lands on his arm, stilling him into stone.
“Hey,” a soft voice. Careful, so very careful as it whispers. He recognizes it immediately, that sweet sound that usually fills the emptiness within him. But in this moment that voice is a curse. It sends his already frantic heart to a rabbit's pace, his wide eyes dilating as the quiet noise wraps around him. He swallows thickly, losing his breath entirely and unable to move.
“Giyu? Can you hear me?” He can, he can. And he wants to acknowledge you, to answer you, to turn to you. But just the idea makes him nauseous. That image of you plays behind his eyes — the blood, the slumped posture. It echoes and rings, terrifying him to his very core. And so his eyes shut tightly, hoping that if he didn't see it, if he didn't acknowledge it, then maybe it would all fade away. That maybe somehow not witnessing it would save you.
Your hand trails slowly up his arm until you make it to his shoulder, the blankets shifting as you move around. He feels the weight of you in the mattress, how you lean just enough to look at him, how your grip squeezes tighter just as his eyes do the same.
He can't look, he can't. Because what if it wasn't a dream? What if he opened his eyes and you were truly gone? What if all that met his gaze was hollowed eyes and bloodstained teeth, the echo of his name the last thing on your tongue?
He feels his own weight shift, helpless to the way your hands pull him to your chest. He still doesn't move, doesn't dare to disturb the fragile air. But when he allows himself a moment he hears your heartbeat against his ears. Alive, warm, real. He focuses on it, as if trying to be certain that he hears it at all. And then right next to it he hears your lungs, the slow expansion before warm breath passes over the top of his head, tingling down his neck. His fingers twitch with a familiar want that he doesn't allow himself at first, arms remaining heavy at his side. But soon he moves, featherlight fingertips tracing the cloth of your nemaki. The slight jump of your heart freezes him again, but when it returns to its rhythm he dares a tighter grip on you, the loose cloth bunching, its soft fabric familiar in his palms. It's only then that he allows himself to finally breathe again.
Neither of you move; the moment too delicate, too preciously held. But the worry in your heart draws you to action soon enough, unable to bear the sight of him being so terrified for much longer.
Your hands move from around him, predictable as they climb and cup his head, pulling him away from your comfort just to hold him in a new one, your palms cradling his face in that way that made him feel like you held his very soul in them.
“Look at me,” you whisper, something too concerned to ignore. His eyes squeeze tighter in response, nose crinkling as if he can't think of anything worse. But he remembers your warmth, your heartbeat, your breath, and despite the sickening twisting of his gut he gives you what you ask for, his eyes finally fluttering open.
Ultimate relief washes over him when he's met with your eyes catching the moonlight through the window, gleaming in that way you have to be alive to feel. Then he traces to the slight crease of worry in your brow, drawn further down to a smile both caring and strained, too small to be any type of joy. Just comfort. His or yours, he isn't sure.
“You with me now?” You question, his eyes flicking quickly back to yours. He exhales deeply, releasing the tension from his shoulders as he offers a small, silent nod.
“Bad dream?” You ask, so careful that it's clear you aren't sure you should have even asked the question. The tension returns to his shoulders for a split second, burned images passing again, but they fall just as quickly. His hands begin to move from their tight grip, trailing to your arms. He sighs and nods again.
“What about?” You push just a bit further. His lip upturns, like he wants to dismiss your words entirely. But he doesn't run from it, his hands finally coming to meet your own, still held on his face. His eyes retreat from the worry of yours before he finds any will to answer.
“You,” he manages to mumble out, tentative, like he meant to say something else. The sorrow etched into his face speaks volumes, a silent testament to the despair that haunted his dreams of you. He didn’t have to say a word for you to understand. Your thumbs trace, trying to calm him.
“Yeah?” You fill the silence as he melts further into your embrace, eyes heavy as the anxious beating of his heart finally slows..It's as if your simple touch melted every fear of his into insignificant dust.
You lean the crown of your head against his own, calmed breath mixing as his eyes flutter back to yours again, too close now to ignore.
“Feel better now?” you whisper, still unsure of his state. He hums his answer, a quick sound that is the closest to ‘yes’ that you could hope for at the moment. You feel as one of his hands traces back to your wrist, holding it still as his head turns to kiss your palm. You feel relief at the touch just as his other hand leaves to reach for your side, pulling you closer as he leans back, until you're halfway lying on his chest and he's back down on the futon.
You finally relax, your own hitched breath calming as he wraps around you. It's natural, no longer hesitant. There wasn't a part of him that could bear the separation at the moment, too afraid even an inch of distance would make his nightmare all too real again.
Your hand reaches into his hair, tangling sweetly in the loose strands as he shivers, another deep breath passing his lips as his arms squeeze even tighter around you.
“I’m still here,” you mutter, more flowing thought than words he's meant to answer. Some hum of acknowledgement passes his lips anyway, half to assure you he heard and half to assure himself that those words were true.
No other sound passes, the night drifting on. At some point you fall asleep in his arms, unable to fight the comfort of them. But sleep eludes him, too many thoughts spinning behind his eyes to even think of closing them again. It is common — the dark bags just under them are the evidence. But he doesn't mind it all that much tonight. Because at least, for the first time in so very long, he wasn't alone.
Kyojuro Rengoku
His lungs hurt, his feet hurt, his legs, his arms, his entire body and soul. He finds himself unable to move, not a muscle, not a breath. Stuck, captured in the pure unwillingness of his own flesh. He can't feel the ground, he can't hear anymore.
But his eyes. They're wide open. Even as his body stays slumped on his knees, collapsed in on itself and unable to do anything about it. Even when he can't breathe, even when everything else is so entirely broken. Frantically they dart over flames and walls painted red, slightly blurred as he finds faces in the destruction.
The first he finds is Senjuro crying in hitched screams, turning to him in between trying to free himself from a fallen beam. The boy's small hand reaches out and he can read his own name on the boy's quivering lips, calling for him.
Then his father, eyes dull as the light drains out of them, scorn etched like a permanent memory. Even in death he'd forgotten any other expression when looking upon his eldest son. ‘You have failed,’ he could imagine him saying. ‘Always a disappointment.’
And finally you, trying desperately to hold in the blood dripping from an open wound, looking upon the carnage just the same as him. But you are screaming, crying, fighting harder than he is. You’re dragging your broken body towards him, his name screamed from your lips just the same as Senjuro. Screaming for him. But he can't move, he can't help, he can't even bring himself to try.
He's tired, more than he's ever been in his entire life. But it's no excuse for being so still, for him to be so helpless. They are all dying there, right in front of him. And he can't bring himself to do anything about it. Too weak. Too incapable.
He feels something push against him, like the air itself intends to knock him over. And it does. There is no strength left in him to fight it. Even while staring down begging faces, even when he knows dying isn't an option. He falls easily, like he weighed nearly nothing at all, face angling for the dirt below without any intent to stop himself.
His body jolts awake just before he hits the ground, all cold sweat and taut muscle. He breathes in one sharp intake, his lungs burning after so long without air. As he does the scenery suddenly changes, pale moonlight soaking in through a curtained window, serene and calm, a sharp contrast to the bright flames he'd once endured.
The first thing he does is move, his body sitting up as he frantically looks around the room. His heart still beats in an uneven tempo, panting as his body begs for the oxygen he'd deprived it of.
A hand landing on his shoulder makes him flinch, his head snapping to the sensation in an instant, eyebrows deep set in panicked confusion.
His whole world stops when he meets your gaze, worry written deep in your eyes and lips turned into an uncommon frown. His mind recalibrates, taking in the information around him and finally calming enough to realize what happened.
“You were dreaming,” you explain just as he'd come to the conclusion. Yet still his tight muscles loosen at the words, a confirmation he didn't know he needed. All at once the fear and terror melt out of him, replaced instead by that bile-building dread that looms when adrenaline seeps away. He shakes his head as if hoping to rid himself it.
“You okay?” You question next and a whole host of different nagging feelings creep under his skin. He pulls a tight smile, straining on his face as he lands his hand on your own, hoping to comfort you.
“Perfectly fine! Just–” his words cut off quickly, mouth drying as the images passed unwillingly through his mind again. Faces pleading for him, crying for him, begging for him to do anything. To save them. To protect them.
And yours? You looked at him just the same as you do now.
He turns away, clearing his throat before continuing.
“A bad dream,” he finishes, far quieter than before. His nose twitches in disgust at his own weakness; he couldn't even look you in the eyes.
“I figured,” you answer, more carefully than before. He feels your hand trace down his shoulder, his arm, his wrist, until it slides down into his palm, fingers interlacing with his.
“I am fine,” he tries to assure you, his gaze burning against where your hand holds his own. You hum, disbelief in the sound.
“You're shaking,” you remark in a whisper. Despite the accusation the words don't strike him harshly. They are kind, gentle — reassurance more than anything. It's for only this reason that his second attempt to deflect dies in his throat, escaping as nothing more than a huff of air through his nose. He knows then that if his shaking hadn't given him away, then his silence surely would have.
But you don't push any further on the topic. Instead your other hand finds his shoulder again, just before trailing up his neck and pulling him gently towards you. He was never a man who could deny the gravity of your touch, and now more than ever he leans helplessly into it. You rest his head atop your shoulder, hand still held in his. It's only when you both lie fully on the bed again that he dares his own movements, legs lacing with yours, half of his body resting on you and the other half wrapped around whatever piece of you he could find. He lets out a heavy sigh once you are both situated, finally allowing calm to reach his bones once more.
“I love you,” he blurts out, half melted subconscious thought, half deep burning need to admit the words. He hears the way your heart stutters and he can't fight the smile grows when it does.
“I love you too. Now sleep, you work too hard to have dreams keeping you awake,” you mumble the words, a kiss laid against his forehead just after. He almost laughs, but finds himself too relaxed for it to come out as anything more than one quick huff. His body relaxes quickly, dread and adrenaline distant thoughts with you held so close. It's practically no time at all before he drifts back off, hopefully to kinder dreams.
Tengen Uzui
He could hear them echoing around him. Voices muddle against each other, breathing wrath through each tooth spat word. Hatred dripping from ‘how could you?’ and rage seething through ‘how dare you?’
His eyes stay shut, each deep breath observing the sound of their scorn. He doesn't fight; he knows there is no way to. More than that he knows he has no right to. So he sits and listens to the echoed cries of anguish from faces he can't quite remember anymore, the sound of their lives taken by his hand playing vividly with each new voice. Each new hatred fueled glare that bore down upon him.
Just how many lives was it? Did it matter? When did it stop mattering? Their deaths never felt so empty before, so void of meaning. The blood he'd spilt, the family he buried, he was supposed to carry those voices with him. It was the least he could give after all he'd taken.
So why did it feel so numb now? Why did he feel so numb?
For a moment he tries to panic, to flare life back into the void that's gnawing at his chest, to drown himself in the ache so that he doesn't forget the feeling. But when the voices echo louder, angrier, meaner than before, he can't bring himself to mourn. He only hates, only loathes, only wishes to see them all stomped beneath his heel again. What right did they have to haunt him like this?! They lost their lives fairly; they were too weak to deserve their lives at all! What were they compared to him but mere insects, pests, weak beings not worthy of the Uzui name-
“Lord Tengen?” It's a soft voice that pulls him from sleep, like warm light piercing through the dark cloud forming around his mind. He feels the strain on his face, lips pulled into a scowl and nose upturned in tight disgust. But those fade as his eyes open, the fog lifting as a familiar face comes into view. From atop his chest you stare down at him, all concern and worry, holding your weight on your outstretched arms. The blanket draped just along your back begins to slowly slide down your shoulders, falling as the seconds pass. It's a peaceful sight, more welcoming than the gates of heaven ever could be.
“Hey,” his hands move slowly, voice low in a whisper, heavy with sleep as he comes to hold either side of your face. He knows he has to keep his voice quiet; he doesn't want to disturb the sleep of any of the girls just beside the two of you. Suma especially tended to get pretty grumpy if woken up when she didn't need to be.
“Something wrong?” He asks, his priority focused on your worried face. You don't let up, your pout only deepening even as you lean into his hands.
“I should be asking you that,” you mumble, almost irritated. He huffs a laugh, still quiet as he pulls you back down, laying your head against his chest where it had likely lain before.
“Just a dream,” he answers as he reaches for the fallen blanket, pulling it back over you both. He can practically feel your discontent at the answer, your body stiff, ready to pull back up again. But with a heavy sigh you fall limp, knowing the attempt is futile.
“Just a dream?” You ask anyway, mumbling the words against him. His eyes return to the ceiling, his mind flashing with the now blurry memory of that nightmare he had been stuck in. It had a bitter taste, knowing where his mind had gone, his grip on you tightening just a bit more at the thought. But something about the ache that enters his chest again feels like relief. The guilt remained, and he knew then that whatever spiral his mind had gone down wasn't his true thoughts. He still mourned them.
“Just a dream,” he assures, though the apprehension in his voice creeps ever so slightly into the words. He feels your hand searching up until it finds his own, your palm bleeding into his like you intended to put all of your care into the tips of your fingers. His hand locks with yours, securing the comfort enough to relax again. To let the memories fade and instead rest back into the bed.
“Promise you're okay?” You mutter, voice already half dripping with dreams of your own. His free hand comes to rest on the back of your neck, cradling you closer. He isn't sure if it's more for your comfort or his.
“Promise,” he half laughs the word, calm and sure, with no room left to doubt. You finally relax again, allowing the comfort to take you, no more words spoken. He smiles, softer than he would ever allow most people to see, before he finally closes his eyes again. He knew he'd likely return to that same dream, as he did almost every time he closed his eyes. But he didn't mind all that much, knowing he would open his eyes to a much kinder world than his mind allowed. He knew it was selfish, that this life he had wasn't what he deserved, that guilt and self-loathing should mark every single one of his days left in this world. But he was nothing if not a selfish man. He would take whatever good thing he could get his hands on, and he'd be damned if he ever let it go.
Gyomei Himejima
The sound is the worst part. The sickening crunch, the ricochet of bone splintering from where it's meant to stay. The splatter of blood catching on the walls, dripping down in unending streams. And the screams, the screams. Fear– terror stabbing through the sound of his own heart in his ears. Then the gurgle, the choked pleas as his fists connected, mercy on trembling lips. Mercy. Mercy.
He wants to stop, he's trying. He can't even hear the sound of his hoarse voice anymore, begging, screaming his own pleas for this to stop. But his hands move on their own, entirely against his will. He can't tell if it's blood or tears falling down his face anymore. Likely both.
And you just keep screaming, you won't stop. And he can't stop. It's an unending repetition of his hand through your skull and you begging for your life. You should be dead by now, a thought that he is repulsed to find himself hoping for. Wishing you were dead, wishing to not hear your screams anymore, the horror through your broken cries as he continued. Unending, unyielding. He couldn't stop-
“Gyomei!” In an instant his body jolts, tense muscles contracting all at once. Unmoving, entirely and utterly still. His breathing is heavy, eerily uneven as he tries to make sense of what just happened. His senses heighten, adrenaline pumping through his veins. The copper smell had faded, the room so quiet it almost felt like he had been dropped into still water. But he feels a hand in his own, the presence of someone at his side. And slowly, surely, it begins to make sense.
“Bad dream?” you ask, your worry all but hidden. He sits up slowly, his breath calming for the shortest moment.
And then the images play, striking against his skull like hammers, bludgeoning deep into his mind and searing the memory of them. The feeling, the smell, the sound.
He swallows thickly, once calming breath turning shaky as he tries to keep his composure. But the nightmare proves too much for him, tears pricking at his eyes quicker than he can hope to stop them, a growing cry choked back in his throat only because he's trying not to worry you more.
“Hey, hey, it's okay,” you comfort him, letting go of his hand so you can quickly hold his face in your palms. For a moment he thinks to stop you, to push you away. But he pauses just before he touches you, a sudden swirling fear stopping him from laying his hands on you again. And all the while his tears flow, and his attempts to hold back the sobs building in his chest grow ever weaker.
“I’m right here. It was just a nightmare, you're okay,” you mutter the simple comforts, wiping his tears with your thumbs. He doesn't want to break like this, guilt like acid in his chest. He had hurt you. Over and over and over again. How could he accept your comfort now? How dare he?
“I hurt you,” he admits, more shocked than anything else, his hands shaking as they hover just above your skin. Unable to land- refusing to.
He feels the way your hands tense as you hold him, your comforts disappearing into sudden silence. Worried maybe? Concerned?
Afraid.
That acid guilt only spreads.
“I could not stop I- I was–”
“Hey,” your voice freezes him cold, your tone almost harsh. One of your hands leaves his face to hold the wrist of one of his hovering hands, an action that drops his stomach with the same quickness as falling off the edge of a cliff would bring. You pull his wrist down until his hand lays on your shoulder, steady and firm, not allowing him to yield.
“You would never hurt me,” you speak with conviction, no break or waiver in your voice.
“I know you would never do that.” Your voice is calm, careful and patient. You hold tighter onto him, your breath steady and slow.
His blood pounds a furious tempo, his hands stiff with tension. Yet a grudging acceptance of your words begins to surface, a defiance against the blaring instinct to dismiss you without thought.
So he finds enough of his mind to hold you, to trust your judgement and not fear his own hands. The movement is hesitant, stiff and uneven, but he eventually pulls you towards him, fearing the distance more than anything else. Soon his arms are wrapped entirely around you, his head resting on your shoulder as you're securely tucked onto his lap. His tears spill onto the back of your nemaki as your hands carefully mix into his sweat-damp hair.
And slowly, surely, his mind stills and sense returns, adrenaline and fear melting away and leaving only a sniffling mess behind.
“Forgive me,” he mutters, voice hoarse as his hands hold even tighter onto you, still refusing to move from his spot on your shoulder.
“This was…rather childish of me,” the shame slips, embarrassment beginning to burn his face hotter. Had he truly lost so much of himself over a dream?
But you don't stop your calming trace through his hair, nor do you make any attempt to mock or laugh. You only sigh, your body relaxing in his hold like you'd only just allowed yourself to breathe again.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” you are quick to deny him, your head leaning to the right and resting against his own, your arms wrapping around his neck to hold him closer.
“I wouldn't have handled a dream like that any better than you,” you admit, something like a confession held between the words. He hums a deep sound, acknowledging you through the growing exhaustion. It isn't long before he's pulling both of you back down to the futon, your body still held so tightly against his own.
“Then at least let me apologise for worrying you,” he mutters into the crook of your neck, settling against you just the same as you settle against him. There is nothing complicated about the way you both hold each other. Like a lock and key, you two slotted together perfectly.
“Would it make you feel better?” You reply, and he hums something close to a laugh, but it's more tired than anything.
“Yes,” he answers, his leg pulling yours closer, wrapping each other in warmth.
“Then I forgive you,” you reply with some exaggeration, not entirely sincere. But it still means the world. He finally allows his eyes to shut again, his body fully relaxing back into the mattress with one final heavy breath. He struggles for a while to find sleep again, the sounds still an echo in the back of his mind. But your tracing hands and soft breath against his skin slowly draw him deeper until he can't hope to fight the comfort of it any longer, falling back to sleep with what he hoped would be kinder dreams.
Sanemi Shinazugawa
Nausea twists in his stomach, bile hovering low in his throat. Every muscle in his body is tense, every fiber of his being entirely on edge as his wide eyes stare at the scene before him.
Blood, so much blood. Dripping, pooling, smeared across the dimly lit walls. His own spilling through the scratches on his skin and theirs painted across twisted faces, crimson dripping passed now hollow eyes.
His brother to the left, sharp teeth still held open, frozen in the final animalistic expression. No kindness, no mercy left in the boy's wide stare.
And you in front of him, severed head held in your own hands, staring up at him with an unrivaled rage, hatred, bloodlust.
With only a small glance did his eyes catch on the blade that had done it, the low light catching the hint of emerald green that traveled to the hilt carried in his own hands.
His hands. His blood-soaked hands.
The ones that pull that same blade to his stomach. That allow the sting to settle in just when-
“Hey!” hands shove his body and in pure unbridled instinct he snatches them into his own, moving before thinking, yanking the unknown person and throwing them over himself, pinning them below him with a bruising, deadly grip. His eyes are wide, pinpointed pupils trying to assess the situation as a snarl twists his face.
The person below gasps, but doesn't try pulling against his grip. He blinks the bleariness from his eyes, heated heavy breath hardly covering the feeling of his own heartbeat in his ears. It takes a moment there, maybe two, before he sees your face, your voice slowly coming into focus past the ringing in his ears.
“—emi? Hey, it's me! It's okay! You were- you were dreaming! You're okay!” he blinks a few more times, reality slowly dawning on him. He lets go almost instantly, pulling away like he was burned and shuffling further away still, far enough to be entirely off the futon.
You sit up, staring at him, all quick breaths and wide panicked eyes. His mind catches up quickly, understanding the situation. But when you reach for him he is quick to pull away.
“Nemi-?”
“Don't,” he mutters the word, his hands turning to fists. He catches how you rub your wrists where those same hands once held you down. Bile rises in his throat again, his gaze falling away. He can't stand the sight of you right now.
So he stands, making his way to the door.
“Hey-”
“I said don't,” he spits through gritted teeth, reaching for the door and sliding it open with a harsh pull.
He freezes when he feels his wrist caught in your own. He feels stuck, trapped, glued to where he stands. He wants to run, to get away from how your wide eyes caught tears just before he'd turned away and escape how your heavy breaths showed your fear plainly. He needed to get away, his own body the threat he was trying to save you from–
“Don't go,” you murmur, a combination of too many emotions to name. He grimaces, his muscles growing tighter, trying to fight the way he wanted to melt.
“I wouldn't be able to sleep without you,” you murmur, more thought than words, hardly audible. His scowl contrasts with how his hands begin to loosen from their tight fists.
But it's only for a moment, the memory of his dream passing behind his eyes again, tightening his hands once more. In an instant he rips away from you, walking out the door.
He avoids you for the entire next day, unable to so much as look you in the eye. He fights with himself, angry at the situation, at his weakness, at how he can't bring himself to do anything about it. But eventually, like he always does, he finds his way back to you. Late in the evening, just before bed. He stands outside your shared bedroom like he can't bring himself to actually step in.
And then he hears your footsteps just behind him, pausing for a moment, assessing the situation. And then slowly walking up until he feels your head rest against his bare back again. But he isn't as tense as before; you can practically feel his exhaustion.
When he feels your hand against his arm his first instinct is to flinch away. But you hold there, an inch from his skin, letting him relax back into the touch before you dare move further, trailing down his arm until your hand rests in his own. He shudders at the feeling, heavy muscles flexing and shifting in obvious discomfort. But he doesn't pull away, he never does. Because truthfully, the shifting was only because the care was so foreign to him these days. He wasn't used to gentle things against his skin. He often waited for a pain that never arrived.
You hold him tighter, like iron wrapped around his hand. Solid, immovable, something he couldn't ever rip away from. On good days he'd always had a hard time pushing you away, but right now it seemed almost impossible. Right now he couldn't bring himself to if he tried. It was selfish, he knew that. He didn't deserve this, not after all he'd done. He didn't deserve you. But that was why it hurt so much. Because he couldn't help himself. He couldn't stop you.
“We don't have to talk about it, just…just stay with me,” your voice is like a siren's call, one heavy breath fanning against his bare skin. You tug him into the room and it's like his body turns slack, weak, pathetic. He's trying to fight it, he's trying. But he can't. Not when it's you.
And so you're able to pull him back onto the futon, blankets wrapped around him like he belonged there. He kept his back to you, and you never tried to turn him over. But your arm did come to rest over him, hand still tightly held in his own against his chest.
His eyes don't close; he wouldn't have dared. But he didn't move either, letting both of you lie there the rest of the night together, soaking in the silence.
And eventually, when the sun starts to peak through and the world begins to stir again, he’ll breathe one bone-deep sigh, finally relaxing just as he brings your shared grip to his lips, one careful feather-like kiss giving his worry away immediately.
“I'm sorry,” he apologizes, the rarest words you'll ever hear from him.
“For being like this,” like sandpaper past his lips he speaks the words that had likely been swimming in his head all night. You only hold him closer — tighter — resting your head between his shoulders with a sigh of your own.
“I knew who you were when I first told you I loved you,” you reply, refusing to back down. If he were the unstoppable force, then you were surely the immovable object. Two hearts caught at war with one another, pushing away and pulling back, refusing to admit defeat. Maybe that was the truth of it all. Maybe that was why he couldn't let go.
“And I don't plan on changing my mind any time soon,” you add, careful words in a shivering vibration against his skin. His lip upturns, some refusal bubbling in his chest. But he's too tired to fight your words right now, too exhausted to try. He huffs away whatever words had begun to form, instead finally closing his eyes again.
As the morning creeps in, both of you finally succumb to sleep, responsibilities be damned. You could deal with those after you two finally got some actual rest.
tanjiro goes around being so soft and positive that it is likely that most people he has meet don't have any idea about what he went through. despite all the suffering, he still radiates light and warmth which mostly gets misunderstood as naivety and shallowness. people see his grit and strength and lack of complaining and not the depth of pain and desperation he was thrust into at such a young age. tanjiro doesn't advocate for himself after all and wouldn't stop even a second to vent or rest. he doesn't seek praise or easily unburden, which makes it harder for others to comprehend his deliberate and active kindness. how many people he met can even bring themselves to imagine tanjiro's tiny and cold hands digging a small grave that fit his five years old brother? or how many of them can picture the perpetual smiler, bowed on the snowy floor begging for his sister's life? can they even gleam his guilt and shame? even if they could, even if they got observant or close enough to sense all the loss he endured, I imagine he'd wave them off. he'd wear a warm smile and assure them it's alright. most people likely know that tanjiro has joined the corps because like the rest of the slayers he lost, but i wonder if they know the magnitude and extent of it. tanjiro is exceptional, in that he pours his heart and spares no effort in every single thing he does but rarely let's the weariness and fatigue show on his face or in his words. tanjiro always gives more than he takes, and will do so in utmost grace and humility without expecting anything in return. he is a person of unmatched peofundness and integrity. someone who conceals their heartbreak and meet you with a smile on their face, who never complains, compromise or back down and he makes it all seem seamless.
Rengoku, Sanemi and Gyomei x reader; secret relationship being found; fluffy ♡
Rengoku
Oh boy.
He's not exactly known for his subtlety.
After you both got together, you decided to keep it under covers to prevent any unwanted questions and Rengoku agreed since he wanted to protect you from his father…
But he wasn't hiding it very well.
He actually wasn't hiding it at ALL
It was obvious in the way his eyes lit up each time your name was mentioned
And how he'd always want to be near you
And yell out your name each time he sees you
“(Y/N)!!! WHAT A LOVELY DAY IT IS! What an honor it is to spend it with you!”
Mitsuri figures it out first-
She knew Rengoku liked you but when she caught you both smiling and embracing each other one evening under the covers of the wisteria trees, she yelled out in surprise-
“RENGOKU-SAN?! (L/N)-SAN?! WHAT-”
You both had to bribe her with a lot of Sakura Mochi to keep her quiet but even then she unfortunately told Obanai
Who told Sanemi
Who told Shinobu
Who told-
Basically now everyone knew.
During the next meeting, Gyomei muttered a prayer of blessing for you two which made it clear the cat was out of the bag-
Rengoku was shocked
Even more shocked when people said he was quite obvious-
But his immediate concern was of course… how you were taking it.
But the moment you sigh and shrug before beaming up at him, he's eyes softened again as he brings you in for a hug and kisses your forehead
“THAT'S CORRECT EVERYONE! I'M COURTING THIS BEAUTIFUL WOMAN AND I AM GOING TO MAKE HER MY WIFE-"
“Kyojuro! Too much!”
“Ah sorry, my love.”
Nevertheless, he was more than happy that he could finally show his love for you to everyone.
Sanemi
You and Sanemi kept things quiet because he hates gossip and didn’t want the Corps to think you were distracted.
The first few months were full of sneaking glances during meetings — just long enough for him to smirk before looking away.
You’d patch him up after missions, and he’d grumble about it but secretly lived for the excuse to be near you.
Genya definitely suspected something first — Sanemi would act weird whenever you were around.
He tried to deny it, but one night Genya saw him smiling while looking at a letter from you. Busted.
Sanemi actually begged Genya not to tell anyone, which shocked his brother into silence (for about two weeks).
Eventually, Shinobu caught the two of you holding hands in the medical wing. She didn’t say anything… but that teasing smile said it all.
Rumors spread fast. Within a day, Obanai was giving Sanemi the death glare for “breaking Corps protocol.”
Sanemi’s reaction? “Mind your damn business.” But his ears turned red the entire time.
You found it kind of adorable how defensive he got whenever someone teased him about being “soft.”
Despite the embarrassment, Sanemi stopped hiding as much. He’d walk next to you in public, even if he still avoided PDA.
He’d mutter things like, “They’re just jealous I got someone better than they ever will.”
Surprisingly, the gossip didn’t harm his reputation — most Hashira were relieved he’d found someone who made him less volatile.
He’d still pretend he didn’t care, but you caught him smiling whenever someone called you “Shinazugawa’s partner.”
His new favorite line when people tease him? “Yeah, I’ve got someone. What about it?” — followed by an arm around your shoulder, daring anyone to comment.
Gyomei
Gyomei kept your relationship secret out of humility; he didn’t want others to think his feelings clouded his duty.
You’d often sit together in quiet prayer or meditation, fingers brushing ever so slightly — a secret shared only between you two.
When the others noticed how often you accompanied him to missions, they assumed it was for training.
Mitsuri was the first to suspect something when she caught Gyomei smiling softly at the sound of your voice.
You’d exchange small, meaningful touches — a hand on his sleeve, a lingering presence by his side — that spoke volumes without words.
One evening, you were tending to his wounds after a battle when Tengen accidentally walked in.
Tengen’s reaction? “So this is the secret sparkle you’ve been hiding, big guy?”
Gyomei nearly wept in mortified silence, mumbling apologies while you reassured him it was fine.
Tengen didn’t keep it to himself, of course — soon, everyone knew. Mitsuri thought it was romantic, while Sanemi teased that he “didn’t see that one coming.”
Once the shock wore off, the other Hashira were genuinely happy for him. They knew how deeply Gyomei loved, and it suited him.
Despite the teasing, Gyomei continued to be respectful and gentle — never flaunting it, but no longer denying it either.
You’d notice he started introducing you differently: “This is someone very precious to me.”
The Kakushi adored the two of you, calling it “the sweetest love story in the Corps.”
Gyomei would often express his gratitude to the gods for letting others know, saying that love, too, can be an example of strength and faith.
Even with the secret out, your relationship remained serene — built on quiet devotion rather than spectacle. He still blushes when anyone teases him, though.
Thank you so much for reading! 🩷
And thank you so much @tlissablr (I love you so much girl) for the cute request!! ♡
Summery: Two Hashira are sent out on the same mission a scheme orchestrated by the Master because he was sick of watching you both circle around each other like spring birds...and he made a bet with Amane
Masterlist
>>>>>>hope you enjoy :)):<<<<<
The master had paired the two eldest hashira for this mission, which wasn’t an impressive statement due to the average life expectancy for people within the corps, but it meant you got to spend time with Gyomei.
It was both a blessing and a curse, seeing as you’d been hiding your feelings for him since you’d first been introduced. It might sound cliché but you made a great team, he was reliable, able to read your movements before even making them. Right now his weapon's chain had just ploughed through a tree in order to take out a demon approaching your blind spot, all you felt was a gust of wind before beheading the rest of your assignment.
There weren't any upper moons as the master had hoped but you did manage to save a family from danger, their house was so far up the mountain that help would be unlikely to arrive in time, if at all.
“GYOMEI!” you called out into the night, hanging from one of the branches, swinging idly before dropping gracefully to the ground. The gentle giant turns towards your voice, foot crushing a demon's head in the process, causing the burning dust to puff up in a tiny cloud. “Yes?”
“Can we-” before you get the chance to step closer there's a heavy pressure on your side, throwing you back into a tree. A low creek and slow popping is heard as the wood gives out, collapsing from impact. Gyomei elevates the creature of its left side by carving the body in two with one hit.
“What was that?” you groaned as your friend helped peel you away from the bark “Another demon. I believe it possessed some form of blood demon art related to speed. Are you alright?” he cringes at the concerning crackle made when straightening “My back just got realigned”
“Shall I say a prayer?” you smile, still holding onto his arm. It was so steady, ready to catch you at a moment's notice “For my spine?” he brushes off some imaginary dust off your shoulders and back “Of course”
He leaned down while talking with you, but that didn’t take away from his overall size. It meant that you could reach up and wipe away the few stray tears he had shed over the demons. “That’s sweet but i’d much prefer a futon” the two of you chatted peacefully, surveying the area for any stragglers.
“The master has arranged for our accommodation in town” you hummed in acknowledgement “I think they’re celebrating the new year, perhaps we’ll be able to see the festivities from our room.” It wasn’t bold to assume the master only requested one room for both of you, 'team building' as he would put it.
There's a small shake in the ground when Gyomei kneels “Here” he reaches out a hand for yours. Huffing out a laugh “What are you doing?” you asked, amused by the charming gesture. “I’m going to carry you” he sounded so serious, like a knight ready to serve his Princess. “The whole way. Aren’t I heavy?” the man doesn’t make a sound when lifting you, simply carrying you in one arm.
You rest a hand on his shoulder, the other reaches for your blade to ensure it doesn’t fall from your waist. “As a strawberry” he holds you closer to his chest as he begins to head down the mountain “Gyomei, you really don’t have to” you mumbled half-heartedly, both hands now gripping his haori to steady yourself.
“I will.”
It was actually a very calm night despite the prior battle, making you both all too aware of the other person's existence. It was hard to ignore the fact you could feel his chest rising and falling steadily, how his hand gripped your thigh to ensure he didn’t drop you. The only time he stopped to take a break was after you arrived at the inn. The owners were a sweet elderly couple who made sure you had everything you needed, plus a barrel of sake for protecting the area. As soon as the shōji screens were closed, you shredded each upper layer of clothing, Gyomei hears and turns respectfully, reaching a hand out to feel for a corner and sitting to face it.
“Gyomei…You can’t see me right?” regardless of the ache in your back you manage to quickly set up the two futons. They were never large enough for Gyomei, however they are only ones you could find in storage. “yes, but you can see me, and are currently indecent. I wouldn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, as a fellow Hashira you deserve this sign of respect.”
It’s true, you’d tied the sleeves of your uniform behind your back for comfort. They were filthy and you couldn’t wait to use the indoor onsen. “About that, I need you to turn around and check my back. I can’t reach it and there's no mirror in here.” before the bear even faces you, it’s obvious from his ears that the man was blushing heavily “Tell me when it hurts”
You can hear the sharp clicking of beads as he sits behind you. Slowly you undid your chest bindings, hissing quietly at the throbbing ache. This was then soothed by a large cool hand pressing itself gently into your skin. Your eyes widened at the contact, his one hand covered most of your back, the size difference was ridiculous and always had a strange way of presenting itself. Reminding you the man was over seven feet, with the physique and training to show for it.
“My goodness” you bite your cheek to hold in any verbal signs of discomfort “Is it bad?” Though the man could probably tell without his vision or hearing. “I believe it is swollen with some bruising. Does it feel warm?”
Leaning back into his touch, you felt the opening of his haori brush your shoulder “Yes, but your hands are helping” keeping one planted on your back, rubbing circles into your skin, Gyomei uses the other to fix your hair. Using his fingers to pick out any tangles acquired during the mission. “You did well today. Namu amida butsu. namu amida…”
He was not praying for you, instead using the nembutsu as a tool to calm himself down. This was then abandoned for a much more effective solution. Alcohol. Quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol.
As Hashira your metabolism is on another level, taking about a barrel to begin having an effect on either of you. After a quick drunken bath the two of you lounge on the balcony together, watching the celebration below. Gyomei had given you his haori so you fashioned it into a yukata, it still buried your figure but was comfortable beyond belief. The item of clothing also just so happens to smell like him as well, a god given bonus to your good fortune.
Stumbling through the balcony doors after fetching another bottle you fall butt first into Gyomei’s lap, lazily resting your cheek against his chest, eyes cast down to the flashing street lights. He shifted, groaning. Hands landing heavily on your hips to properly adjust your placement. The older Hashira’s eyelids were drooping slightly, head leaning on the wall behind. You were so close to him, it was so nice. He could finally have you all to himself. He often fantasised about visiting your estate, just to spend time with you. No longer under the guise of duty. What would he say? How would he say it? Would you even let him speak to you?
He lowered his head, staring down at the woman in his lap. He loved her, he knew he loved her from the moment they met. “Describe it to me” his request adds to the honeyed silence between you both.
You hum, groggily. “What do you see?” smiling you sit up in his lap to get a better look of the streets. “There's red and pink lights illuminating the town, a man preparing what I assume are fireworks on the roof down the road, and a little boy begging for his mother to buy sweets. Some vendors are selling osechi ryōri, and families are gathering at the shrines. The night looks painted, clouds are blending into one another but it’s still clear enough to watch the stars” He pulls you close, meaning that you can feel the warmth of his breath fanning your skin softly “Can you see the moon?”
“Yes, It's beautiful. Glowing"
Turning your head back to sneak a glance you find his chin turned up, pointing towards the sky. Nesting back into his chest, then raising a hand you use your fingers to stroke his jaw lightly. He turns his whitened gaze down towards you, allowing your digits to brush against his cheek bones instead. Gyomei takes hold of your wrist and presses a dipping kiss into your palm. Almost like he’s using it to hold himself up, as he slowly sinks into your touch. Bringing the rim of the sake bottle to your lips, you take a sip and offer him a swig. If the demon slayer was sober he might have worried over the social implications of an indirect kiss.
The steep mountain of a man shifted with you in his arms, moving back inside to gently set you down on one of the futons “I don’t want to move” there's a small smile spreading to his lips after listening to the whining. Even when drunk, he was so patient. “The futon will be better for your back than sleeping out here” you could hear his heart now, faster than usual. Gyomei treated you like stained glass, this angelic thing he could shatter at any moment. Seeing you like this activated a part of his brain. Making his actions feel routine, an unconscious drive to take care of you, even if you were being deliberately difficult.
“But you’re out here”
“And I'll also be in there”
“But you’re out here now”
“So I’ll move in there now”
Anytime he spoke you could feel the vibrations through his chest, it melted your heart into a love-sick soup. God forbid the man ever laughed, it held too much power over the blood circulation in your face and other areas. Grabbing at his sleeve to pull the man closer again, Gyomei takes your hand and sets on the floor next to the bed “Hay. Why are you over there?” he was barely a couple inches away from you "There's not enough space” huffing you roll over, dragging his arm with you “So use some of my space, I don’t mind.”
Eventually there is a compromise. The two futons would be pushed together. “I remember how you looked when I first became a Hashira” the stone pillar was laying on his back, facing the ceiling “I was weaker then” you snort, covering your mouth with a hand “barely, I still had to look up just to see your face” He smiles, thinking back fondly to the early days “I thought you were strong” there was still a distant sound of the crowds outside, faint crackling from the fireworks occasionally illumination you both in the darkness, blessing you with his scarlet face “Awe really?” the floorboards groaned under his weight as the man turned towards his future bride (hopefully) “Yes. Though I was nervous when talking to you”
“Me? How come, I just thought you wanted to focus on training” you fiddled with the sleeves of his haori, tightening it to be more secure around your waist, in case it came loose during the night. “I threw up after we first sparred together, you were so kind and I thought you might treat me differently If I didn’t go all out” in a bold act of stupidity your arm moves by itself to rest a hand on his forearm “Gyomei, I would never. If it makes you feel any better I was also scared you'd think less of me. You were so talented, I didn’t feel like I could match”
Butterflies bury themselves inside your stomach when he chuckles, it was so earthy and close. He was so close. “You are most worthy of your title” Tears prickle at your eyes at the surprise validation from someone closest to you, both emotionally and physically speaking. It had been so long since someone you loved held you. Here Gyomei was there to patch up the holes in your soul. He places a hand at the base of your neck, pulling to forward so that he could press a blessed kiss to your face, just above the brow. The man was a monk. Surely his kisses gave you good luck or something, divine intervention.
Before you can stop yourself, acting on mindless instinct, you pounce. Sitting over his body and smashing your lips together in blind drunken determination, borrowing some of Mitzuri’s love breathing in remembering to breathe through your nose. Gyomei is fairing no better, cradling your back and flipping you over to press your back into the mattress. He has you caged between his arms against the bed and you couldn’t be happier.
The sounds he was making had to be criminal. It was so passionate, all consuming under the pressure of the other person. Your head isn’t even able to hit the pillows, it was simply too far away for the stone pillar. Choosing to hold your head up himself, hands laced through your hair.
Sadly, oxygen was a required substance for living. In a heated gasp the two of you latch off one another. The only sound either person is able to focus on being collective panting. Slowly, your breaths dissolve into light giggles then heavy cackles, how stupid you both had been to miss the obvious.
Something even Sanemi had questioned Gyomei about, believing that the two of you had already been engaged before he’d joined the corps. The stone pillar just rests his head on your collar, hands holding you up against him whilst he catches fleeting breaths. Raking your fingers though his locks helps settle the heat, calming the drunken soldiers before passing out.
The morning was torture. An invisible pressure rattling behind your eyes in time with the door. When you awoke it was already mid afternoon. One of the elderly owners had brought you both tea, out of gratitude but also to ensure their customers were still alive. There was an anchoring weight keeping you from leaving. Gyomei had sunk down during the night and burrowed himself between your thighs, head resting heavy in the softness of your stomach, arms either side of you. He was snoring away, unaware of the outside world. Using all your strength you manage to shove him off (lovingly) resulting in a heavy thud. Scrambling to answer the door you exchange pleasantries with the woman and take the tray from her hand, closing the door behind you.
Turning around, you see Gyomei had made a tent under the covers, eyes closed but reaching for you, he looked so sad. Brows turned down into a grumpy frown. Like he was a toddler and you’d confiscated his toy train. Sitting back in his crossed lap you hand him a cup of stemming tea, brain still throbbing.
He snaked his arms around you, groaning, then dipping his head to rest on top of yours. Careful as not to crush you. It felt like getting spooned by a bear. A friendly -slightly hungover- teddy bear. A shiver runs down your spine at his fingers brushing your back, sweeping your hair from covering your neck. He pressed hot kisses to the delicate skin, moving from your shoulder upwards. Leaning back into the touch, you feel his lips curve upwards into a grin, littering you in pecks warmed by tea. You could hear him mumbling something but as usual Gyomei was left non-verbal when recovering from alcohol, practically hanging off of you until being forced to get ready.
The towering idiot was grinning stupidly for the rest of the day, it made him hard to look at. Gyomei as beaming. Making small comments like “I quite enjoyed this mission.” every so often just to hear your heart stutter while walking back to the estate.
He knew for a very long time that he had feelings for you. Feelings that only ever seemed to grow, deep in that stone heart of his. They had started slow, careful, almost unnoticed as they swelled more and more with each passing day.
But his love had always been a quiet affair. He never found the need for grand gestures or sudden declarations. In fact, he didn't feel rushed to confess at all. He simply enjoyed the presence of you as your relationship with him blossomed and changed all on its own. He had no need for more than what the moment gave him.
He was sure the time would come when it would feel right to tell you how his heart had grown so fond of you, but until then he didn't mind the simplicity of what it was. He was only ever worried his feelings would complicate the peace you brought.
He invited you to meditate with him today. An invitation he often gave away freely to many of the others, but one that only you seemed to take consistently. It was a calm moment where both of you enjoyed the company of the other without the need to fill the air with words. A small reprieve in lives that seemed like whirlwinds.
You two had been here for quite a while, the smell of incense having long since burnt out and cleared the room, the quiet strung along for near ages. Knowing that your time together was inevitably drawing to a close, you feel it’s acceptable to finally break it.
“I wanted to ask you something,” you dare the words at his side. Your eyes stay staring at the wall opposite of you, though you still notice the way he tenses at the sound. But then he breathes a second later, the tension falling as he returns to the moment.
“Of course,” he answers, tilting his head towards you. You only turn to him then.
“You have such keen senses, even I sometimes forget you can't see,” you state plainly and he nods in acknowledgment, imploring you to continue.
“How is that? Do you have some sixth sense?” The question is genuine but lighthearted as you ask it, curiosity mixing with some strange delight. He finds himself smiling at that. It was one of the things he loved most about you: how you asked questions like even the simple act of wondering was a joy of its own.
“I suppose you could call it that, if you wished,” he played along for a moment, nodding like he was oh so serious even when he knew his smile gave him away.
“But it is more that I strengthened my other senses to near perfection. And then I taught myself the pattern of what certain things mean,” he tries to explain, but when he feels you lean in closer he knows he hasn't been clear enough.
“Breath is a very easy one to tell, most of the time. I know where you are looking just by where your breath lands in the air,” you pull away quickly at those words and he almost laughs. Had you genuinely not known that he could tell you were so close?
“And I have learned to recognize footsteps and smell to tell who I'm beside even when they don't speak,” he continues, starting to lose himself in the explanation.
“It is usually the smaller things that allow me understanding, with demons especially. They are predictable creatures, relying on sheer power rather than honing their abilities. Once they reveal what they can do there is often not much more to it. Many have trouble adapting,” he catches himself, realizing he's been speaking for some time and that you have long since looked away. He frowns, hoping he hadn't bored you too much.
“My apologies, I have fallen off topic,” he recognizes, though he's a bit surprised when you turn back to him so suddenly.
“Don't apologize. I enjoy listening to you,” the words slip before you mean them, but are there all the same. He isn't shocked by the feeling in his chest, that common elation he finds you often bring him. He can feel his smile soften at it, a reaction he couldn't control even if he felt he needed to.
“That is good to hear. Many do not,” his tone is jovial, knowing well enough that the others don't often like the wisdom he tries to teach them. The same way children don't enjoy it, he supposed. Some things simply don't change.
“A shame. I feel I always learn something when speaking with you,” you contemplate the words, though you do speak them through something amused. He feels that blooming in his heart swell further, a nod being all he can give as he tries not to let it overwhelm him.
There is a lull, a few seconds where nothing more is said before you speak again.
“Do you…” hesitation. He leans slightly towards you, as if urging you to continue.
“Do you ever wish you could see?” You are careful as you ask it, not so much afraid as you are worried you might offend him. He hums an acknowledgement of the words, his face twisting into thought.
“Not often,” he answers quickly, though there is something that lingers in his voice, some want half revealed. He knows you hear it when you shift in your seat, turning fully towards him in clear interest. He continues before you can ask the inevitable question.
“I lost my sight as a child after a fever. It was so long ago now that I don't often remember what it was like. I vaguely understand color and light, but many other things are lost to me. It is hard to wish for something I can hardly imagine anymore,” he feels the way your gaze is on him, the breath of you as you become enraptured by his words. It feels nice to be heard, especially now. But even then he can't stop the way his smile falls, his mind plagued by only one thought.
“But sometimes I wish I could see you,” his face is pained at the admission, like he had wanted to speak it for so long but only now found the will to.
“I wonder about your expressions, how you might be looking at me even now. I wonder what your smile is like, and how your eyes might hold the joy of your laugh. It is the only time I ever really wish to see again,”
Silence. Long and stretching, a bone-deep quiet. He realizes only then the intimacy of his words, warmth flooding through him as he does. The thoughts had been trapped in his head for so long they had become normal to him, something trivial and common in his mind. But having spoken them out loud he can hear just how deeply the words resonate, how they were anything but simple. And he can hear, by your caught breath and the racing of your heart, that they affected you.
“I hadn't meant to say so much,” he breaks the silence and though he doesn't turn away you can see the nervousness that surges, worry creeping its way through his features. His eyes widen when you take his hand in yours.
“Do you mean it?” You ask, your voice gentle as you do. He is having trouble focusing, his mind drawn to the sensation of your hand held firmly in his. Despite the calluses, the scars, the rough skin that marks both of you, there is a tenderness to the touch. A type of softness he can't describe as his thumb grazes against the back of yours, trying to memorize the very shape of you.
“I would not lie to you. I couldn't,” the words fall from that space he's held you in for so long, sighing out as if he was accepting defeat. There wasn't a time more than now that he wished he knew what your expression held. He knew he stared at you now, closer than he'd ever been to you. Yet still, somehow, further than he ever wanted to be.
He almost winces when one of your hands leave, that ache in his heart hurting at your sudden departure. Until he felt your palm fall on his face, guiding him to the height of you until he could feel your warmth radiate to him.
“I wish I could give that to you,” you whisper, like a secret. He feels every muscle in his body relax, like you had just given him something he had hoped to find for so long, like this closeness was a comfort he wasn't aware he needed. His hand raised to cup the one you hold to his face before turning his head to kiss your palm like it was the most natural thing in the world. He hears your shuttered breath, he feels the way you shiver at the contact.
“You already give me more than enough,” he answers, eyes half-lidded, so comfortable here that he could fall asleep against the warmth of you.
But in him something selfish stirs, a desire he knows he should hold off on. This is the farthest the two of you had ever gone and it was more than enough to fill his heart and calm whatever worries he had about complications. But yet it's now more than ever that he wants more. Held in your palm he can't deny how deeply he wishes for it.
“But might I ask for one thing more?” He dares, even knowing he shouldn't. But his usual patience melts against you, his resistance a thought so distant now that he hardly understands why he would ever have denied himself this. You hum an acknowledgement of his words, urging him onward as he continues falling against you. He pulls you ever closer by the hand that still holds yours, one soft heavy sigh shared before he speaks again.
“May I kiss you?” He whispers against your lips. He notices your caught breath at the words, leaving a moment later to tease his skin just before you reply with your lips on his own.
His kiss is gentle, as careful as he always is with you. He refrains from teeth, from biting, from anything harsh. It is calm and coaxing, like falling infinitely into one another and wondering how you would ever do without. A lullaby to weary souls looking for peace in one another.
He pulls away first, though he lingers so very close after, as if considering falling right back in. But he finds his control quickly, parting just before resting his head atop your own. You fall into the embrace quickly, laying your head against his chest just as his arms wrap around you. It is a quiet, peaceful understanding of the moment you shared, and an unwillingness to let go of it just yet. A plea in the way you both fell, a promise to stay, if only for a little while longer.
Tengen Uzui (+The Wives)
Tengen and his many wives had brought you onto another one of their little excursions. It's become a common thing for them to show up at random times on random days and steal you away for a while. Usually with the excuse of ‘getting you to let loose,’. You had protested the intrusions at first, but by now it had become so routine that you planned to be stolen away at any given moment of the day.
But while you might have considered these outings to be some fun shared between friends, it meant much more to them. Tengen might have been the first to take a liking to you, but by now the girls were just as head over heels. Little by little they were bringing you further into the fold, getting closer, getting riskier. Subtle flirting to test the waters was quickly turning into needy hands that just barely skirted the line. Obvious to anyone else, but something you missed in the thick of it. Though they didn't mind. This particular little outing would be where they would finally bring it to your attention.
Or, at least, it was meant to be. Except they couldn't decide who would get to tell you first.
They had been stumbling over each other all evening, each trying to be the one to tell you. It wasn't like they were trying to sabotage each other, but more so that they were each making their own attempts that just so happened to bulldoze over one another. And that's when you weren't getting distracted by some festival activity or another. By the end of the night all they could do was laugh at each other like a bunch of lovesick idiots.
The night was a bust, with you being no more aware of their feelings than before. They were a little disappointed at that, but all around not that upset. They still had fun, and they promised to have an actual game plan next time. Perhaps somewhere a bit calmer where they could all speak as a team. Frankly that should have been the first plan, even if it wasn't really their style.
But for now you all are on your way to your lodgings after they insisted you stay with them, laughing and talking like you were winding down from the best night of your lives. A little buzzed, smiling, bumping lightly into each other every now and again. It felt so natural that they almost forgot for a moment that you weren't their partner yet.
Which is perhaps why Tengen gets a little bit bolder.
“Looking a little tired there. Maybe you'd be better up in my arms~,” he suggests, something that sounds like teasing. Your lips part in protest a little too late when he's suddenly scooping you up.
“Hey-!”
“Don’t even try to complain, hotshot. You're hardly walking straight,” He shuts down your quickly growing response before you can speak it. So instead you fold your arms and accept your fate with an upturned nose and a grumbled complaint. You didn't have the energy left to argue, much less struggle against him. Though you're surprised when none of the girls come to your rescue, even in some jealous attempts to be the one in your place.
It's almost quiet for a moment, a few steps where no one says a word. You sink into Tengen's arms, perhaps a bit more tired than you had originally realized. He glances down at you a moment later, something soft in his eyes and knowing in his sudden smirk.
“What?” You ask, staring up at him through heavy lids and eyelashes, your tone not as frustrated a sound as you'd meant it to be. You felt a little too comfortable in his arms.
It's sudden, quick, you hardly even have time to register it. The smallest peck against your lips before he pulls away, all types of smug written on his face. You gasp at the same time the girls do, and for a second you think he has just done the absolute worst thing he could have possibly done. Kissing you in front of his own wives?! The gull.
Until–
“No fair! I wanted to be first!” Makio speaks, her voice flaring, jealousy marring her tone. But not jealousy towards you. Jealousy towards her own husband.
…what?
“Aww, come on! I was so close earlier, that should have been me!” Suma whines, close to tears.
“Lord Tengen Uzui!” Hinatsura scolds like she can't believe he just did that.
“Can you really blame me?” He rebuts, not a shred of remorse on his features as that already smug smile pulls wider. But when he turns back down to you something about it softens. A sweetness in the turn of his lips.
You're entirely confused, looking between all of them like your world has just been turned upside down. They're looking at you expectantly and it's then that you finally begin to piece everything together.
“Oh…” is all you say at first, your heartbeat thumping in your ears as the realization sets in.
“Oh! You– you all– with me? You're all in love with me?” You blurt out, now understanding why they had been acting so strange all night. They laugh, though it isn't mocking. More like the giddy sound of being caught.
“Well look who's caught up! About time!” Tengen barks the words, loud and amused, mirth practically bleeding out of him. He leans closer again.
“Hm. Nervous looks cute on you,” He teases again, your breath catching at the closed space. But his words spur you on, determination catching on your features before you close the distance on your own terms. Another quick kiss, more to prove a point than anything.
But when you try to pull away he only delves in deeper, his arms wrapping tighter around you, that stupid smirk still catching the corner of his lips. When you break the both of you are at a loss of breath, remaining inches from each other, caught in the moment.
Until you gain enough sense to glance away, your eyes catching on three beautiful ladies, all absolutely red in the face and standing in stunned silence. His gaze turns a moment after yours, and you feel the vibrations of a laugh fall deep from his chest.
“They're gonna want a turn,” he mumbles next to your ear, a shiver running down your spine. But you smile, staring at the girls expectantly.
“Well?” You ask them, angered glares immediately fading into fondness. Makio and Suma start to bicker about who gets to go first and Hinatsura takes the opportunity to step forward, hands on either side of your face as she leans in. Her lips are gentle against yours, kind. Like she means to savor the entire taste of you. The look she gives when she pulls away expresses just the same, her soft gaze melting you entirely.
“M-My turn!” Suma’s next, her lips capturing yours before anyone else can argue. She stutters at first, like she isn't quite sure what she's doing. But a second later she finds her rhythm. Still a little shy, but you feel how careful she's trying to be with you. She's greedy too, staying longer than the rest.
“Alright!” Makio pushes her away, hardly giving you the chance to recover before her lips burn against yours. Her passion is undeniable, if a bit much. Her hands in your hair as she pushes herself deeper. She's the first one to dare tongue, the jolt of your body being the only thing that stops her. She is almost unwilling as she pulls away.
Your lips feel bruised and a little numb, certainly not prepared for tonight. But you smile nonetheless, pure bliss in your eyes as you stare at all of them and sink even deeper into Tengen's arms.
Perhaps the night wasn't a bust after all.
Sanemi Shinazugawa
The two of you always liked testing your limits against each other. You wouldn't say sparring with him was a daily occurrence, but it was common enough for the two of you to grow used to it. A sort of unspoken routine that you engaged in. Merely part of your job, both of you had reasoned.
In truth it had become a little more than that. It was no secret that the two of you enjoyed these little bouts together more than most. Just by the wild smiles and gritty laughs it was clear you were having quite a lot of fun together. An aspect that slowly dripped into other parts of your lives in the respect you held towards one another. But it was friendly at most. And even that was a questionable notion when it came to Sanemi.
Until the smaller things started to bleed too, and respect turned to something scarily soft in him. He found himself unable to glare at you and staring for too long for that not to be obvious. He always stood just a bit too close when you were near too, looking over his shoulder, almost paranoid. Like he was expecting to be caught for something, though you were never sure what.
He also insisted on going on missions with you whenever he could. You didn't mind as he was exceptionally good at keeping you out of danger. A trait you believed he must have held with everyone else on missions; a privilege you could not have guessed he only shared with you. It only made you all the more confused when others would call him a crazed lunatic. Sure he certainly had the scars and stare to match, but he was usually so quiet when around you that you had a hard time believing him anything more than mildly irritable with a bit of a resting ‘holy shit you're terrifying’ face. The closest you ever got to seeing something of the like was when he really got into sparring, but by then it almost felt fun.
Outside of that, he just seemed a little closed off to you. Perhaps a bit more than you would have liked given the almost pathetic crush you'd grown for the man, but you never really saw the raging monster everyone spoke of. ‘A blessing,’ some of the others had told you as they eyed you with suspicion you couldn't have understood the source of.
You hadn't seen him all day. Not something unusual, per se, but you had been looking for him on and off. You'd heard rumor he was having a bit of a rough day, a couple of slayers staring with a distant gaze whenever you asked about him. He hadn't been in any of his usual spots, which was a bit of a letdown since you would have really enjoyed a bit of heavy training together–
“I SAID SAY IT!” a voice roared, shocking you still in your spot. You registered the sound a second later, recognizing his voice. You back up two steps, turning your head to notice the room it had come from, nearly shocked still when your theory is confirmed.
“Oh! U-Um, I just– you know– just trying– I–” some helpless Kakushi stood stock still, staring up at the scar-skinned bear they had just unknowingly poked.
“You’re the one who wanted to talk about him so bad! So if you have something to say then spit. it. out.” He steps forward, eyes wide, daring them to repeat themselves, practically salivating at the idea. You're shocked at the display. At how his snarl turns and twists his face, how he looks so damn angry. Fists clenched, teeth barred, shaking with fury.
It's then the Kakushi’s gaze turns, catching yours. You are beyond confused when they look relieved to see you, like you were a saviour from on high. They call your name suddenly, like they were invoking something holy against the force that stood before them. Sanemi freezes, entirely still, his barred teeth and tight brow dropping in an instant. Then slowly, like he'd heard the name of death itself, he turned to you.
He feels his entire stomach drop, the tightness of every muscle flexing under your eyes as if he can't stand to be held under them. Like your mere gaze was searing.
The Kakushi take the opportunity to run, leaving Sanemi’s grasp and escaping behind you. They mutter their undying gratitude and prayers of thanks before scurrying away quicker than you can stop them. Not that you had any intentions of trying. You were far too busy staring down the man who looked damn near terrified to be in your presence.
He waits there, in the seconds of silence that pass, for it all to come crumbling down around him. He'd been trying so damn hard to be better around you. To be kinder, gentler, somehow worthy of the way you smiled at him. He fought against his own nature time and time again, biting his tongue more times than he could count. Just trying– trying to not fuck this up for himself. You were the first truly good thing to come into his life in a long time, damn near the only one who tolerated him anymore. And now he was waiting for you to slip away. For this to be too much. For you to realize he wasn't half the man he was trying to be for you.
You step closer and his gaze shifts away, snarl returning, that common anger bubbling beneath his skin again. Frustration, rage, fear. His breath huffed, his teeth bared, and he stood taller as it all came down. Like he was trying to somehow remain strong against the crushing weight.
“Well? Got anything to say, or are you just gonna-”
“Are you okay?” The questions falls from your lips, turning the bubbling frustration inside of him to a quick steam that releases in an instant. Confusion takes hold quickly, his eyes snapping back to you as if he didn't believe the words he'd heard. But there you stand, all concern and worry, not a hint of disgust or fear on you. He doesn't believe it; he thinks it's just pity for a moment and again that rage flares. But it's like your stare just blows it right out of him. Like he can't bring himself to be angry at you.
That thought scares him a little; his most effective defense is stolen right out of him. He tries to twist a snarl again, he tries to scrunch his nose and glare. But they are pathetic attempts that dissipate almost as quickly as they form.
“We don't have to talk about it,” you speak quickly, staying a step apart from him. Just out of arm's reach, giving him room to breathe. He blinks at your words, further dumbfounded by them. After what you'd just witnessed, after seeing this part of him he's been trying so hard to hide, you didn't need answers? You didn't want them? He opens his mouth like he means to speak, but the words don't form. Just a huff, disbelief and bewilderment mixed into one.
But then something else blooms beneath it all. Another soft thing in the garden you seemed to be growing within him. Relief.
“Good. ‘cause I wasn't going to,” he answers, harsher than he means but it's all he can bring himself to say. You don't seem all too upset by it, still carrying that worry in your brow. But you manage a smile, half-genuine on your face.
“I've been looking for you,” the words fell against his ears strangely at first, like you weren't even speaking the same language anymore. Until you outstretch a wooden sword, a second still held at your hilt. It's a silent gesture, like you were offering him some kind of comfort. He hesitates, his mind reeling as your words replay. Looking for him, looking for him. You had been looking for him. But then there's that lingering bit of paranoia that follows it. That disgust at being pitied, that hatred searing when he convinces himself you don't truly want to be around him.
He wraps a hand around the end of the wooden sword, his grip sure before he tugs, pulling you closer in an instant as you try not to fall, his face suddenly inches from yours.
“What are you playing at?” He questions, far more bark than bite, harsh but quiet. Nothing holds you there, no hand, no demand. Just your grip on the sword that you suddenly can't bring yourself to let go of. You keep his daring stare, worry melting more into intrigue at the sudden movement. You don't back down at the intensity, your smile a little more sure on your face.
“You look like you can use the excuse. Besides, I train better with you than anyone else,” you explain even though you really don't need to. He holds you under his suspicion, using it as the excuse for why he needed to be so close. But truly it was to see if you were scared of him yet. If he could still have you this close without you running off, if you were lying. He feels something in his chest shift at how you don't even flinch. Like he couldn't break you into pieces where you stand. Like you trusted he wouldn't. And then he feels that restraint he held so tight to snap in an instant, pulled too taught by that shifted feeling, tempted too far by how close you stayed.
“Shit,” he mutters, worry almost threatening to take your features again when his lips suddenly fall against yours. You tense, entirely unprepared for the affection, not having thought of the possibility even when so close. You hesitate a second or two more before you dare to lay a hand against his chest, testing if this is even real. You finally melt against him when it is.
That is all the motivation he needs to grab you, rough hands taking your sides and pulling you towards him, the sword falling uselessly to the ground. He kisses like he doesn't ever think he'll get the chance again, all desperation and tight grip. But he refrains from teeth, too afraid to lose himself that much just yet.
Neither of you pull away until the lack of air requires it; both of you left struggling for breath with hands that hold tighter than they ever have. There is the pause of a moment where you both are looking at each other, all wide-eyed and shocked, like you hadn't just spent the last few minutes pawing and tasting each other. Then just as suddenly he breaks away, hands letting go and gaze shifting.
You go to speak, confused, maybe even a little hurt. But you stop when he grabs the sword from the ground, walking past you in complete and utter silence. It isn't until he's halfway down the hall that you hear him again.
“Are you coming or not!”
You smile at that, placing your hand back on the wooden blade at your hilt before you quickly go to follow.
Giyu Tomioka
Your relationship wasn't really a set-in-stone sort of thing. Neither of you talked about it or added any labels. You were just slowly starting to orbit around each other, like planets catching stray moons. Distant and strange for a time, but more comfortable as the two of you found a rhythm. There was always a tug; some type of gravity that pulled you a little closer, daring moments that meant more than what they seemed.
He was oblivious to the meaning of the feeling. It was strange, new and made very little sense. On top of that it wasn't something he felt all that compelled to explore just yet either. He was still getting used to having someone so close again, let alone the thought of wanting it to be more. In fact he couldn't even fathom how it could be more. Yet in the very back of his mind — a place he'd grown so used to ignoring — there was that urge for whatever that something was.
You two met on the bridge today. It had become a little rendezvous point the two of you would find when you weren't busy. A place where you could enjoy each other's presence and a good meal above the flowing river. It was usually a quiet affair, though almost everything with Giyu was. Conversation would pass, sure, but never for long. Only unimportant little things you'd tell the other about your day. A sort of intimacy that you both were comfortable with.
Though today felt different. His knee was touching yours, a sensation that had stood unchallenged since you both sat down but buzzed even deeper into your mind as the moments passed. You try to ignore it, thinking it entirely innocent.
Until your eyes caught his, a usual passing trace before turning away. But when his stare didn't relent neither did yours. Almost like you were daring one another, though the longer both of you stayed the more it felt like pleading. Realistically you only spent a few seconds held there, though for some reason each of those seconds went on infinitely. You find the will to speak only when you can't stand it anymore.
“You're staring again,” you tease, though something in your tone is more curious than upset. It wasn't your usual reprimand.
“I am,” he states plainly, holding no remorse as he surprisingly keeps his stare. At that you raise a brow.
“Any particular reason why?” You press for answers, a little intrigued by his sudden backbone. Though his face is neutral, you notice the slightest wince in the upturn of his nose, the slow blink of his eyes, and a growing warm tint to his cheeks.
He doesn't answer for a longer time than you would have expected, but you don't back down from this strange staring contest either. And then, for the briefest moment, you swear his eyes flicker to your lips.
“...no,” he finally answers, though his voice is soft, almost whispered, hardly showing the conviction that his staring proudly displayed. You feel your own body warm when you realize how close he's leaning into you now, your mind catching up to the way your own body has fallen just the same. Like gravity. Like moons in orbit.
“Are you sure?” You ask just as softly, not quite willing to let go of the moment yet.
He can't bring himself to stop this pull; it's like his own body is betraying him. He tries to put a thought in his mind, to turn away, to stop himself from pursuing this strange feeling. But the closer he gets the heavier his body seems, the more it relaxes, the less he wants to pull away. It is comfortable in your presence, safe in a way he hasn't felt in a long time. And the smile that you held on your lips was…captivating. He couldn't help the thought, the want, the–
His nearly entranced stare is finally disturbed when your hand falls on his knee, boldly pushing yourself even further into his space. His eyes widen, body leaning back on instinct until both of his hands rest in the dirt and you're hovering inches from him. He blinks a few times, as if entirely unsure that this is real. But the moment stays, your breath passing over his skin as you continue to hold his gaze with a now unmistakable intensity. An intensity he can't return like this, his eyes flickering away and, to his dismay, back to your lips that now feel so dangerously close.
“What are you looking for, Tomioka?” You speak with an accusation in your tone, but still kind in that way you've always been to him. He hesitates one moment, then two, then three too long. You go to pull away, face tightening in some sort of disappointment as you finally look away. His panic comes quickly, a swift hand capturing your wrist before you can pull too far, keeping you there as his deep ocean eyes stare wide and words tumble out of him.
“I want to kiss you,” he finally admits, his face burning a moment later as the admission falls away. He feels dread wash over him when your expression grows intense again, your gaze returning. He swallows thick, regret beginning to crawl as you lean even closer than before. Your expression softens then, your own eyes glancing to his lips before you finally fall into him.
It is soft, hesitant, like neither of you really meant for it to go this far. But it quickly melts into more when one of his hands grabs at your waist. Careful at first, then pulling, almost desperate. You have no other choice but to fall into his lap. Not that you mind as your hands grab hold of the front of his haori, deepening the kiss. It's slow, but so full of meaning it's as if you both are pouring confessions between the shared breaths.
You are the first to pull away and he is quick to chase your lips, only catching himself when they finally escape his. Your breaths are heavy as your eyes meet again, the sweet moment passing into realization at the now compromising position you've put yourselves in. Wide eyes follow, both of you shocked at what you'd just done. But your smile follows too, a fond laugh leaving as you refuse to move.
“I didn't think that would ever happen,” you admit, still a little breathless. His shock is evident, his baffled expression unchanged as he looks at you. It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, almost impossible for him to comprehend. Like he held peace in his hands for the first time in a decade and didn't know what to do with it.
For a moment you worry, smile faltering when he stays still, suddenly so very tense under you. You shift, trying to get off of him, when his grip around your waist becomes immediately iron-clad.
“Don’t,” the word slips, even more panicked than his first admission. You stop, surprised by his unwillingness to let go. You look back to him with an expectant gaze, waiting for him to say or do whatever he was planning to. You found patience for him, as you always did.
It's a second later he finally moves. It's stilted, like he's forgotten how to use the muscles in his own body, but eventually he rests his head against your shoulder, his eyes closing when he does.
“Just…stay. Please,” the words seem hard for him, like it takes all of the will he has to speak them. You smile again, your hand reaching into his hair, gently messing with the strands as you mumble an agreement. He sighs a heavy sound, his body finally relaxing again.
Kyojuro Rengoku
It has been a busy day for both of you. Not the usual kind of busy – demons were hardly the issue on the docket. No, you both had been scrambling around on a set of almost unending chores the others had given you, because neither one of you could really ever say no to a friend in need. They were simple tasks that wouldn't usually be too much trouble, but they had ultimately tumbled into something far more when a hundred of the small requests laid at your feet. Not that either of you minded. You had each other for company, after all. It was even a little fun. A break from the usual.
Little did you know that this was an entirely orchestrated affair. Not by Kyojuro, mind you, but by a few of the others. It had become clear over the passing weeks that the flame Hashira had developed a rather obvious crush. One that, to the dismay of literally everyone else, he didn't seem to recognize. So the hope was that this prolonged exposure between you two might finally prompt him to take action. Frankly they were all just tired of seeing him fumble around like a lovesick puppy every time you entered a room. The joke had worn itself out.
They had underestimated his sheer obliviousness, though. He'd spent the entire day with you — one of the best days he had in a long time, if he was being truthful — yet he was no closer to his much needed epiphany than before. Even when he stumbled with his words, when he longed for you to be as close as possible, when he couldn't stop staring, he just couldn't flip the final switch that put it all into focus. The frustration of the others was only mounting. Tengen was one more longing stare away from throwing you at each other. But they all settled on defeat for the day, ending the constant barrage of tasks and sending you both on your way.
It was late until the evening by then. Both of you were set walking down the path on the way to your estate, talking and laughing, giving thanks for the other being at your side. It was the calmest part of the day, almost serene. It felt natural being at each other's side. Like the two of you had done this a thousand times before.
There was a pause in conversation, a second where the air hung between the two of you and nothing more was said. A moment where he turned to you, his smile impossible to wash away in your presence, like the very idea of you brought him joy.
And then his eyes caught, something swelling noticeably in his chest, something impossible to ignore. He notices everything about you in an instant, like it had taken lamplight to draw it all to the surface. A thousand thoughts pass at once. How peaceful you looked, how he wanted to stay in this moment forever, how he would make it a point to walk with you every night for the rest of his life. He notices the gleam of your eyes, following down to the curve of your nose. Then naturally to your smile. And he thinks, almost strangely, that it is the most perfect smile he'd ever seen. And when that thought lingers too long it bleeds to how perfect your lips themselves are. And then, almost too suddenly for him to stop it, the thought passes of what they might feel like on his own–
“Kyojuro?” He blinks at his name, entirely too lost in his own world to realize he'd been staring again. Then a second later his thoughts catch up to him, and when he realizes what he'd just been fantasizing about his feet stop, his face now burning red. You stop with him, eyebrows knit and entirely confused. You turn to where he stands a step behind you, almost worried.
“Hey, you okay-?”
“I want to kiss you,” He blurts out just as suddenly as he'd realized he wanted to. You're taken aback, a fish out of water with the way your lips part for sound and close just as quickly, trying to find words that you don't have anymore.
“I'm sorry, you– I– what?” You question, all wide-eyed and in disbelief. He stands straighter, his smile turning lopsided to his lips before he reaches out, almost snatching your hand as some half-laugh bumbles out of him.
“I want to kiss you!” He practically yells, in disbelief himself. His hands then move to grab either side of your face, intensity burning in his gaze but his smile is still just as giddy.
“Can I kiss you?” He asks, just a slight bit softer this time. Sound dies in your throat, fully enraptured by the feeling of his hands. You finally register enough of the situation to have a smile just as fond as his curl, and you nod with a huff of amusement.
He takes no time claiming your lips against his own, as quick and passionate as he is about anything he sets his heart to. You fumble against each other for a time, more teeth than lips as you can't help yourselves from smiling. But it is sweet nonetheless, a moment worth the world.
He pulls away first, but it is only so he can kiss just beside your lips, then your cheek, then your nose. Your laugh betrays you as you try to push away, far too weak of an attempt if you had any real hopes of stopping him; his fervent kisses placing themselves on every part of your face that he can. He calms himself down eventually, his hands still holding you like you're the most precious thing in the world. With the look on his face you very well might be.
“I've fallen in love with you,” the words are almost sickly sweet as he speaks them, shining in every inch of his expression.
“I wouldn't have guessed,” you tease, your hands coming to meet his own. A laugh booms out of him, like he can hardly control what form his elation takes. Your thumbs trace, gentle and caring, before you speak again.
“I may have also fallen in love with you,” you admit. You didn't think his smile could get any wider, and yet.
