mitsureigen

[mitsureigen]

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Your wedding is a beautiful event.

Everything is arranged just so. Although it’s a small affair, only your own family joining you, it’s a grand event. You suppose that if your father has the money to spend he can do as he pleases. You don’t feel like you’re being held prisoner, or forced, but there isn’t much you have a say in about all of this.

You decide on smaller things. Carefully selecting the flowers that line the ceremony room. The scent of incense floats through the air. Natural, slightly muskier smells complement the florals. The candlelight bathes the room in softer yellow shades. It does little to battle the cold outside, though your heavy layers of cloth do well to warm your skin.

The robe, and accompanying headdress, are made from piles and piles of silk. They are hand-painted with soft pink camellias, outlined with a subtle silver. The pale colors melt perfectly into the rest of the white fabric. Your tsunokakushi accompanies it, made in the same expensive silk. The white stays perfect and pure, though fresh flowers are helping to accent it. The uniform weighs you down and helps to keep you from squirming. Nerves would get to anyone on a day like this.

Your husband is beautiful as everything else.

His raven hair is combed back, bangs brushed out from his face. The color blends in perfectly with the dark kimono. All the black points your focus towards his pale face and crystal blue eyes. They stare forward at the priest and paintings behind the altar.

He is a complete stranger to you.

Though you’ve only met the man once there’s a strange lack of apprehension. The first meeting didn’t even count, not really. It was negotiations and talks of money while you bowed timidly in the corner.

Despite the lack of any sort of acknowledgment you have some admiration for him. Silent and solitary he carries a sense of dignity. Knowing his occupation only makes your heart grows fonder.

The first time you touch him is as you exchange saki cups. His fingers barely brush against yours as the cups get passed over. The tiny touch sends electricity racing up your arm. Eyes softly evade your own piercing look.

Warmth makes its way down your throat with each sip. The alcohol isn’t enough to do anything more than heat your blood, but it’s a welcome feeling. Glancing over at Tomioka you admire his reddened cheeks. The thought of his lips touching the same cup that yours now linger on is embarrassing.

You wonder if the same feelings pass through the man as you drink from the second cup first.

Once more the cycle goes around. Giyuu drinks from the cup, his fingers brush yours, and you linger on the taste of his lips.

As each cup is whisked away you grow more and more nervous. The ceremony rushes by before your eyes. On the table, alongside other offerings, lie your wedding rings. They’re simple woven bands, a subtle golden white.

Giyuu’s mouth opens to recite his vows. His flat and quiet voice is soothing. The words disappear in your mind the moment they’re spoken. You don’t mind that the vows are simple and standard, inspired instead by the music of his tone. He never hesitates as he speaks the pages of words all tucked inside his mind.

The rest of the ceremony holds the same kind of quiet reverence.

Everyone performs their duty exactly as instructed. It passes by quickly without you even noticing. Offerings are brought forward, rings are exchanged. Your head is filled with rushing blood. As you’re shuffled the world around you warps and rushes.

Within a few moments, you have become a married woman.

A thin band sits on your finger. You can hardly remember the hand sliding the ring onto yours. The feeling grows until it nearly bursts your heart open. It’s a combination of joy and apprehension and a million other things that race through your mind.

There is not a single moment for you to rest. Even though there is no celebration afterward, you don’t get time to focus on anything that’s happening. Once you have completed all pieces of tradition, sent offers, and exchanged every bit of your life, you are whisked away to change. The excitement of all the women around leaves no room for a proper conversation. The dress you’re pulled into is simple, less intricate though just as elegant. It’s a softer blue, a strange combination of modern and traditional styles. Finally, you have graduated to shorter sleeves that don’t weigh down your arms quite as much.

Your hair is still done up in an awful complicated mess. Pins don’t quite stab your skull, but they come close. Later tonight you’ll have to spend hours undoing every decoration on your head and skin.

There is little to keep you distracted now. The tender hands of your mother and sisters continue to run over the fabric of your dress. It stands a few inches above the floor, unlike your wedding kimono which had to be carried. There is little they can do now too.

Outside the engine of a car roars to life. Your father should have loaded most of your luggage by now. Most of it is frivolous material possessions, clothes, trinkets, and anything else deemed important enough to carry into your next life.

Your husband is already seated. He does not glance at you as you exit your home.

The goodbyes are short. Your family already spent much of last night saying everything that could be said. There’s little to do now except hug and be sent off.

You climb into the seat beside Tomioka. He does not greet you. Hesitance floods through you for a moment, but in the end, you make no effort either. His silence is unsurprising.

In fact, the ride home is silent, as equally expected. A thousand questions are racing through your mind. Despite the excitement buzzing underneath your skin your lips stay sealed shut.

Holding your hands in your lap you force yourself to gaze out the window. It’s not your first time inside an automobile, but you find it fascinating how fast the scenery moves by.

Tomioka does not hold the same kind of interest. His eyes burn holes into the headrest in front of him. The stiffness he sits with is nearly funny. The man’s spine is perfectly straight, hands folded in front of him. If he notices your eyes occasionally flicker over to trace his face, he doesn’t say anything about it.

The driver in the front remains quiet too. He’s some friend of a friend of your father’s. Which makes him a complete stranger to you. You’re still glad for the company. You haven’t been alone with a man, only boys when you were small enough to not understand the importance of anything.

It occurs to you that you’ll have to get used to it. There’s a myriad of new experiences that you’ll face within such a short period of time. You don’t know whether to be excited or terrified.

—-

The car ride passes much too quickly. Although Tomioka’s estate is a good ways away from your smaller town, the car travels over the terrain with ease. Even as you pass through rural areas and up the large winding path to his home the machine never stutters in its ascent.

Just before you disappear into the small grove of trees, you pass a small town. Several of the residents look up into the car as you go by. One small child waves to you. Though you can’t particularly focus on anything, you try to map out the businesses and homes you see. Within the blink of an eye, you’re carried into the forest, eyes shielded from the town.

The last stretch of the journey is as grand as the house itself. A long pathway leads up to the gate, lined with stones and tall skinny trees. As you grow closer the flora only grows more spectacular. Bamboo begins to rise to accompany the rest of the scenery. It shoots up and stretches backward until you can’t see where it ends.

The gate hangs open, showing off a glimpse of the estate. It’s several floors tall, balconies coming off the side. The building leads perfectly into the stone garden, intertwined with a small river. Everything is grand and perfectly groomed. It looks like something out of a photograph rather than somewhere a human could live.

The car stops just beyond the front door. You remain immobile even as the engine shuts off. Without the rumbling of the automobile, it is completely silent. It’s engulfing. Every rustle of your clothes and shift against the seats is loud.

“I can take your bags inside.” It’s the first thing Giyuu has said to you, directly to you, all day.

Your lips grow suddenly dry. No response can be mustered other than a quick nod of your head. Internally you curse yourself.

Leaping down from the car you feel the stones move beneath your feet. With only a small second of delay, you make your way to the entrance.

The door would slide open easily. Your hands rest against the thick wood. Looking back Giyuu is still unloading your luggage from the trunk. Despite the size and volume of the bags, he manages to balance everything within his arms. Hoping to be at least somewhat helpful you decide to slide the door open.

Holding yourself off to the side you let the man pass you. His eyes still don’t stray even close to your face. Looking straight ahead he slows his pace slightly, just until you perk up and follow behind him.

Giyuu is still dressed in the dark and elegant groom’s kimono. The wide legs and arms obscure his true figure. You had seen a glimpse of it during your first meeting, less hidden underneath the form-fitting demon slayer’s uniform. His broad shoulders stretched the sleeves of the shirt, visible even below his unique haori.

Suddenly it occurs to you what most couples do on their wedding night. Almost dizzy you brush the thought from your mind. The idea of his muscular body is as enticing as it is terrifying. Those kinds of ideas should be saved for when you’re absolutely alone and can’t be caught in your shame.

Tomioka opens the door to (presumably) your bedroom with such force that you nearly scamper backward. If he was surprised by the clanging of the door he shows no visible reaction.

Looking around the space it’s… empty.

There’s a bed in the corner, covered in plain gray sheets. It’s accompanied by an equally boring nightstand and matching dresser made from dark wood. They’re perfectly square with perfectly round handles.

Everything is completely devoid of personality. You had noticed the blank hallways only accented with an occasional floral arrangement but assumed such a personal place would not carry the same stale feeling. This looks like the kind of place only a psychopath could live.

“This’ll be your room. It’s rather empty now, but you’re free to do what you’d like with the space.”

Again you can only nod.

He only stays for a mere moment to stack your luggage neatly in the corner. Without a word of goodbye, he disappears around the corner. The man only acknowledges you with a dip of his head. You have the feeling that this time you aren’t meant to follow him. You close the door slowly, silently, as he makes his exit.

Down the hallway, you hear another door open and shut. It feels like the period at the end of a sentence. The action effectively marks the end of your wedding day. The large window in the center of his room shows you the dark moon rising.

Though the thick layers of makeup on your face feel like they're melting and the kimono you wear is slightly too tight, you make no action to undo anything. You move carefully, making your way to the bed instead.

It’s almost frigid when you sit on it. The mattress is stiff beneath you, a clear lack of use. There’s a nightstand to your right. The drawers you check are all empty. When you move off the bed, it’s chill clinging to you, you check the dresser drawers as well. Those are empty too, it’s clear the place has not belonged to anyone else.

Following the outline of the your bedroom you find nothing other than plain white walls and dark trim. There’s a door that connects to a bathroom. In theory, it’s as grand as your bedroom, in the fact that it’s wide and spacious. The tub is large enough for a few people, sunken into the floor, and surrounded by stone. Snooping around the cabinets you find basic amenities and not much else.

As you fiddle with the faucet it sputters before spewing forth scalding water. You’re hand turns an angry red for a minute until the temperature shifts to something bearable. Watching water cover the pebbled bottom you sigh and turn back to your room.

Opening your luggage you sort through the piles of clothes until you find a soft cotton robe. You unbutton your dress slowly. In some way, you wish you could’ve been putting on a show for someone. Underneath your kimono, you wear a sinful chiffon slip. It’s hidden below several other layers of fabric, that you slowly reveal with no one to see.

The light pink fabric casts a light shadow over your breasts. Along the edges, it’s patterned with frills and ribbons. The slip was one last gift from your mother, opened only in the privacy of your own room. Stripped down almost bare you can feel the air tickle your skin.

Making your way back to the bathroom you remain in the gentle slip. As water crashes down to continually fill the tub, steam rises to warm your chilly skin. Though the small set is beautiful, it does little to keep heat in.

The only other article of clothing remaining is your thin socks. Slipping them off you test the water again, perfectly heated. Soon after the translucent slip disappears too. You’ll banish it to the back of your drawers soon after, no reason to try it on again.

Sinking into the tub you rub at your face first. White and red and pink mix with the water. As heat and steam engulf you, you keep rubbing until your skin feels raw. You pull pins from your hair after you’ve effectively taken off a few layers of skin from your face. They scrape over the fragile top of your head, hair coming undone in tendrils. There’s an awful throbbing behind your temples, blood rushing to the tender spots on your scalp. You can hardly touch the area without wincing in pain. It’s hard to decide whether putting on the ensemble or taking it off was more painful.

You soak until the water is barely warm and your fingers are wrinkled. The soft floral scents of whatever soap was under the cabinet have soothed you somewhat. Tears, from physical pain or emotional, have fed the bath and let its line grow up to your chin. It weighs down heavily on your chest until you push yourself out from the water and take a clean breath.

The shock of cool air is awful on your way out. It strips you of everything again, shivering as you stalk back to your luggage.

You pull on a heavier robe, something to protect your wet and naked body It’s mostly plain, only accented with patterned edges. You had a softer and prettier one right on top of everything. Seeing as you’ll be bedding alone tonight you choose what’s more comfortable. You haven’t heard a single noise from anyone since you were essentially dumped into your room.

The bed is still cold. It’s a Western-style frame, lifted up from the ground and leaving you aloft. Springs seem to pierce into you from below.

As you drag yourself into bed alone you finally feel something familiar. It creeps in during the quiet night when everything is perfectly still. You’re not quite alert, but nowhere near sleep either. No matter how much you try, your eyes can’t close. They stare across the bed towards the wall, an empty side waiting to be filled.

Lying on your side it squeezes wetness from your eye. It’s not tears, but feeling the water trace your cheeks, inspires real sadness in their wake. Stubborn, you refuse to curl up into the sorrow. With a stone face, you let the pillow soak up the tears. They haven’t dried by the time you finally fall asleep.

—-

In the morning you feel no grogginess. There are no clocks within the room, but the outside window tells you that it’s later in the day. You move quicker than last night, putting on a much simpler kimono, barely messing with your hair. You still bother with makeup, making sure you look at least somewhat proper.

It’s quiet as you peer out into the hallway. With no lights on it’s painted in a dusty blue hue. There’s only a sliver of light coming from the window, which fails to illuminate the edges of the walls. There’s a light switch towards the end of the wall, which you creep out to flip on.

The hum of electricity sparks to life a row of lights. They produce a warm golden glow that inspires you to wake up further. Looking down the hall you assume one of the doors towards the end belongs to Tomioka’s room. All the spaces look the same.

Turning away you trace your way back through the route Giyuu had taken you down the way before. As you walk nearly silently you keep your ears out for the sound of another human.

Yesterday’s tour, if it could be called that, only covered the most basic of rooms. Dragging your hand against the wall you trace your way to the kitchen.

Going through the cabinets you find a pitiful amount of food. It’s mostly dried materials, beans, and rice, alongside a few fresh vegetables that already look slightly wilted. The sight isn’t completely unappetizing on its own, but coupled with the empty feeling in your stomach you wish you had something already done. You start some oats right away and chew some dry carrots in the meantime. They do nothing to fill you.

Almost immediately you’re already visualizing a list of things to buy. More veggies, fresh fruit, and probably a treat or two to try and satisfy your insatiable sweet tooth. Thinking about food only serves to make you hungrier, for now, you try and distract yourself with thoughts of anything else.

Listening quietly you hear nothing besides the sizzling of the porridge. There’s no creaking of wood down the hall. As hard as you try you can’t sense the presence of any other person. The idea that Giyuu has already left the house seems unlikely, but it also seems that you don’t know much about his habits at all.

Still, the silence remains throughout breakfast. The porridge is bland despite the brown sugar and cinnamon you’ve mixed in. Fresh fruit is definitely at the top of your list. The paste moves down your throat at a slow pace.

You barely finish a few bites of the meal before brushing it off to the side. Your stomach is still empty, but you can’t bring yourself to eat anymore. Though you should force yourself to eat more, something substantial, you can barely push the food around in the bowl.

Instead, you stumble around the house trying to find anything. Each room is blank and empty, and that’s without even traveling upstairs. It’s not anything different than what you saw yesterday, white walls and dark wood and nothing else.

You don’t bother with looking around more, expecting to find most of the same. Instead, you wander back toward the direction of your room. There’s not much waiting for you there, but you can at least busy yourself with unpacking.

You find a note stuck to the door when you make your way toward it. If it was there before you must’ve missed it.

‘Gone on a mission, will be back.’

And you suppose that’s that.

—-

He’s gone for long stretches of time. Though nothing is ever explained to you, some things become clear through observation. A paycheck comes every few days, you assume whenever he’s finished slaying whatever creature he’s been sent after. Tomioka arrives home only once a month at most, usually after long stretches of silence. If you’re lucky his crow will be sent ahead to announce his presence.

The bird ends up being a better companion than his owner in many ways. The crow, Kanzaburou, is old. He’s senile in the way an old man is, sweet and a bit air-headed. In many ways, he has more personality than your husband.

None of that changes the fact that you spend most days alone. Every single one since the first seem both eternal and yet much too quick. With little to keep you busy once things are put into place, you feel as if you’re going insane. Cleaning only takes up so much time, and there is little you can dirty on your own. The two or so dishes you use in a day take a week to fill up the sink. There’s no point in changing, not most days, but even then your laundry doesn’t fill up often. Sometimes you purposefully spill something just to have an actual purpose to your scrubbing.

Nothing changes when Giyuu comes home, not the first time or second or third. He hides inside his room. The only sign he even exists is the food that disappears from the freezer and cabinets. You always make extra meals, things with real substance, and those disappear too. Whether he actually enjoys your cooking is a complete mystery.

At first, you try to remain in common areas, with the small hope that he’ll stumble across you. You save most of your cleaning for the time he is home, simply for appearing useful. Standing outside to hang up sheets or sitting in the living room to rearrange the florals could entice him out.

Within the first few months, you give up.

If Giyuu does ever stumble upon you he’s quick to mumble an excuse and exit. Every time you feel scorned and scolded, despite the man’s gentle nature. You resign to hiding within your room. Despite your attempts to bring some color into the area it still feels rather depressing in there.

For a long time, you coexist in that quiet sort of way. You hate it more than if he just admitted to despising you, or didn’t come home at all. It’s the barest hope that something will change, keeping you strung along and nearly begging that he’ll even talk to you one day.

Not even the small town can comfort your lonely soul. Most of the typical shop owners and citizens seem wary of your presence. They conduct business and make small talk, but do almost nothing else. Your shyness engulfs you before you can even consider reaching out for company.

The weeks pass in a bit of a blur. The only contact you get is from Giyuu’s crow. He comes unpredictably, and yet somehow remains a single constant within your life besides the loneliness. You look forward to the sound of his slightly too screechy calls more than you do the paycheck he brings.

Most of the money stays put anyways. It’s more than you could ever know what to do with. Even after spending an extravagant amount, you have piles of it left. The things you do spend it on go towards brightening up your home. Collecting anything that captures your eye has become a common practice. Tapestries and paintings and all kinds of knickknacks cover the walls of your home. You buy things in bright colors to contrast the pale walls and dark ceilings. Your room is the worst case of this, crammed completely full of anything remotely beautiful.

If Tomioka dislikes the changes he again says nothing. If you hadn’t heard him speak wedding vows you’d be convinced the man was mute. Almost nothing else gives away his emotions either. No longer above spying, you try to peek and see any sort of twitch in his features. On occasion, he’ll pause his trek down the hallway and gaze at a new addition to the area. Despite this, you can’t tell if his blank eyes express any kind of adoration or distaste.

Your mental state is much more apparent. Tears become a common companion. They creep up suddenly when you’re cooking or leaving the town or just trying to sleep. It’s annoying more than anything. You’re already painfully aware of the fact that you’re not particularly happy. A reminder does nothing for you.

It gets worse when Giyuu is home. You can’t help the way your sobs increase in volume when his shadow moves over your door. Sometimes you swear he lingers there.

After that, you try to rebel, or at least do something interesting enough to spice up your days. Sometimes you’ll buy hideous decor, clashing curtains that sit in the living room, or twisted vases. You even start venturing into Giyuu’s room.

It’s the one place you haven’t entered. As you push the door open you’re surprised by how crowded the room is. The walls are still relatively blank, but they don’t feel empty. There’s a desk in the corner, it’s covered in papers that you at least have the sense to let be. On the opposite side of the room sits a bookshelf, though the stories that lie in there seem almost random. There’s an assortment of genres, action and romance and tragedies, and an assortment of styles. There are a few books even written in English, alongside one in what you think is Mandarin, though that one looks untouched. Occasionally you’ll steal one for a night or two. Most of the stories are in good condition. When you stumble across a dog-eared page or wrinkled edge you’re pleased by the touch of humanity. Still, when you tear through each book you’re left much in the same position by the end.

His closet is full of mostly extra uniforms. There are a few casual clothes, mostly in dark blues. He seems partial to the color, though the haori he wears constantly is a shocking red. In the corner, his groom's outfit has been carefully folded and stored. You suppose there’s no reason he’d need to hang it, having fulfilled its use.

There’s not much else there. Tomioka uses a futon, that sits folded up in the corner. Your room came with a Western-style bed, and you don’t care enough to push it out somewhere and replace it. His is a simple black, with no pattern other than the small grid made from the stitches.

One night you sleep on it. The mattress in your room is slightly too soft, you prefer the firm feel of sleeping over tatami flooring. With your face surrounded by fabric, you catch the scent woven within it. It’s musky and a little salty but in a pleasant way. The smell is outdoorsy, not dirty, but rather a natural tone. Underneath all of that is the scent of wisteria. All of it wound together is rather pleasant. You feel slightly less alone, being surrounded by the warm fabric that’s different enough to be new without sacrificing the comfort of its familiarity.

It becomes a habit.

You creep into his room once a week or so to cuddle in the space. Often you enter with some excuse, to dust his shelves or pick out a new book or leave any trace of your presence. Shambling around for a bit and doing much of nothing you wait until the sun rests on the horizon.

Once you notice, you pull out the futon. It doesn’t carry the same scent the third or fourth time you tuck into the sheets, but it’s still warmer than your bed. You stick your face into the pillows to try and let the smell linger.

You’re terrified of him coming home to you sleeping in that bed. It’s not the thought of him getting angry, but the embarrassment of it all. You feel like a child sneaking into her mother’s room rather than a proper wife. The feeling is mostly constant, only ebbing away as you sleep.

—-

You’re surprised that life can be this stagnant. Wallowing in your sorrow doesn’t do much other than dig a deeper hole.

There is some quiet joy to be found. Beyond the house, there are calm gardens. When the sun is out and the wind isn’t strong you find more comfort outside than trapped within the walls.

Living so far away from everything has one advantage. Not only do you have acres of sprawling forest to explore, but it tends to attract all kinds of wildlife. The chatter of birds sounds human enough to keep you company. If you’re lucky they’ll come so close you can feel the beat of their wings.

As the weather slowly gets warmer your mood lifts as well. You turn your thoughts away from your husband's absence, the loneliness slowly easing its touch on you. There are still sudden pangs of regret when you get a coin bag with no letter, or the sound of his footsteps passing you, but the days without him aren’t so unbearable.

The habit of you sleeping in his bed isn’t broken, if anything you start to spend nearly every night there. There’s a certain pattern to when he comes home, usually a week or so after his crow gifts you his paycheck. It’s a gamble if he’ll return or simply be set off on another mission, but either way, you learn to hide away in your own room.

You’re careful to leave his room mostly alone. Though you dust the few shelves and scrub the floors you strive to make your presence there unnoticed. It appears to be working, but again you’re mostly left in the dark about his thoughts.

The town remains just as wary, though more used to your presence. A few of the shopkeepers who you visit often enough smile as you sort through the wares.

Routine builds a softer kind of comfort, one that doesn’t brush away any of the other sorrows, but mutes the noise of them somewhat.

—-

And just as you settle an abrupt change knocks you off your feet. Tomioka coming home isn’t a particularly new development. You’re in the middle of preparing dinner, barely looking over as he passes by the doorway. You don’t even move until he’s out of sight, moving to peek at his back beyond the door.

As you approach you notice the spattering of blood sinking into the tatami. Looking upwards you notice his shamble of a walk. His uniform is missing a sleeve, arm wrapped sloppily with bandages. Blood has soaked through as it's slipping down his hand, leaving a trail behind.

If he hears your loud gasp he doesn’t signify it in any way. Instead, the man wanders towards his room while you retreat back into the kitchen. You stare at the pot of curry sizzling over the stove. You can’t focus on the food, although the smell of it is incredibly enticing. With shaky hands you attempt to stir the meal, even raising a spoon to taste it. You hope the spice will entice you more and attract your attention, but the combination of meat and curry powder is a beautiful deep red color that looks a little too much like blood.

Eventually, you have to force yourself away, your stomach twisting in knots. Still striving to be useful, even after months of being ignored, you instead fill a bowl with cold water and grab some washcloths. You move far too slowly, held back by hesitance. There’s a clear line of red that points you toward his room. It pulls you forward slowly. In the back of your mind, you mourn the freshly cleaned flooring.

Without knocking, slight fear in the response you’ll get, you nudge the door to the side. Barely peeking through you spot him laying in the corner of the room. He hasn’t unfolded the futon, rather leaning against the block of fabric.

As you move in slowly his eyes flicker toward you. Even from his far position in the corner, you can hear his labored breathing. Holding back a whimper at the sight of blood you approach the man more like you would a wounded animal.

Absolute silence engulfs the room, even as you sit beside him. You’re worried that you won’t be able to speak at all, throat sealed shut from misuse. Words bubble up until they finally loosen the cement keeping your lips closed.

“Can I help?”

The words are deviously simple, quiet, and barely audible. Despite the dry whisper that struggles out from out, the noise seems to take over everything else. The only other thing you hear is your heartbeat within your ears.

Giyuu seems to consider your question earnestly. As he shifts you can see the way his brows knit together, drawing closer whenever his arms shifts. “I admit that bandaging the wound was much more difficult with only one hand.” It’s not exactly a direct answer, but the way his body relaxes slightly seems to indicate a yes.

You still move a little too slowly. Watching the ground you’re careful to not let the water spill, while also trying to stop yourself from staring too hard at the crimson staining. Your sleeves are already pulled back, hands dipping into the bowl of water to grab the towel within it.

The warmth calms your nerves only slightly. It emboldens you to find the edge of the bandages and unwind. You’re surprisingly unbothered by the sight underneath, a mass of blood and flesh that is mostly unrecognizable.

The wounds are long stripes that wind down his arm. They don’t seem to be particularly deep, or even wide, but there’s a myriad of them stretching down the limb. Some of the smallest ones have already clotted. The largest are still spewing out red.

“You should get stitches for these.” It’s amazing that he even walked home in this condition. You’re not very aware of the inner workings of the demon slayer corps. Some knowledge was granted to you by your father, other things overheard in conversation. At the very least you know that they are prepared to treat injuries.

Despite your light chastisement (which receives no response) you still pull the soft cloth from the water. Fresh blood oozes out as you rub away the dirt and slightly crusted scabs. The sight gets worse to look at when it’s not hidden behind gauze.

There’s absolute silence taking over again. You’re too nervous to look up and possibly meet his eyes, instead focusing solely on his arm. Though you’re no professional you manage to wipe off most of the blood. It’s slowed down to a weak dribble, that stops when you put a slight amount of pressure on it.

You’ve piled the old bandages off to the side. They don’t look very old, but considering the state they’re in, you’re not very inclined to reuse them.

“There’s more in the bathroom.” Tomioka gestures off to the side. “2nd cabinet below the sink.”

You trot off with your head low. It's tempting to snoop, already having indulged in the bad habit plenty. Brushing the thought away, you dig through the medical supplies until you can find the roll of bandage.

He hasn’t moved a single inch in the quick minutes you’ve been gone. Tomioka’s eyes again look anywhere that isn’t where you are. Even as you hold his arm and feel the warmth of blood rushing through it, he acts more like a doll than anything.

You work slowly. Though you don’t have much experience, wrapping the gauze around his arm isn’t too difficult. At the very least it’s leagues better than the sloppy job he did himself.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Internally you’re begging for a reason to linger. His skin is still hot against your fingers. The pale skin is deceptive, giving him a cool appearance. Your eyes are tracing his hands, imagining them pressed against your own.

As your sight flickers towards his other side, you notice the fabric balled up in his fist. It’s the two-toned haori you normally see the man wearing. You hadn’t noticed its absence earlier.

He still hasn’t answered. You dare to prompt him a second time. “Or I could clean that for you.” You’re surprised that the man chooses this moment to look directly at you. For once you can read the emotion on his face, see the surprise in his blue eyes.

“It’s fine.” His voice sounds a little dry. “I’m sure the fabric is ruined.”

It’s easy to keep talking, now that you’ve dared to open your lips. “Oh, I’m sure I can fix it! If it’s blood you’re worried about then that’s no problem.” The tone you chose is perhaps too cheerful, but you feel a bit excited and the prospect of being truly helpful.

Tomioka’s fist loosens slightly. “I’m sure it’ll be a struggle, but there’s not much that could make it worst at least.” He’s not very encouraging, which you try to not let dampen your mood.

As you pull it from his grasp you can already tell the fabric is in tatters. The soft maroon sleeve has turned into strings of fabric dyed burgundy from blood. Some parts are crusted together, other pieces are barely attached by a thread. You certainly have your work cut out for you.

With one last smile, you carefully fold the haori and leave his room.

—-

You still can’t tell if you like the change or not. Tomioka still seems set on seeing you as little as possible. You bring him dinner and on occasion rewrap his bandages, but other than that he likes to hole up in his room.

His haori keeps you busy most of the time. It takes 3 washes just to get the blood out, carefully peeling the red free from the thin threads. As you wash you ultimately decide to chop off some of the strings that barely cling on. Anything thinner than the width of your finger gets discarded, a pile to find its place somewhere else.

Weaving the salvageable pieces back together is a near-impossible task. Trying your best to make the seams invisible you carefully line up each thread. Staring so intensely at the woven pattern makes your eyes water. It’s hard work to make sure the needle punctures exactly where it needs to so the flow remains. Several times you puncture the skin on your fingers. It’s never deep enough to pull blood out, but it turns your skin a bright throbbing red.

Even with the careful work only about a fourth of the sleeve can be salvaged. It’s a pitiful sight, strings hanging from the short shoulder. Days of work and sore thumbs have amounted to only a few inches of fabric.

You try to color-match the piece so you can fix the rest. It’s a difficult color, softened with years of use and age. Even when you bring the hoari along with you all the colors you find are too bright.

It’s twice as expensive to get something custom dyed, but you don’t have the expertise to do it yourself. You certainly have the money for it, coins and bills shoved away in the back of your drawers. Though the order adds a few weeks to your small project, you can’t settle for anything less than perfect.

Tomioka says nothing about the piece. He spots you once scrubbing away the blood outside. At that moment he stays for a few short seconds, watching your hands work. They’re dry from the rough cleaning chemicals and wrinkled from the soapy water.

—-

Just as your hands stop twitching and aching the replacement fabric arrives. Tomioka leaves sometime while you’re waiting for the package. The briefest contact keeps your heart light, even as the solitude creeps back in. There’s an actual purpose to your actions now, something to take up hours of your time.

The few short yards of burgundy fabric that arrive are still slightly too bright. It’s the shine of new cloth that differentiates it from the well-worn pieces. Regardless you go through the same tedious act of lining up the woven fabric and sewing it together.

There’s a thin line that marks the transition. Once you step a few feet away it’s harder to mark where the difference begins. The work is good, but you can only scrutinize it with the patterns burned into your eyes.

Several mistakes are clear over the rest of the fabric. They’re not your own doing, more likely Giyuu’s attempts to fix earlier tears. It’s cute to see the fumbles stitches, done in a hideous dark black. In most places, it stands out clearly from the pattern, even more so with the blank side.

You decide to fix those pieces, using a gentle green or maroon when appropriate. Though the seam holding the two pieces together makes you cringe, you don’t touch the threads. It’s uneven, both in length of the stitches and space between them. The other “fixes” were clumsy too, but the lines here seem childish almost. You’re sure that the pieces of Giyuu’s haori were bound together by the man himself.

As tempting as it is to make the piece look brand new, there’s history in its torn edges and paling fabric. You wonder if he’d tell you the story behind it.

Probably not.

—-

You haven’t entered Tomioka’s room in quite some time. After he was home for a few short weeks you grew too embarrassed about the actions. In your arms, you carry his carefully folded haori. After giving it one last wash you have no more reason to mess with it. If anything, picking at your work will just ruin it.

Ultimately you let it rest atop his desk. You think for a moment about hanging it up in the closet, but it feels too embarrassing to let him know about your snooping, even inadvertently.

Back inside the room, warmed from the sun and painted in a low gold, you’re tempted to wrap yourself up in his futon again.

For some time you repeat your old routine. After over a month without indulging yourself in old ways, the process comes a little unnaturally. You dust his shelves, fingers dancing over his array of trinkets. They seem almost random, stuffed dolls and broken pieces of painted wood. You’re extremely careful as you move them to clean.

It’s hard to keep yourself busy as you did before. You entered his room earlier in the day, not expecting to be tempted again by the lull of sleeping enveloped in traces of your husband’s warmth.

Still, as you manage to keep yourself busy the sun slowly drifts downwards. It’s on the opposite side of the window, but you can see the moon rise in turn. Though the sky isn’t particularly dark, your quick to pull out the futon.

Before you tuck yourself fully into bed you draw another book from his small shelves. For a few hours, you’ll be able to keep yourself busy with stories. Once it gets truly dark you can simply slide under the sheets and fall asleep.

—-

Beyond the edges of your consciousness, there’s movement that grows steadily louder as it urges you to wake. Eyes open slowly, useless in the dark. Instead, you wave a hand in front of yourself, which is also mostly useless.

It takes a moment for you to adjust to the dim room. As your pupils dilate there’s a sudden figure standing on the edge of the futon. With your position on the floor, he towers over you, face invisible still.

Thinking through the sleep you let your hand sweep over the floor. It bumps into the man’s ankles, forcing you to pull back.

A startled gasp leaves your lips as you move further into consciousness. You don’t scream, but you’re immediately on edge. Panicking, you mostly flail around for a bit until you realize it’s Tomioka standing before you. He’s tilted his face down to stare at you, letting you recognize him even within the darkness.

Instead of the tired fear you felt before, you’re mostly filled with shame. It’s the worst amalgamation of all your fears, caught cuddled up in his sheets.

For a moment you’re unsure of how to proceed. You’re mostly frozen for now, clutching his blankets against your chest.

“S-sorry!” The word comes out quietly, muffled by the lingering sleep in your head. It’s hard to think, brain muddled by all sorts of different things. If Giyuu would speak for once it’d let you put your thoughts in order.

You don’t know why he’s still staring at you. It’s hard to find his eyes, clouded by darkness. The dim lighting masks any emotion you could hope to find on his face.

As the adrenaline leaves your body you’re left feeling tired again. Rubbing your eyes, it seemingly prompts him to move again. The situation had somewhat halted in the pauses between your words.

“I’ll leave.” There’s a certain air to his voice, not angry, but certainly not welcoming either. You’re still not fully awake, a glance towards the window tells you that it’s too early to be awake. There’s possibly a shimmer of pale blue that signals the sun's arrival, but it won’t develop into an actual light until much later. It explains the bleariness in your eyes.

You look like a ghost as you sit up, fabric wrapping around your form. Hair hangs over your head, reaching downwards.

Halting his actions you mumble a combination of words that doesn’t really make sense. There’s a “wait” buried somewhere in there, which is what makes the man pause. You have nothing to follow the sentence up with, still trying to figure out exactly what’s going on.

You’re still shocked by embarrassment. Giyuu has finally stumbled upon you hiding in his bed. The habit was bound to get you caught eventually, so of course it happens right as you start up the trend again.

The room is filled with silence as you try to jumpstart your brain. “I’m uh-“ You pause again. Averting your eyes you find the words again. “I’m the one who’s intruding. I shouldn’t have…” Trailing off you stare at the ground again.

Your chest fills up with something akin to shame. It’s slightly less painful than before, but as your hands hold your face you can feel the blood rushing to your cheeks.

He completely ignores your blubbering. “You fixed my haori.” The sudden topic change catches you off guard. It brings your eyes back to him, despite the fact that your heart is still racing.

Furrowing your brows you nod. “I said I would.”

“It was ruined.”

Your brain is working very hard. “It was hard, but I didn’t mind the work. I don’t think that excuses me being so intrusive.”

“Thank you.” His voice is hoarse, barely audible. You can see that he holds the cloak in

his hands. They grip the fabric so tightly you’re worried it might rip again. The show of emotion renders you silent.

As the room settles back down you shuffle your robes around you and move to stand up. “I can um-“ You lick your lips. At a constant loss for words, you vaguely gesture toward the door.

Tomioka moves back to the conversation at hand. Though his fingers continue to skate over the fabric his eyes turn back to you. “You can stay where you like, the house is as much yours as it is mine.”

That really isn’t true at all. Tomioka pays for everything, in money and blood. Your only contribution is decorating and occasionally throwing a fit in one of the rooms.

“I didn’t think you’d want me here. I should’ve asked but I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me either.” The truth slips through your lips easily. You can’t quite look him in the eye, but you don’t hide from his gaze either. Stepping self-consciously off the futon you shiver at the cold wood against the soles of your feet.

When you steal a glance at the man you’re surprised at the confused look on his face. Giyuu’s mouth is pulled into a slight pout, head tilted. It’s an attractive look, a distracted part of you points out. It’s times like this that you don’t mind being married to him.

Shaking off the thoughts you open your mouth again. “You gave me my own room, so I guessed that you wanted me there.” You dig your nails into your palms. “And you didn’t talk to me after or anything.” Remembering the feeling makes your heart squeeze. Tears well up in the corner of your eyes.

“I thought you hated me.” He admits it so simply. There’s no regret in his voice about the sentiment. The thought forces a whimper from your throat.

“What?” Your voice is wobbly.

Carefully the man sinks to his knees. guiding you down with him. One fist clings to his wrist. The other ends up wound in the fabric of your sleeping gown.

Tomioka at least seems softer about this bit. “You cry often.”

Calming down you try to focus on the feeling of his arm on your back. You’re glad you’re wearing one of your worse kimonos because the sleeves have become impromptu handkerchiefs. With the sudden onslaught of your tears, you’re left unprepared. You’re not sure whether it’s the result of your body begging to go back to sleep or the wave of months of emotions catching up on you. It’s probably a combination of both. Using the piles of fabric you wipe at your nose and under your eyes.

“I thought you hated me because you didn’t talk to me at all, ‘nd you made me stay in another room, ‘nd you’re always gone.” He looks a little pained, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. “And you never sent letters. So I was just stuck here all alone and I thought I would die.” The last part isn’t true, but you’re small tears have started to turn into full-on sobs.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Giyuu sounds much more unsure of himself. His fingers on you twitch whenever your back shakes. It’s horrible reasoning considering that he’s already married to you in the first place. You say as much to him.

Tomioka is showing the biggest amount of emotion possible. His face is twisted into an expression that suggests deep thoughts. It’s nearly enough to shock you out of the sadness, but not quite.

Under his breath, he mumbles an apology. It’s not very meaningful, but you suppose he’s at least trying. You continue to rub at your face, trying to stall your tears.

For a moment you simply sit, facing each other. Though you can’t bring yourself to look anywhere other than your lap. A hand finds its way to your back, creeping hesitantly. You can’t think of a time he’s willingly touched you otherwise.

Finally, overcome you fling yourself into his side. With the sturdiness of his uniform, it’s not particularly soft against your face, but heat radiates from his body. Tomioka doesn’t hold you particularly tight. His other arm wraps around your back, though the grasp is loose and hesitant.

Whether he cares about your tears or not he doesn’t seem to mind that you’ve seated yourself in his lap. Your crying shows no signs of stopping anytime soon, built up behind months of feeling stuck. It’s a horrible mess of wet and snot and a very ugly grimace that you’re glad is hidden.

His hands eventually wander up to your hair, ghosting over the top of your scalp. You can feel how rough they are now, covered in callouses. They’re warm against your head. Almost fiery hot they brush back stray hairs.

Focusing on the repetitive feeling of his hand, alongside the steady beating of his heart, you’re able to stop the tears. A small hiccup or gasp manages to leave you every few seconds, but it’s much less intense than before.

Not very inclined to move, you’re content to keep your face buried within the body in front of you. His hands don’t stop their gentle motions even as you stop your small noises. It’s perhaps the most comfortable you’ve felt in a very long time. Giyuu smells like his futon, but a thousand times more powerful.

As your eyes dry they also begin to drag downward. It’s the inevitable end to every single one of your emotional explosions. Your arms are drooping, their grasp loosening. Distantly you realize that you should move, excuse yourself to your room or do anything to move. Instead, you bury yourself deeper into his chest.

As he begins to move you almost pull yourself back from him. Arms flex around you and tighten their hold. Just when you muster the energy to uncurl your fingers and force your eyes back open, he lifts you up. You’re not surprised by the strength, you’ve seen it before, but it does set a little shock through your stomach.

Suddenly you’re not very inclined to do much of anything.

If he notices the way your hands dig back into his shirt, he doesn’t say anything. You’re pleased by the feeling of muscles flexing around you. Giyuu’s actions aren’t entirely discernible, not from your position, but the way he moves is slightly soothing. It’s reminiscent of being rocked to sleep, his movements graceful.

You let yourself remain in the limbo between rest and wakefulness. The edges of the world ebb away until you’re sat back down, nestled within his futon. It’s been smoothed again, rustled from your whining. It offers the same comfort it always has once you’re enveloped within the warm sheets. As his arms pull away from you, your lips form a ghost of his name.

—-

In the morning you keep your eyes shut for as long as possible. Your mind has snapped awake, reminding you of last night's events. There’s a dryness around your eyes from where your tears have evaporated. As tempting as it is to reach a hand up to rub away the grogginess you keep them in place for now.

Feeling your surroundings gives you almost no clues. All you know is that it is very warm, and you are very comfortable. Slowly you let your eyes barely peek open, a small slit to peer through.

Giyuu is lying next to you, in the sense that he is curled up in on himself at the opposite end of the futon. It’s not a very great length, but the gap between your bodies stretches endlessly in your mind. His back faces you, to which you let your eyes open almost fully. There are small imperfections to his posture, his spine shifting with his breath. It's a slow movement, a reassurance that he’s still slumbering.

You don’t trust yourself to escape without notice. Every sound you make as you settle seems to make the man pause. You’re not sure what that might accomplish either, the events from the night before too embarrassing to accept, but too poignant to ignore.

Softly you let your body relax again. For now, you’re content to watch his body move slightly with each breath. It’s convincing to reach across the gap and feel the warmth you’ve longed for more directly.

Is peaceful, the sun still low enough to not pierce through the window. It still allows faint light inside, illuminating the area.

You’re feeling surprisingly well-rested. There’s a deep calmness in your bones. Lazing about in the bed feels nice, natural. It reminds you of celebrations back home when you were free from responsibilities. There are whispers of summer streaming through the window.

For a few moments, you bask in the light starting to make its way across the floor. lt caresses your face and finally prompts you to move.

Slowly you rise upwards. Tomioka seems to rest still, unmoving. Slowly you creep out of the room, and back towards your own.

It’s chilly in your room, making the hairs on your neck stand on end. With the window facing West, no sun will warm it until the evening. The temperature makes the changing process nearly impossible. Your holding your chest, shivering before you can slip on another dress. Bouncing on your feet you shuffle around until you’re fully clothed again.

It’s easy to move around the house with a light heart. Whether Tomioka has awoken yet or not is a thought that hardly crosses your mind as you cook. Mostly you hope he’ll dine with you, tired of eating in months of silence.

Your hands move quickly as you shuffle around rooting through cabinets. Over time you’ve switched to much more appetizing meals than rice porridge. For today, with your want for a quick breakfast, you mostly work with eggs and fried rice. Throwing in a couple of diced peppers and onions your stomach growls as the sizzling veggies.

The presentation is important to you too. It feels like you’re actually doing something, being a wife. Maybe. You still don’t know if this is right, but you shared a bed last night with your husband. He wasn’t particularly close, but closer than a hallway and walls that separated you before.

So you balance the plates on your arms and move carefully back towards his room. The sense of nervousness creeps up again but isn’t as fierce as before. It at least isn’t enough to deter you from using your foot to slide the door open.

Tomioka has finally risen. His hair is sticking in all sorts of directions, sleep evident in his eyes. You’re surprised at how late he’s slept in.

“Good morning.” A blush creeps back onto your cheeks. It raises your temperature by a few degrees at least, bringing warmth to your face.

“I uh-“ Your mouth is suddenly dry. “I brought food.” The words come out a shy squeak. For a moment the plates wobble in your hold until you square your shoulders and regain control.

He regards you with a surprising amount of warmth, what you think is warmth at least. It’s not indifference, or anger, something kinder.

“Thank you.” He doesn’t smile as he talks, not exactly a frown either. The man exists in the crevices between emotions, which is how he manages to be completely indecipherable most of the time.

You manage to look somewhat graceful as you lower yourself, plates still balancing in your hands. Once you’re close enough he swipes one from your hand, instead letting it sit in his lap.

“You can eat with me,” Giyuu says in a matter-of-fact way that makes your eyebrows raise. He waits for only a second, letting the silence hang, before continuing. “I thought I should be more direct.”

His explanation forces a small light laugh from your lips. “Right, I’m glad. I’ll be sure to do the same.” The corner of his eyes curl up, even though his lips don’t form a smile quite yet. You’re not even sure if he can smile, maybe the man has some sort of disease.

He eats though. And though he’s careful there are little bits of rice stuck to his face. In the corner of his mouth is a little line of ketchup. It’s such a human sight, a clumsy eater that doesn’t know anything about romance or women. There’s some sadness too, the lack of proper social understanding, formed by a life dedicated to fighting.

Realizing the fact that you’re staring quite obviously (something that he somehow does not notice) you look down to eat your own food. The sound of chewing is slightly grating on your ears, but you cannot muster up anymore to say.

Within just a few moments, when you’ve only finished a few bites of food, his fork is scraping against the plates. There’s a decent amount of rice still scattered over his face, some on the floor and his shirt, but most seem to have made it into his mouth. It’s hard not to laugh at the sight, of crumbs sticking to the corner of his lips. Though you’re able to remain silent, your nose scrunches up, eyes narrowing as your lips tug upwards.

“I can make more if you’d like.”

Tomioka still seems half-asleep as he turns to you. “It’s fine.” Despite his appearance, the man’s voice is soft and even. “But I did enjoy it.”

Your lips move into an even bigger smile. It’s half hidden behind your hand, fear of food stuck in your teeth, but the message is still translated clearly. “Did you like the egg too? I don’t know your tastes, so I’ve mostly been guessing.”

His eyebrows furrow again, that concentrated look crossing his face. “I like salmon, salmon daikon. Though I don’t know if that’s appropriate for a breakfast.” He answers quickly.

“Dinner then,” you offer.

He shakes his head. “I’ll have to leave for another mission tonight.” Your shoulders deflate slightly. At least a warning is more than you’ve gotten before. “But I can send you a letter before I arrive back.”

The offer brings your smile back. “I’ll make sure to buy some things for Salmon Daikon. It’ll be the best you’ve ever had!”

—-

He lets you spend most of the morning bothering him. Tomioka says that there’s no point leaving for a few more hours, which you don’t really get, but he probably knows best. While you anxiously watch the sun climb higher into the sky Giyuu gets ready. He doesn’t give you any warning, or tell you to leave, before stripping off most of his clothes.

His back is covered in long strips of scar and muscle. You’ve once again tucked yourself into the folds of the futon, content to watch from there. It’s pleasing the way his shoulders move as he strips the shirt off.

As he moves to remove his pants too, you have the decency to look away. The man doesn’t seem concerned with your presence, but even the thought of seeing him mostly bare makes your eyes screw themselves shut. They don’t crack open until the rustling of fabric and movement stops.

He’s donned the common uniform once again, haori placed overtopped. Tomioka looks so normal again, like he used to every time he flew in and out of the house. You’re staring at the junction where you fixed the sleeve, wondering if he too has noticed the shift.

“I think it looks good,” he tells you. “Much better than anything I could do. I’m not very good at mending things.”

“I can tell,” the words slip from your lips easily. It’s a careless comment, meant to be taken as a joke, but sounds a little too cruel. Your eyes widen, mouth quickly covered with your hands. “I didn’t mean, I uh-“

“You’re fine.” His mouth has quirked upwards just slightly. “It’s true, but I do like to think I’ve improved over the years.”

A hand is still raised over your lips, hoping to keep another dumb comment from slipping through. Once you’re sure you’ve stopped yourself from spoiling the moment you let your hands drop back to your lap. “I’m sure you have.”

He takes sword from where it’s stood carefully in the corner. You watch as he slides the sheath into place along his belt. It completes his ensemble, making him look like a proper soldier. If it were possible (which is to say, if it didn’t put you in mortal danger) you’d like to see him in action. Maybe he’ll let you watch him train sometime.

“Are you going then?”

He nods. “It’s not too far. If I’m lucky I can come back before getting another notice. So you won’t feel so lonely.”

His concern makes your heart throb. Biting your lower lip you try not to let it quiver. “I’ll make you something, give me a few minutes. That way you won’t starve.” Without waiting for his answer you leave the room and rush to the kitchen.

The truth was that you had already prepared some onigiri earlier, tucked away inside the fridge. It’s stuffed with tuna and onions are you’re trying hard not to eat them as you tuck them into a bento. There’s plenty of extra, and you can leave the more… unsightly ones for yourself.

Tomioka comes down the hall just a few moments after you finish. It’s perfect timing. There’s a small sack on his back, which he lets you tuck the lunch into. “Don’t wait too long before eating it though,” you instruct. “I don’t want it to go bad.”

“Right.”

“And be safe!”

“Ok.”

“And-“ You have to curl your hands into fists to force the words the words out, “Iloveyou.”

You’re prepared to turn tail and hide back in your own room (and probably cry—or die—from embarrassment). Before you can even point your feet in the right direction he’s caught your wrist. Though you can barely look at him, you are welcomed to the sight of his pretty pink cheeks. He pulls you toward him, perhaps with more force than necessary, and plants a kiss on your own fiery skin.

You’ve barely registered what’s happened when he’s disappeared beyond the doorway. You don’t know if you’ll be able to drag your feet anywhere else until he gets back, scared of loosing this feeling.

[mitsureigen]

Looking Out For You — Giyū Tomioka x gn! hashira! reader

summary: your decision to befriend the reclusive water hashira turns your life around for the better.

tw: anxious and insecure reader, awkward convos, non-descriptive injuries, mentions of getting stitches.

a/n: I finally wrote for Kimetsu no Yaiba, been a fan of this when there was only one season of the show (read the entire manga as it got updated).

wc: 6k

Master List

It was no secret that the water hashira was a loner. He stuck to himself and blended into the background. At first you were neutral towards him, you were similar in a sense. Kept to yourself and tried to blend into the background. The big difference is that not only were you friends with the love hashira, but you had managed to endear yourself towards some of the others. You weren’t sure how you did it, but it was nice to know that they cared. For Giyū Tomioka, it was the complete opposite. 

You could only hear insults towards the man for so long. A part of you related to him, and hearing Kochō be so passive aggressive towards him made you feel unsettled. So you made up your mind, you were going to try and befriend Tomioka. You had been completely alone before, and you had wished for someone to befriend you, so you were sure he was longing for the same. 

You had told Mitsuri of your plan as you both walked towards the Ubuyashiki Estate. You all had been called for a brief. These were rare, but it was nice to see how your fellow hashira’s were, and also a perfect excuse to try and talk to the water hashira. Mitsuri was nearly jumping up and down at the information, an excited grin overtaking her features. 

“That’s so cute!” She squealed, clasping her hands together. “You have to tell me how it goes.”

“I already feel like I’m going to fail,” You said, slightly sweating at the thought. “Last time I tried to make a friend it ended up really awkward because I never know what to say.”

“Hm,” She hummed in thought. “Just try and find a connection.”

You purse your lips, “That’s easier said than done.”

It wasn’t much longer before you found yourself sitting next to the stoic man. Ubuyashiki was going over statistics, how we could improve and how well we’ve been doing. I felt myself getting more anxious by the second. After the meeting I would try and at least say hi, but I was wondering if that was a good idea. Seconds ticked by while you had basically toned out Ubuyashiki’s smooth voice, fingers fidgeting in your lap. Once you were all excused, you hyped yourself up, looking over to the black haired man.

 “Hello!” You said a little too loudly, a nervous smile adorned your lips as  you gained Tomioka’s attention. 

His blank stare watched you for a few seconds before replying, “Excuse me.”

Then he left. 

…just like that. You blinked, mouth dropping in slight awe at just how fast he managed to escape. You had spent so long going over situations and anxious thoughts…only for him to barely acknowledge you. 

You didn’t even realize Mitsuri joined you until she spoke up, “Maybe next time?”

You turned your attention to the green eyed beauty, a pout adorning your lips, “He didn’t even say hi back.”

“Ara ara~” Kochō joined us, an empty smile placed on her lips. “I’m afraid it’s a lost cause.”

Your playful pout had turned into a frown, your feelings towards the insect pillar were mixed. She was blunt, which would be nice at times, but others it could be harsh. “Oh well,” You shrugged. “At least I’ll be able to say I tried.”

You had accidently ran into Tomioka only a few days later. You were walking back to your estate, exhausted after a long mission. It was more tedious than difficult, as the walking had been longer than the fight by far. You couldn’t believe your eyes when they landed on the split patterned haori. Before your anxiety could get the best of you, you approached him.

“Hello!” You waved, this time not shouting. “How are you doing Tomioka-san?”

Once again his stoic features watched you briefly, like he was trying to gauge your intentions, “I’m doing fine.”

Yes! He couldn’t run away like last time, you’ll make sure of it.

“How old are you?” You asked, genuinely curious. He looked both young and old in a sense, and you were curious where you stood compared to your ages.

Another awkward pause as you both stood on the trail, Tomioka finally answered, “Ninteen.”

Your mouth dropped open, unable to hide your surprise, “Nineteen! I thought you were at least twenty-two!” Tamioka only glanced away awkwardly, and you waved your hands around. “Not that it's a bad thing, I’m only twenty! So we’re really close in age. Besides, Tokitō’s fourteen so nineteen isn’t that bad…sorry I’m rambling.”

Your anxiety started to run rampant, this is the most you had spoken to the water pillar and it was really awkward. You both seemed to be in the same boat as he awkwardly nodded, arms crossed as his eyes couldn’t meet yours. An awkward silence encompassed you both and you felt yourself losing your composure.

“I’m sorry,” You apologized again, feeling your face heat up in embarrassment. “I want to befriend you but I’m very bad at talking to others. Mitsuri-chan recommended finding something we both relate to, but I am unsure how to do that.” You weren’t sure if your mind was playing tricks on you, but you swore Tomioka’s eyes widened slightly, head tilting ever so slightly. He almost reminded you of a puppy. 

“We shouldn’t be friends,” Tomioka’s tone spoke with finality. Your brows furrowed, you could understand him saying that, but the sting of rejection overpowered your thoughts. Normally you’d bow as an apology and scurry away to mull over all the points in which you made yourself look like a fool, but your wish to friend him overpowered that.

“Why not?” You asked, a slight frown pulling on your lips. 

Tomioka opened his mouth only to close it, eyebrows furrowing in thought. Finally, he replied, “I don’t want to be friends with you.”

You nodded, the sting of rejection spreading. You felt your face flush in embarrassment as you bowed, “I apologize, I wish you well Tomioka-san.”

You quickly turned around, rushing towards your estate, shame and embarrassment continuing to flood through you. You had quickly written a letter to Mitsuri, venting about how embarrassed you were. You had been sent on another mission shortly after, allowing you to forget about your embarrassing fiasco, at least for a brief moment. You were nearly back to normal, your restless nights finally ceasing as the memory started to fade to the back of your mind. Until it was violently forced back to the forefront.

You had found yourself resting in the same wisteria house as Giyū Tomioka. You both sat in silence, eating your food without acknowledging the other. It felt wrong, like you should say something, but those words he spoke rang in your head, holding you back, ‘I don’t want to be friends with you.’ 

You hate to admit it, but that simple sentence had brung back insecurities you thought you had overcome. You didn’t blame him, not at all. It wasn’t Tomioka’s fault that you had seemed to crumble due to one person's seemingly unapproval of you. You ate with your head bowed, hoping that you weren’t annoying him in any way. Was it the way you looked? The way you talked? Had you rambled too much in your nervousness? Did your mere aura annoy him? If so, you felt even more guilty for making him sit in your presence. 

Tomioka on the other hand hadn’t noticed your inner dilemma. Although he did find you seeming to shrink in on yourself further and further unusual, he wasn’t sure what your normal was. You hadn’t seemed to act like this around the other hashira’s, he only saw glimpses of you. If he were to be honest, he had seen the way you interacted with Mitsuri, so lively and happy. He wished he could experience that side of you, but he knew he had ruined any chance already. ‘I don’t want to be friends with you,’ those words haunted him. It was a lie, he did in fact want to be friends with you, but you were better off without him. He would only manage to drag you down.

“Are you finished?” Tomioka asked. You hadn’t even realized you had stopped eating. Looking up at him for the first time, you stared at him with wide eyes.

“Oh! Uh, yeah,” You stumbled. “Here, I can clean up.” Moving faster than he could protest, you had grabbed the empty bowls and started cleaning, not wanting to be a burden. The lady of the house was surprised when you approached her with the dirty dishes, asking where to set them. When she protested you helping her wash them, you begrudgingly made your way back to your shared room for the night. 

“Thank you,” Tomioka spoke up randomly, causing you to glance at him.

“It’s okay,” You shrugged, prepping your futon to your liking. “I like helping.”

It was harder for you to fall asleep than you’d like to admit. You had been running around for the past few days and it seemed that your mind couldn’t settle just yet. You kept your eyes closed, willing yourself to sleep as your body felt exhausted. 

It was even harder for you to fall asleep as Tomioka had murmured into the night, “I wish we could be friends, but this is for the best.”

Great, now you really weren’t going to fall asleep. 

The sun was just starting to shine through the windows, causing you to slowly wake up. You were surprised that you had awoken earlier than Tomioka. He looked so peaceful, the usual tension in his face had been relaxed. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you went to take care of yourself in the bathroom. Your foggy mind slowly remembered the restless night before, how Tomioka had confessed to wanting to be friends with you when he thought you were asleep. Now that you knew that you weren’t the problem/reason, you were going to try even harder to befriend him.

When you returned to the room, you had half expected the room to be empty, but to your delight, Tomioka was still there, having just woken up.

“Good morning,” You smiled sleepily, still feeling sluggish. You tried to ignore how cute he looked as he rubbed his eyes.

“Good morning,” Tomioka replied back softly. 

“Did you sleep well?” You asked, hoping to keep the conversation going. While talking, you made your way to your satchel, making sure everything was in order.

“Yes,” He replied, the sounds of shuffling cloth coming from behind you. Glancing back, you watched as he was about to leave. “Excuse me,” He alerted, sliding the door open and leaving. At first you thought he was leaving completely like the last time, except you noticed his sword was still in the room. 

‘Good,’ You thought. ‘He should at least eat something before leaving.’

The lady of the house knocked on the door before entering, a bright smile on her face. You both chatted briefly as she set up a zataku table, loading some food on top. Tomioka entered the room not long after, glancing at the food but ignoring it. Swallowing the bite of taiyaki, I spoke up, “You should join me! The food’s really good.”

“I’m not hungry,” Tomioka muttered.

You bit your lip, trying to think of how you could get to know him better, “Not even for just a bite of rice?” His deep blue eyes glanced at me, pausing before he grabbed his sword, then his eyes drifted to the food. “I really can’t eat this all by myself,” You said, hoping that would finally entice him. It seemed your persuasive skills were better than you thought (or his loneliness was finally getting the best of him). 

As you both sat at the table, you found yourself rambling about your mission. The awkwardness between the both of you from before had seemed to vanish (on your end at least) as you talked to fill the silence. How the demon’s you were sent to kill had become more challenging, how the treck left you exhausted, how awkward you were around to kakushi. It got to the point of you rambling about this cute Ezo red fox you saw.

Tomioka may be a bit oblivious at times, but he had noticed this drastic change. Just last night you barely let out a peep, and now you were talking about anything and everything. He didn’t mind, no one has talked with him in such a way since…Sabito. It felt very bittersweet for him. He could only ponder on what caused your change, and he hoped that you hadn’t heard his confession last night. Especially since he found his will to be weaker than he’d like to admit. 

…

Misturi was a very good listener. The way she’d dramatically gasp or watch with bated breath. You knew she was hanging on to every word you spoke. When you had finished filling her in on everything that had happened between both you and Tomioka she squealed. 

“You two are so cute!” She smiled brightly, finishing another bowl of pork cutlet.

“More like we’re both awkward,” You mumbled. Picking at your food (still only on your first portion).

“He said he wanted to be your friend!” She pointed at you with her chopsticks. 

“But I’m not sure how to proceed,” You complained. “Do I just keep talking his ear off about random stuff? I feel like that’ll get annoying quickly.”

“Why don’t you get him something?” She asked, sipping some tea. “Maybe that’ll open him a little.”

“Hmm,” You pondered. What would you even get him? “Maybe.”

So you had continued to think about what a reclusive water hashira may like. It didn’t help that you were in the midst of a market. Vendors resided on either side, showing off their wares to entice customers to view their stalls. You took in the sites, yet nothing really caught your eyes. That was until a vendor who was selling omamori. You were surprised to find someone selling these charms outside of a shrine, so you were a bit weary of the product, but they seemed to be made from genuinely good materials.

You perused the items, there were many different colors and intentions. Finally, you picked out a blue omamori that wishes for happiness. You didn’t really think much of it. You did, in fact, wish Tomioka happiness. The rest of your mission went smoothly, and you sent Tomioka a letter upon your arrival. In the time it took for your crow to come back, you had almost forgotten of the invite. You felt yourself waiting anxiously for the time to come, tidying up your estate even more (much to the kakushi’s dismay), making sure you had enough tea and snacks. 

By the time Tomioka had arrived, you already had two cups of tea and a snack platter set out on your engawa. It was a nice warm and bright sunny day, and you might as well enjoy the scenery of the forest that surrounded your estate. You greeted him with a bright smile, coaxing him to sit down. The both of you savored the tea, sipping in silence. It was nice. Normally you’d feel pressured to say something, like you were failing at keeping the other person entertained, but at the moment you felt peaceful. Sharing a warm cup of tea on a nice day with someone you cared about. 

You watched as the sun rays fell down, barely hitting the forest floor. Rabbits hopping about as insects buzzed around. You quite liked your estate, you were grateful for all that Ubuyashiki has given you. It was in a secluded area not too far from a small village. It gave you a space for yourself, but you were still close enough to society that you weren’t a hermit. You enjoyed nature as well, watching animals was one of your favorite hobbies as you discovered silly little behaviors that they would do. Though as a hashira you found yourself having less and less time to yourself. 

“I have something for you,” You finally spoke up. You both had finished a cup of tea and some of the snacks were gone. You turned your gaze to Tomioka, only to meet his ocean blue eyes. You took the omamori out of your pocket and handed it to the water hashira. He hesitated before finally accepting the gift. You bit your lips, trying to suppress the giant grin that threatened to spread across your lips. A light pink dusted across his cheeks as he stared at it. 

“You didn’t have to,” He replied, eyes still on the gift. “...thank you.”

“No biggie,” You waved it off. “I saw it and thought of you.” You didn’t realize what you said until you had said it. Your eyes widened, and Tomioka’s blush seemed to only intensify. Deciding that ignoring the remark was the best option, you started talking about your last mission and the market you had found that charm in. A giddy feeling overwhelmed you as you watched Tomioka pocket the charm, his gaze looking warmer than usual. 

It was safe to say both you and Tomioka were quite close to each other now. You were someone he enjoyed spending time with and you loved being in his presence. The awkwardness that had initially been a part of your relationship fizzled, a warm atmosphere left in its wake. The two of you would spend time over tea, mostly at your estate, but you were proud to say you’ve spent time at his as well. Sometimes you found yourself going on walks on the trails that littered across your property, and you would point out animals you’d observed and little facts you found out about them over the years. Tomioka thought that if demons hadn’t screwed over the world, you’d have made a wonderful researcher.  

The feeling of something slipping into your pocket had put you on edge. Turning your head swiftly to the side, you stared at Tomioka with wide eyes. He stared at you back, eyes wide and cheeks a light pink. He had been caught. He didn’t know what he was expecting, you were a highly skilled hashira, trained to detect the slightest thing off. Slipping your hand into your pocket, you pulled out an omamori. You felt your face flush as it was not only your favorite color, but it was an anti-evil omamori. 

“Thank you, Tomioka-san,” You thanked with a bright smile. You were so busy trying to figure out how to attach the charm to the hilt of your sword, you almost missed Tomioka’s next words.

“Giyū,” He muttered, head turned away from you. You stared at him slightly in confusion until he clarified, “You can call me Giyū.”

“Thank you, Giyū-san,” You clarified, smiling so wide it felt like your cheeks hurt. “You can call me by my first name as well.” He nodded, still not facing your direction. Tugging gently at his haori, you led him to continue your walk along the trail, the day seeming a lot brighter than before. 

…

“Please Giyū-san,” You pleaded, putting on your best puppy dog eyes.

He tried his hardest to not meet your gaze, feeling his resolve slowly crumbling, “I…am busy that day.”

“Pleeeeease,” You drawled out, hands clasped as you jutted out your bottom lip. “I don’t want to be stuck as a third wheel.” He had accidently met your gaze, and he felt himself fold, how could you look so cute? 

“Fine.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You exclaimed, pulling him into a hug without a second thought, squeezing him tightly to try and express your gratitude. “I love Mitsuri-chan but Iguro-san scares me.” Giyū stood stiff, arms fell limply at his sides. Unsure what to do, he awkwardly patted your back before you pulled away. Your warmth that had seeped into him seemed to vanish and he immediately wished you held him for just a moment longer. 

The dinner had arrived too quickly for his liking. Although he found himself wanting to spend more time with you, and he didn’t mind Kanroji, Iguro had made his distaste of the water hashira clear multiple times. He hasn’t spent time with you in the presence of others, and he was scared that you’d finally come to your senses and sever your ties with him. 

He had arrived at least fifteen minutes early, which was exactly when you arrived as well. Giyū couldn’t help but stare at you in awe as he approached. You stood to the side of the restaurant that you were all to dine in. You wore a simple kimono, but he couldn’t help but find himself astounded. He thought you were ethereal in your uniform and haori, but seeing you in such casual wear had seemed to revise your beauty in another light. 

You, on the other hand, felt blood drain from your face. Giyū had been the next to arrive after you, and he was wearing his uniform. Your brain had become frenzied as you wondered if you had enough time to make it back to your estate and change your clothes. You didn’t want to stand out amongst your friends. 

“Wait, is everyone going to be in their uniform?” You blurted, feeling slightly dizzy at the thought. Giyū, still being stunlocked, seemed oblivious to your turmoil, shrugged. Your shoulders raised as Giyū stood next to you, waiting for the other two to join. Your brain continued to bug you for ten minutes, and only got worse upon notice of their outfits. Both in their uniforms. You felt your face flush in embarrassment, wanting to hide behind the water hashira as Mitsuri and Iguro spotted you both. 

“Hi!” Misturi waved enthusiastically before gasping your name. “Your kimono is so cute!” Unconsciously, you slightly hide yourself behind Giyū, not enjoying all the eyes on you. This is exactly why you didn’t like standing out in a crowd. 

“Thank you,” You muttered, hand grasping gently at Giyū’s haori. Normally, you wouldn’t have such a harsh reaction to being in such a position, but you could feel Iguro’s eyes watching your every move, judging your every decision. But you’d have to endure it, for Mitsuri’s sake. 

Giyū wasn’t faring much better. He hadn’t expected you to become so shy, using him as a shield. It made him feel a bit prideful and protective, you had chosen him even though you had been friends with Kanroji for longer. Though he also felt a bit embarrassed, unsure how to react to such a situation. He had never thought someone he found attractive would look at him, let alone find comfort in him in such a way. 

You all had entered the restaurant, Mitsuri trying not to squeal at the site before her. She had been trying to refrain from mentioning how your relationship with Giyū seemed to be some romantic plot from a novel she’s read. Every detail you shared with her had her blushing in excitement. She had recalled when you told her you didn’t expect to find love in this lifetime. As a demon slayer, you had little freetime, and the fact that you never knew if the day was going to be your last would loom over you until demons were eradicated. So having friends was tough, and a lover even tougher. She couldn’t be more overjoyed by the fact that you had managed to find someone even with the complications. Which led her to this master plan with Obanai, a secret double date (it would be a double date in her heart). A double date where only one person knew of it as such. 

Once you all got in, you found yourself feeling more comfortable. You found yourself in a comfortable conversation with Mitsuri, both your companions silent as they eyed the other up. It was a comical site for anyone who witnessed it. Mitsuri had beat us all in the amount she consumed, a bright smile as she asked for another. The atmosphere was warm in the small restaurant, the night sky shining through the windows. You slightly felt bad for Iguro and Giyū, as they both seemed out of their element, but overall it was a fun night. It almost felt like a date due to the fact Giyū insisted on walking you home. 

It didn’t take long after that night for you to realize your feelings. You were helping two lower ranked demon slayers defeat a demon. At the end of the battle they had checked in on the other, making sure they were both relatively okay before embracing. It had reminded you of how you treated Giyū, and suddenly it all came crashing down on you. You were in love with Giyū Tomioka. The two demon slayers had thanked you, as you weren’t there to help them initially. They were surprised at how kind you were towards them, remarking how they heard all the hashira’s were cold. You quickly waved them off with a slight laugh, explaining how most of you were just trying to get by like the rest of them. 

You had continued to stew on your feelings, unable to think of anything else. Your mind had been so dangerously drifting off, you found yourself injured. Not gravely, thankfully, but enough for you to end up in butterfly manor. 

“It’s rare to find you here,” Kochō commented as she cleaned your wound, causing you to wince. “Is something the matter? Have you finally realized the lack of heart Tomioka has?”

You frowned, unsure if unpacking your feelings to Kochō was the right play. It wasn’t due to Tomioka’s lack of heart, rather how much heart he has. Your eyes drifted to the sword leaned against the wall next to your current bed, the omamori charm dangling tauntingly. 

“No,” You confessed, hands clenching as she cleaned a particularly deep wound. “It’s actually quite the opposite.”

You took slight satisfaction in the surprise Kochō’s eyes held, but her empty smile didn’t waver, “Don’t tell me he’s managed to trick you somehow.”

“No,” You once again simply answered. “It’s all my own doing.” That was true, in a sense. Of course you couldn’t control your own feelings, but it was you who pushed past Giyū’s barriers and managed to sneak your way into his heart, just as he had snuck his way into yours. Though you weren’t sure if he viewed you in such a way, and you didn’t want to push him farther than he could handle. 

Without pause, Kochō took out a suture kit, threading the needle. Your eyes widened in horror. You’ve only needed stitches very few times, and the nausea you felt when a needle was presented never left. Mercifully, Kochō took out a balm and applied it to the skin around your wound. 

Waiting for a few moments to let the balm numb your skin, she spoke up, “Don’t get your hopes too high with him.” It was at that moment that you realized that Kochō was looking out for you…in a passive aggressive way. Although you didn’t exactly like the way she showed this care (by insulting Giyū), you still felt touched that she even cared in the first place. 

“Don’t worry,” You shrugged. “They’re never really high in the first place.” It was that moment she deemed worthy to pierce your skin. 

…

You didn’t need too many stitches thankfully, but even with the numbing the process was excruciating. You were relieved when the bandages were finally applied and Kochō bid you farewell. You were sore all over, waiting for the medicine Kochō made you take to finally kick in. Not only were you sore and tired, but you felt slightly ashamed. You allowed your emotions to overtake you and get injured in battle. You were a hashira, these simple things weren’t meant to let your guard down. 

You had been so absorbed in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed said water hashira entering your room. Kochō hadn’t been too surprised when she saw him stalking down the hall as she exited your room. With your previous conversation, and the bits Kanroji accidentally let slip, she had pieced together that Tomioka wasn’t all she thought he was. It was hard for her to believe that he would care about someone, but now that she witnessed the terror that shone in his blue eyes, he had even managed to surprise her. 

“They’re resting,” Kochō said, a fake smile lifting the corners of her lips. “Visiting hours aren’t open for them yet.”

Giyū didn’t even pause, continuing his trek to your room. It didn’t matter that his crow had told him you were only mildly injured, or the fact that Kochō left your room (a clear indicator that you were fine), he needed to see that you were okay with his own eyes. He had lost so much already, and he surrendered himself of such attachments, not only because he didn’t deserve it, but because he didn’t want to go through that again. You had managed to brighten his days again, he looked forward to waking up, wondering if he’d get to hear you laugh that day. All the good came crashing down the second he heard of your injured state.

You were both demon slayers, hashira at that, so you were bound to face injury. Yet he couldn’t help but blame himself. For what? Even he wasn’t sure, but he felt like it was due to the fact you were close to him. Karma for being the one to always survive. So when he quietly opened the sliding door, a breath of relief passed his lips as he saw you stare out the window. The sun hit your figure, causing a warm glow to light up your features. The usual smile that was on your face had turned into a frown, eyes distant. He wasn’t sure what to do. He had accomplished his mission, he’s seen you with his own eyes and you’re breathing perfectly fine, although the bandages that littered your face tugged at his heartstrings. 

“Oh, hello,” You spoke softly, snapping Giyū out of his thoughts. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, internally berating himself for asking such a stupid question. Of course you aren’t okay, you're sitting in a hospital bed at butterfly manor.

“I’m fine,” You smiled slightly. “Just some small injuries. Honestly all this pampering is a little too much if you ask me.” That was a slight lie on your part. It was clearly not just small injuries, or you wouldn’t have been taken to butterfly manor. You felt bad for the poor kakushi that had to tend to your injuries enough so you wouldn’t bleed out as they carried you all the way here. 

Giyū also seemed to sense your lie, his blue eyes unwavering from their intense stare. His eyes raked your body, trying to pinpoint all the injuries that littered your body. Fortunately for you, most of the injuries were hidden by your clothes and blanket. With a sigh, you patted the bed, gesturing for him to sit and join you. He did so hesitantly, ending up sitting as close to the edge as he could. You felt your mood lighten at the sight, the seriousness from before slowly dissipating. 

“You can sit closer silly,” You chuckled lightly. He scooted just slightly, and you smiled at him. “Okay so maybe I needed some stitches, but that was the worst of it. Really, I’m fine.”

Giyū’s shoulders slumped, finally he seemed to be able to calm down. You were fine, truly. You were still there, still sitting by him, still smiling at him, still laughing. Your breath hitched at how intense his gaze was. You felt your face flush as he stared at you with utter adoration. You felt your own gaze soften, probably matching his own. 

“It was my own fault,” You muttered, hoping to quell his worries further. “I was distracted, but that won’t happen again.” His eyebrows furrowed, the silent question in his eyes being loud enough for you to understand. Scratching your cheek, you looked away to try and hide your embarrassment. Should you just say it? Get it off your chest? Would he be weirded out? 

“I was thinking about you.”

Now you both were avoiding eye contact, flustered more than you’d like to admit. He hadn’t expected that. What exactly were you thinking? Have you been thinking about him often? It left him feeling warm at the thought. For some odd reason, it made him happy. 

The silence between you both grew, and you felt more anxious the longer it lasted. “Not…not  in a weird way,” You defended weakly, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. Glancing up at him your eyes widened in wonder as a tiny smile pulled on the edges of his lips, red dusting his cheeks and the tips of his ears. If you could capture this moment, you would in a heartbeat. Deciding that now was your chance, you ripped the bandaid off.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

This time Giyū stared at you in disbelief, and you wondered if you did the wrong thing. But he had smiled earlier! The first smile you had ever seen grace his beautiful features. Perhaps you came to the wrong conclusion. Both of you stared at the other, waiting for the other to make a move. Your heart beat faster and faster the longer he stayed frozen. His entire face and neck was engulfed in a violent shade of red, and you were scared you might’ve broken him. 

“You don’t have to love me back or anything,” The words quickly tumbled passed your lips. “And I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore. That’s a weird thing to confess to your friend.”

That seemed to snap him back, he looked down at his lap, trying to regain composure. He found it harder and harder to remain stoic in your presence. The emotions he repressed would always flow to the forefront when you were around, and although it could be overwhelming at times, he still welcomed the feelings. Not sure how to convey his feelings properly (he surely didn’t trust his mouth to say the right thing), he scooted a little closer to you. You watched with bated breath, unsure where he stood on your feelings (he really didn’t make it easy to read him either).

“I reciprocate your feelings,” He replied, voice wavering just slightly. You blinked, unsure if you heard him correctly. You weren’t sure what you expected, but such a formal response actually made you feel a bit better. Clearly this was new to both of you and you both weren’t sure how to go about this new territory. But that was fine, because you both could traverse it together.

…

Only a few days later, Mitsuri had managed to visit you. Giyū had refused to leave your side, assisting you with the simplest tasks. You felt bad for the girls who brought you your necessities as Giyū would watch their every move, ensuring you got all that you needed. When Mitsuri entered your room, she hadn’t expected to see the water hashira sitting next to you, let alone so close! Her green eyes took in the scenario, Giyū not meeting her gaze as he felt flustered that he was caught. You smiled brightly at the love hashira, welcoming her into the room.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner,” She apologized. 

“It’s okay,” You waved off her concern. “Giyū-kun has been keeping me company.”

Mitsuri couldn’t hold back her squeal, the two of you clearly have grown closer, dare she say you two have a more intimate relationship. Giyū looked even more flustered, head turned away from the both of you. 

“You have to tell me everything!”

[mitsureigen]

delicate

━ ━ ◦ ❖ ◦━ ━ ◦ ❖ ◦━ ━ ◦ ❖ ◦━ ━

pairing: vash x reader

cw: mention of guns/shooting. a touch suggestive….subtly horny.

a/n: here is a drabble. it is haunting me. vash is haunting me. you understand.

━ ━ ◦ ❖ ◦━ ━ ◦ ❖ ◦━ ━ ◦ ❖ ◦━ ━

“will you teach me?”

vash looks up from his gun, spread out across the wooden table in bits of glinting silver, like sharp teeth pulled out of a metal mouth. the evening sun is hot and rosy and burnishes the little bar in russet.

he’s been cleaning his gun methodically for the better part of an hour.

his brows perk up, “how to shoot?” he asks.

“yeah—wanna learn.”

vash makes a face—just a sour twist of his mouth. the falling of his lashes against his cheek.

“do you have to?” he asks.

“well—if i’ll be traveling with you guys—i don’t want to be dead weight.”

vash shakes his head quickly, “there’s no such thing. besides, you’re our healer. that’s far better than a gunmen.”

eyes like stars in the blue sky catch yours. his voice is soft—earnest.

“healer’s the best thing you can be.” he vows gently, “you don’t need a gun for that.”

“vash.” you say, stern and stubborn. “c’mon. don’t give me this.”

he almost looks like he’ll plead with you, “you don’t need it.”

“what if i’m in danger?” you urge.

“i’ll protect you.” vash says firmly.

“what if you’re not around?”

the question hangs in the air. the sun sinks deeper into its red horizon. you swear you can hear the furious brag of your heart, can feel the way vash’s shoulders sink under an invisible weight.

“i don’t—“ he starts, frowning, “i don’t want to.”

“fine. then i’ll ask wolfwood.” you turn to go and he reaches out, snags your wrist.

“don’t go. and don’t ask him. i—“ his fingers, cool and metallic, gently urge you back, “i wish i didn’t have to teach you.”

the confession silences you. you slacken in his hold and look at him. he picks his head up to look back at you. he’s looking at you so sorrowful, so guilty. hangdog look on his face like he’s already done something bad. already committed a sin too great.

you don’t know what to say—any of the snippier remarks about not being naive or weak or some damsel he needs to protect die on your tongue, find a graveyard there and deaden your voice. silence stretches.

vash finally says;

“i wish there was a life for you where you didn’t have to learn how to handle a gun.”

“so you’ll teach me?” you ask.

his fingers, delicately holding your wrist, now slip away. you miss their pressure, their weight immediately.

he nods, slow, with a regretful sort of half smile, sad.

“i’ll teach you,” he says, “but you gotta promise me something.”

“what is it?” you ask.

“remember you’re a healer.” and then he tilts his head, considers you, “and don’t ever aim for the heart.”

“but what if—“

“ah, ah, ah! you have to promise or i won’t teach you! those are my rules.”

you let go of a huff of air, “fine. i promise.”

“atta girl!” vash says now, warm and with a smile. heat burns your face and you don’t think it’s the last dregs of the sun barely clinging to the sky.

he slides over on the bench he’s sitting on, welcoming you on. “now, look close—i’ll teach you how to take a gun apart and then put it back together.”

you sidle in beside him. suddenly you’re shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. and you can see the bit of stubble on his jaw and can smell—him. he smells like sunlight, musky and warm, a little sweet. he smells like the wind. petrichor and thistle.

“i thought you were gonna teach me how to shoot—“

“patience!” vash says, “we’ll get there. this is an important first step.”

the sun melts away into evening blue and you watch vash, with his nimble, sure fingers, put the gun back together carefully. then skillfully take it apart again. this time he urges you to do it.

and he sits, tucking in close, guiding your hands and helping you along. murmuring soft that this piece goes here. and do you remember this part? just—twist like this—gentle like. that’s it. for such dangerous items, they’re rather delicate, huh?

“yeah,” you breathe, watching the shadow of his pale lashes flutter against his cheek. “delicate.”

he laughs a little, easy and soft. almost husky. “there’s a reason gunmen call them their babies—their lovers.” he eyes you and there’s a strange twinkle in them, “c’mon. you’re close—what’s next?”

something flutters inside you—and suddenly you feel rather delicate yourself. you try to focus on the parts in front of you, attempting to make a whole. they look like scrap metal to you. your mind feels just as scattered as the pieces in front of you.

“um.” you say intelligently.

vash draws his fingers towards another piece, taps it gently and you’re rather stuck on the image. “this one—easy with it.” you move to snap it into another place and you struggle. twisting, metal on metal, grating.

he settles his hands over yours, guiding, “here—should fit, nice and snug, just like that.” his voice is low, by your ear. the piece slides right into place with a satisfying click.

you swallow.

when you’ve finished putting the gun back together, he says, “now—we’ll work on shooting when you can do that without me.”

“what?!” you demand, “that wasn’t apart of the deal!”

he shrugs and you can feel it against you, lopsided smile all boyish. “you want to learn how to shoot—i’m teaching you how to shoot. the right way.”

he pulls the gun from you, fingers brushing yours, and in a matter of seconds and the sound of clinking metal, he’s taken the gun apart and torn it into pieces again. it lays on the table in front of you, glinting cold silver now that the sky is all plum and dark.

you’d hardly seen his fingers move they were so quick, so—

“try again.” he encourages.

you eye the puzzle in front of you, your own fingers dancing towards the first piece.

“good,” vash says, smiling, leaning back a little in his seat. and then soft, “keep going.”

and you spend the night like that, certain that you’re somehow being taken apart, too. and put back together all over again.

kinda like what a healer does—kinda like what you do for him.

[mitsureigen]

𝗚𝗜𝗬𝗨𝗨 𝗛𝗔𝗦 𝗔 𝗖𝗥𝗨𝗦𝗛

𝙨𝙮𝙣. ━ giyuu is wholeheartedly in love with you.

━ 𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨. no bc i am making this man a pathetic simp for you idc. im writing these with myself in mind so yk, i have to pour out my feelings. and also i need to get all this giyuu writing off my chest, its actually a problem the fixation i have on this man but no fics tickle my brain just right so i have to write them myself

━ 𝙖𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨. btw thank you so much for all the love and support on my last two posts. literally you all are so incredibly sweet !! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ i just graduated college so i might have a bit more time to write but no promises!

━ 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨. none. giyuu might be a little ooc. modern reader in kny. i rewrote this a few times so pls be nice 🤧. 1.4k words.

━ 𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙩. im just going though and adding a synopsis and fixing my titles. og title: falling for you.

Giyuu actually doesn’t know how this occurred. No, actually that was a lie. He knew how this happened, but didn’t at the same time. And honestly speaking, the man does not care at all. You were so nice and sweet to Giyuu it made his head spin. Like it makes him ill in the best way imaginable. He doesn’t understand why you want to be around him so much, why you want to be his friend – not that he minds – but he just can’t get past his own indiscretions about himself. That was until you told him to his face.

You tell him that you thought he was cute – I'm sorry? – and you liked how calm he was – really? His brain can’t compute anything that you say. He doesn’t know if you need any medical assistance or he’s just dreaming. But it makes you laugh. The cute, dumb look on his face as he stands there, gaping at you like a fish.

It wasn’t like it was new information. You did enjoy his company the most. He was very quiet and by no means were you either, but you have this habit of matching the energy of people you were with. So, it was almost relaxing and refreshing spending time with Giyuu. Though Giyuu is silent most of the time, he does in fact talk. At first it's about a mission he was on recently, if and most likely when he gets more comfortable with you, he’s talking a little more in depth about random things that are on his brain. It's endearing really. Or sometimes he’s just talking about things that he thinks you might like to know, random facts, and so on.

But sometimes you do the talking and he likes that too. You could talk for hours and he could listen to every word you have to say. He would soak it up like a sponge as you focus your eyes on the crochet hooks weaving in front of you. Your voice is quiet and nice, soft and warm sounding.

This typically happens when you visit his estate. And you visit his estate a lot. Maybe Giyuu was a little disappointed that you weren’t staying with him, but he knows that he shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds. He’s lucky enough to see you this much, as much as he's lucky to see you at all. He can’t be too mad though. Mitsuri has jumped you the first moment she got when the Master had brought up your living arrangements. You had nowhere to go. And honestly, Giyuu may have been a little relieved that Mitsuri of all people had gotten to you first.

He really wouldn’t have minded if it had been Rengoku or Gyomei. For obvious reasons, Rengoku would be happy to have him stopped by and probably Gyomei too, because it seems like they don’t have a bone to pick with him. Honestly speaking, he wouldn’t have minded Muichiro either, though the boy would have probably forgotten your existence within the day. But any of the others, the thought made his skin crawl for plenty of reasons. Maybe it was because it would have become a hassle, or he would be harassed every time he went to visit you. Yes, it does seem on par with him that might just avoid you so you don’t get verbally assaulted like he does if you were to associate with him. But he was a lonely, pathetic man who was enamored with you at first glance the minute you showed up out of nowhere and he couldn’t help but thank the heavens that the stars had aligned so nicely for him – even if he felt he didn’t deserve it.

His only issue with the arrangement was Obanai. The man had almost butchered him on numerous occasions just for showing up to the Love estate. Even if he wasn’t there for Mitsuri, the Serpent Hashira didn’t seem to care. Maybe it was funny the first few times – it actually wasn’t – but you really couldn’t keep your mouth shut anymore. Obanai was wearing you thin with his commentary. Everytime Giyuu was around, it was like the others just couldn’t help themselves by making a comment insulting the man. Maybe it was because you didn’t want to disrespect a Hashira, especially if four of them were in the room with you, but Giyuu was here to see you, and it was almost like insulting Giyuu was an insult to you for wanting to spend time with him.

Mitsuri was okay with Giyuu coming to visit you, she actually encouraged it. So watching Mitsuri stand behind you while you gave Iguro a piece of your mind was something Giyuu didn’t know he needed to see until then. And maybe he did allow himself to feel a little selfish and smile mentally. He still remembers how Iguro had this look of disdain on his face, simultaneously looking like a scolded child and embarrassed because this was happening in front of Mitsuri.

Giyuu wondered if you caught the look that Obanai and Kaburamaru were giving you – if looks could kill and all that – but that was stupid. You most certainly did and just didn’t care enough. And Giyuu also wonders just what kind of sorcery you have, because he did hear you mention Sanemi by name at some point and now he's not bothering him as much, especially when you are around.

It wasn’t like he could do anything about it, not like he had ever done anything about it in the past. He never really had the heart to correct anyone in their assumptions of him, he never really thought he had to. Though, that mainly was because he thought he deserved such mistreatment. Regardless, it didn’t matter how he felt about it and himself. If you enjoyed his company that much to defend him, he was going to provide as much of it as you wanted. But there was something about it that made his heart swell a little bit bigger and flooded him with enough warmth that you could have mistaken it as him having a fever.

Now here the two of you were, sitting outside the Water Estate. You both had taken your places by the koi pond Giyuu has. It's so calm and cool. The soft moving of water could be heard every time the wind blew just enough, as well as the sharp sound of water splashing because some fish got too close to the surface.

Giyuu isn’t losing himself as he stares at the pond, watching the fish move around. He finds himself mesmerized though, as you talk. It’s nice, as usual. He likes how you talk and the way you talk. He could listen to you for hours and never get tired of hearing you. And he knows that if he glances at you now, even briefly, he wouldn’t be able to look away. You just look so… wonderful. It makes him dizzy. But he has such a weak will to do so, and now he's staring at you. Eyes soft and relaxed. He has never felt so content.

Giyuu doesn’t know if he realizes what kind of situation he is in. Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s finally realizing just how much of an effect you have on him. He likes you. He likes you beyond anything in the world. He loves you and everything about you.

You don't notice him staring. You’re too busy weaving the crochet hook in and out of your craft. You make it look so effortless. So enjoyable. And you seem so happy crocheting away as you speak. The way you talk and do it at the same time, you're so smart. You have to be. And Giyuu can’t help but hope you don’t look up. You’re as mesmerized with your work as he is with you. He would die though, if you caught him. The thought makes him sweat almost, being so close to you like this. His hands are clammy, and he's never been this nervous.

Yeah, he definitely has it bad for you. And for the first time in a while, even despite his nerves, he found the corners of his lips curling upwards, in a soft and timid smile. He averts his eyes, almost to gather his bearings, but that isn't enough. The subtle flush creeping onto his cheeks betrayed him. But he couldn’t be more delighted.

thank you for reading !! ૮₍˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶₎ა

[mitsureigen]

Here is a little funny idea? How would the monster trio (also Ace or Usopp or Sabo or Law) react to their girlfriend jokingly say “you’re definitely wearing that for our wedding” (or something like that) if she saw them wearing a fancy suit (or whatever?)😅

Whew okay this was HARD and only because I love Ace so much and I wanted to perfect his part and it stressed me tf out. Anyways I hope you enjoy!

One piece- How they react when you say “You should wear that to our wedding”

Warnings: a little suggestive on Zoro and Usopp. Aces has his insecure angsty thoughts.

Charcters- Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Usopp, Law, Sabo, and Ace

Luffy- “wedding? What are you talking about?” He looks puzzled. We can’t get married yet! I have to be king of the of the pirates first dummy!”

It’s definitely second on his list. Once he’s titled king the next thing to do is make you his wife obviously (and queen of the pirates)

In a way it’s celebratory of this new chapter in his life. A new title, a new job, new way of life and a new step in your relationship all at once sounds like a good idea to him.

Zoro- “wedding? What are you talking about you crazy woman?”

“Excuse me! It was a simple joke! All I was really saying is that you look amazing but now I take it back since you want to be an ass!” You retort. You did mean it, the idea of seeing him at the altar with that tight black suit was clouding your mind, but now that he was rude about it you don’t want to give him the satisfaction!

“An ass? You’re the one throwing that shit on me out of nowhere! Who says that so casually anyway!?” You hadn’t noticed before.. but maybe the reason Zoro became so flustered has something to do with how red his face his. ‘Is he.. no he can’t be’ you think.

“Zoro.. are you blushing?”

“OF COURSE IM NOT!”

“Zoro you’re blushing! At the thought of marrying me? Oh, who knew you could be such a little sap!”

“Shut up! You’re lucky I tolerate you at all!” He yells back. He’s trying his best to seem uncaring, cool, and calm but it’s not working. Secretly, or really not as secretly as he would like, the idea of seeing you in a pretty dress and then taking you home after to start the honeymoon makes his body hot. He thinks arguing with you will make him forget about it.. but he also forgets he kind of likes it when you fight with him ;)

Sanji- This man melts to the damn floor. He’s both in shock and utter euphoria. He’s a little puddle on the ground, holding onto your ankles, mumbling about “I can’t believe im so lucky, so loved, this is the best day of my life” but in a second he’s back to his feet, shoving his face so close to yours his chin hairs are tickling you. “My love, tell me you’re joking I can’t handle this.”

Once you explain that you do in fact want to marry him someday he starts bawling. “Okay then we need to start planning now. I assume you’ll be wearing white, I’ll wear white too of course. We need to pick the flowers. Roses are always a good choice they’re a symbol of love but so overdone maybe we should do lilies.. oh but-“

“Sanji!” You yell. “I said SOMEDAY not immediately right now! And how are you speaking so fast while sobbing you need to sit down!”

But he doesn’t. Now that you said it it’s all he can think about and will not stop planning and talking about it and driving you crazy until the day you’re at that fucking altar and you better believe he’s making it the most beautiful and spectacular wedding you ever saw.

Usopp- Usopp goes red. A red you’ve never even seen before he’s so flustered. “W-wedding? Like- marriage? Like-you marrying me?” You tilt your head to the side a little confused and bemused at the same time.

“Well, Honey… we have been together for a long time.. I assumed we would get married one day. And again, when we do you HAVE to wear that.” You walked up to the shivering man and lock your arms around his neck. “Maybe not for too long though.. seeing how it looks.. I might not be able to stop myself from-“

“OKAY Y/N! That’s enough for now! I can’t handle any more of your flirting!”

You would think he’d be used to it by now 🤷‍♀️

Sabo- “Oh? How forward of you y/n” he smirks. He’s looking deep into your eyes, the most adoring look on his face. “Am I to presume this is your way of proposing? I mean I wanted to be the one to do it, but how can I resist when my beautiful girl is the one doing it? I guess I’ll have to give you this so you can do it right.” Sabo digs in his pockets for a moment before pulling out a small square box. He’s a smart man. He knew a long time ago that he was going to marry you. He was just waiting for the right time to ask.

Law- Man CHOKES on air for a second and has to fight for his life to regain composure.

Of course you would think of marriage. That’s a very normal sequence of a relationship. You meet, become friends, date, and then.. well he honestly hadn’t considered it. Law liked how things were. He didn’t see a reason to change it. Law liked staying up late to wait for your knock on the office door, you peeking your head in and asking if he’s busy. Of course he was busy, he was always busy, but he liked when you would intrude, when you’d ask how his studying was going and he really liked when you would push the book away and slide into his lap to spend the rest of the night kissing him all over.

Remembering all these nights brings a smile to his face. He knew he’d be an idiot to let that go. Maybe having those nights for the rest of his life wouldn’t be horrible.

Ace- After hearing those words from your mouth Ace freezes in place and for the first time in his life, Ace is praying to gods he didn’t believe in and begging them to keep you close to him for as long as possible.

When Ace first asked you to be his girlfriend he had a hard time believing that you said yes. It was like he was dreaming and has been dreaming ever since. The thought of you wanting more, a marriage, is unfathomable to him at first.

It would be a lie to say he’s never thought about it, but the times he has only broke his heart. “Don’t kid yourself” he’d think. “There’s no way she’ll stay with me that long. It’s only a matter of time before she realizes I don’t deserve her. That I’m not worthy of her love. That there has to be someone better for her out there.”

Overall what mattered to Ace most is that you’re happy. “No matter how little, any time would be enough with her” he often thought to himself. At least he got to touch you, kiss you, make you smile. He cherishes every second as much as he can. Anytime you throw your head back in laughter, anytime you kissed him, anytime you said “I love you.” he knew these would be the moments he would look back on when he thought of you. On those days where he’s missing you a little more and you’re long gone with the actual love of your life.

So for you to bring up marrying him so casually sent his brain into overdrive. It would take Ace a few minutes to realize you had actually said that, and that he wasn’t hallucinating. It’s truly hard for him to comprehend that you love him so much. He would ask if you were joking at least five times before it really settled in. Once it did he would be elated, jumping around like a little kid, his mouth moving a mile a minute going on about how much he loves you and planting kisses on every seeable inch of skin.

Ace finally stops jumping around like an excited puppy to pull you in closer. He reaches his warm, strong arms around you and pulls you in closer. With a final kiss on your cheek, Ace rests his head on your shoulder.

“You’d marry me?” He’d ask looking up with a goofy grin.

“Ace.. we’ve been dating for forever and I love you.. why wouldn’t I want to marry you someday?”

That was all Ace needed. He’s running to the nearest town to sell everything on his body if he needs to. He doesn’t care the cost, he needs a ring and needs it now. Ace now has to propose as soon as possible.

Now that he knows you’d actually marry him he’s locking you down before you get the chance to rethink…not that you ever would.

[mitsureigen]

Ace x Reader ― reunion; kisses

part of the cozy holidays event

🎁 ― anonymous tags: sfw, childhood friends to lovers, GN!reader, no use of y/n

“You saved my little brother’s life. He never stops talking about you.” 

Portgas D. Ace took off his hat and bowed slightly to the Captain of the Red Hair Pirates, “I just wanted to thank you in person.” 

You didn’t expect to see him here, of all places. 

He had not seen you yet, hidden among the onlookers. Your heart was hammering in a ferocious beat – it had been since the moment you saw that familiar wide-brimmed orange hat, that silky black hair, that freckled face, that cheesy smile.

God, you missed him.

He wasn’t the lanky boy you knew anymore. He was a bit taller now, and his hair was longer than it was the last time you saw him. He was also… bigger. It was hard to see underneath that cloak he was wearing, but you were sure he had put on some muscles. 

You wanted to call out to him, to surge forward and hold him, but you held yourself back out of respect for this monumental exchange between the Super Rookie and the Emperor. 

Shanks’ frown turned into a wide grin, his laughter echoing in the dark cave, “You’re Luffy’s brother? I didn’t know he had one!”

Suddenly, Shanks turned and called out your name, “You know this guy? You used to hang around Luffy too, right?”

The crowd of Red Hair Pirates parted to let you through, and Ace’s eyes widened in disbelief as he finally noticed you. His lips formed your name though no sound came out, shell-shocked at this happenstance that was just too good to be true. 

“Is that really you?” He said when he finally found his voice. 

You felt tears of joy threatening to spill out as you grinned, “It is!”

You were practically bouncing on the balls of your feet as you looked up at Shanks, your eyes silently asking for permission. 

Shanks sighed, smiling and giving you a nod in Ace’s direction, “Go ahead.”

You thanked him before running toward Ace and launching yourself into his arms. He caught you firmly, laughing while spinning you around a few times before setting you down gently.

“I can’t believe it’s actually you!” He exclaimed breathlessly, “What? How? What happened since I left Dawn Island?”

You opened your mouth to explain, but before you could get any word out, Shanks interrupted with a shouted order to his crew, “Prepare a feast!”

“You’re welcome here," he told Ace, giving him a friendly pat on the back. "Tell me all about your adventures.”

As the Red Hair Pirates and the Spade Pirates partied the night away, exchanging stories over shared bottles of sake, Ace found you among the crowd and dragged you outside into the quiet night.

Away from the noise, you suddenly became very much aware of Ace’s warmer-than-average hand holding your cold one. 

He found a wide, flat rock near the cave’s entrance and swiftly removed his cloak. He wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath, and you briefly – and hopefully subtly – glanced at his newly exposed torso.

Yep, he had definitely put more muscles on. 

He laid his cloak on top of the rock and sat down, patting the space next to him.

“Aren’t you cold?” You asked as you plopped down beside him.

Ace lit the tip of his index finger on fire in answer.

“Right,” you chuckled, “Sorry. Stupid question.”

“So, how did you end up with an Emperor of the Sea?”

That’s Ace, you thought. Always straight to the point. 

“Not long after you set off to sea, I booked a passage to Loguetown. I was planning to find work with some traveling merchants there, but I was attacked by a bunch of nasty pirates who wanted to rob me.” 

Ace’s brows furrowed in concern, but you continued on with your story, “Shanks happened to be in town on some business, and he saved me. He recognized me as the kid who used to play with Luffy in Windmill Village and took me in. I’ve been sailing with his crew ever since.”

“Not officially part of the crew though, I’m just tagging along.” You quickly clarified, “Being in an Emperor’s crew was never part of my plan. Shanks is just kind enough to let me stay in his ship until I figure out what’s next.”

Truthfully, you didn’t know (and didn’t want to think about) what was next.

At first, you just wanted to be a merchant – open your own business and travel island to island in the East. 

You didn’t even know why you took up on Shanks’ offer to sail with him in the first place. 

Seeing Ace again, however, had opened a tiny door in the deepest part of your heart, out of which a voice whispered that maybe, it was because you knew that going into the Grand Line was the only way you could even have the slightest chance of ever meeting Ace again. 

But whatever the reason, you had now gotten a taste of the Grand Line – of piracy and the thrill of the adventure. You weren’t sure you could go back to the little corner of the world that was the East Blue. 

Not wanting to dwell on that much longer, you turned the conversation to the man sitting beside you, “Well, how have you been? You’re a big-name pirate now! A captain of your own crew!”

“Yeah, they’re a great bunch.” He chuckled as he started telling you about his crew. He told you about how he met his first mate, Masked Deuce, who you briefly met earlier. He told you about all of his adventures, right from the moment he left Dawn Island until how he got here, at this moment. 

At the end of his story, he just stared at you silently. You shrunk bashfully as he drank you in, slowly taking inventory of what had or had not changed since you last saw each other. 

Finally, he simply said, “I really missed you.” 

You could see your breath as you let it out into the cold air, “I missed you too, Ace.”

He took your hand, stroking his thumb gently across your knuckles. He struggled with his next words, hesitating on whether or not he should say it.

“I think about that night a lot, you know.”

A shaky breath left your mouth as the memories flashed through your mind.

Of his hands, his touch, his lips.

You remembered how he had finally kissed you for the first time on that night before he set out to sea on his seventeenth birthday. How you had yelled at him because how dare he kiss you now when he’d be gone tomorrow. How you had kissed him back anyway. How he had pressed his lips to yours again and again and again until the sun rose, with a promise that he’d see you again someday. 

You looked away, unable to meet his fiery eyes as you admitted, “Me too.” 

Ace took your chin between his fingers, guiding your gaze back to him. 

When you met his eyes again, they were mere inches away from yours. 

The hand on your chin moved to cup your cheek. You didn’t realize you were also leaning in toward him – drawn by an irresistible need to be closer – until your nose bumped his. 

He was so close that you could count the freckles dotted across his face.

The rapid beat of your heart consumed your being. Your thoughts were filled with him, and only him. 

Ace sighed out your name desperately, his lips nearly brushing yours, “Can I–?“

“Yes.”

You couldn’t tell if it was you or him who finally closed the minuscule distance between you, but you couldn’t care less. You couldn’t care about anything else when his lips were on yours, filled with all of the longing and pent-up desire that only grew more intense the longer you were apart. 

His lips were as soft as you remembered, but they moved more surely, more confidently, than the last time you kissed, on that night that seemed so long ago. 

Your hand roamed his defined abs, up to his chest, before settling at the back of his neck. Ace’s arms circled your waist, dragging you in until you were practically sitting on his lap. 

The cold winter night just urged you to get closer and closer – to press your body against his and bask in the rising temperature of his bare skin. 

You gasped as his tongue flicked out to tease you, and he took advantage of your parted lips to deepen the kiss. 

You were drunk on the taste of him, sweeter and more potent than the most expensive sake you’ve ever had. 

The need for air had you panting slightly as you pulled back, sweat dotting your brows. 

“You’re so hot, Ace.” 

“Yeah?” He claimed your lips again in a short but heated kiss, “You think so?”

“No,” You said, abruptly pulling away from him, “I mean you’re literally hot.” 

He jumped up as if woken up from a trance, quickly moving away from you. It was then that you noticed that the sleeve of your coat had started catching on fire. 

Ace frantically stripped the coat off you and plunged it into the snow, but his fire had done its damage. You looked pitifully at the unsalvageable scorched sleeve. Guess you needed a new coat. 

“S-sorry!” Ace’s whole face, no, even his neck and torso, were bright red, “Sometimes that happens when I’m too, uh… excited.”

You laughed, burying your burning face in your hands, secretly pleased that you could get the mighty Fire Fist so worked up that he briefly lost control of his powers. 

“C’mere, Hotstuff.” You beckoned him closer, “You ruined my coat, now you gotta keep me warm.”

He sat back down, immediately enveloping your body with his. You sighed in pleasure as you settled into his warm embrace, laying your head on his chest. 

You never wanted to let go.

You sat together like that for minutes, or maybe hours. No words were exchanged, but it was a comfortable silence, broken only by the rustle of the trees and the whistle of the winds.

After what felt like an eternity, Ace’s arms tightened around you, “Come with me.”

You swore your heart stopped for a second there. 

“Join my crew. Or don’t. You can just stay on my ship – I don’t care as long as you’re by my side.” Ace ranted in one breath, his anxiety on full display as he awaited your answer. 

“Ace,” you finally said, “It’s not that simple.” 

“Why can’t it be that simple?” He said softly, letting his forehead fall against yours, “I don’t think I can stand being apart from you again.”

You closed your eyes as you sighed, already feeling your walls cracking, but still refusing to let them crumble completely, “Let me think about it.”

He nodded, “I leave tomorrow morning. I’ll be waiting for you at the coast.” 

Ace draped his cloak on you, and you thanked him with one last peck on his lips. You walked towards the encampment of the Red Hair Pirates, hugging the cloak tighter to fight the freezing winds. It smelled like him. 

You let yourself imagine what it would be like to sail on Ace’s ship – to have him by your side at all times. To discover new islands and have adventures with him. To fall asleep next to him and wake him up with kisses. 

You realized that the decision had been made by your heart all along, ever since the moment you saw him, even before he extended his offer. You were a fool to think that your brain had any say in this at all.

Your feet had unwittingly carried you to Shanks’ tent, and you knew what you had to do.

“Shanks?” You called, “You awake?”

A groan from inside the tent told you that he was at least conscious. There was no telling how many barrels of alcohol he had consumed at the party. 

“Come in,” he croaked.

Shanks took one look at you and sighed. 

The Captain looked quite disheveled, but was surprisingly coherent when he said, “You’re going with him, aren’t you?” 

“Are you using future sight on me?!” 

He eyed your mussed-up hair and swollen lips, “Darling, I didn’t need to.”

You felt your face heat up in embarrassment as Shanks chuckled.

“I saw how you looked at him, kid,” he added on a more serious note, “And I saw how he looked at you.” 

“I think I might love him, Shanks.” You said, surprising yourself. Your voice was barely audible even in the quiet tent. 

“I mean, I used to have a massive crush on him back when we were teenagers. But, seeing him again… it’s like everything just clicked.”

Shanks just nodded in understanding, “So this is it, isn’t it? Your ‘next’.” 

“I think it is.”

“Go. Be with him.” His eyes were soft as he smiled at you, “Be happy. You deserve it.”

You crushed him in a hug, “Thanks for everything, Shanks.”

You choked up as you felt his one arm tighten around your back.

It was not easy, packing up everything and saying goodbye to the crew that has become your family these past few years. 

But as you trudged toward the coast, you felt your heart growing bigger, making room for a new home, a new family, and a new adventure. 

For the first time, instead of dread, you felt excited for what would come next.

a/n: this event was supposed to be max 1k drabbles, but alas, i was carried away (again). this was my first time writing for ace, and i actually felt quite happy with how this turned out! i hope you all enjoyed it and pleeease let me hear your thoughts in the comments or tags <3

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ main event page || event masterlist ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

[mitsureigen]

little white lies

summary: miya atsumu needs to find a date for his cousin’s wedding, or risk getting hounded by all his relatives prying into his business. unless said business is you—in which case, he’s all for it. maybe he can work up the courage to ask you out for real while he’s at it.

⇢ pairing: miya atsumu x fem!reader ⇢ genres: fluff, mild angst, best friends to lovers au, fake dating au, idiots to idiots in love, debatable attempts at comedy were made ⇢ word count: 9.2k ⇢ warnings: profanity, one (1) scene where atsumu is shirtless

Miya Atsumu acknowledges the fact that he has made several stupid decisions throughout the course of his life. 

There was the time he decided that dipping waffles in hot sauce would make for a tasty food combination. (It did not, and he ended up lying in bed with a stomach ache for three days with a grumbling Osamu looking after him). Then there was that incident where he proudly claimed he could crush an entire watermelon with his bare hands. (He could not, and Suna had laughed his ass off when Aran easily demonstrated the same feat). 

And then, there was the time he tried to comfort you after you watched Hachiko Monogatari together. You’d been sniffling quietly, your eyes red and puffy, when he awkwardly handed you a tissue and said, “‘S okay. The dog’s probably acted in better movies.”  

You’d stared at him, horrified, before bursting into tears. Osamu had walked in just in time to witness you chuck a pillow at Atsumu’s head, calling him an emotionally inept moron; he’d laughed so hard, he dropped the tub of ice cream he was holding and got mint chocolate chip all over the carpet. Atsumu still cringes whenever he thinks of it.

Nothing much has changed in Atsumu’s life. He still has a massive crush on you, and he still makes stupid decisions.

What transpired in the Miya twins’ childhood home’s sitting room fifteen minutes ago is a testament to this tragic fact.

When the Miya brothers’ cousin, Shohei, called them up to invite them to his wedding taking place in two weeks, Atsumu and Osamu were nothing short of elated. Shohei video-called them, and for a good five minutes, all Atsumu did was scream incoherently when he announced that the wedding date had been fixed. Osamu promised to close Onigiri Miya on the Saturday two weeks hence, and Atsumu made a mental note to ask Meian if he could take the weekend off.

Shohei then turned the phone to their grandmother, sitting on her favourite armchair with the pink satin cushion, wrinkles by the corners of her eyes and sagging skin by her cheeks. Atsumu’s heart lifted at the sight of her—he was her favourite grandson, after all—and when she smiled at the twins, her lips were slightly puckered because she didn’t have her dentures in yet. 

But that wasn’t the important bit. It shouldn’t have been what Atsumu focused on most, as he opened his mouth to tease her. He should have been focusing on the knowing, youthful gleam in the Miya household’s matriarch’s eyes—a gleam that spelled trouble when she set her gaze straight at him.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Grandma Miya herself,” Atsumu drawled.

“Grandma Miya won’t be living for much longer,” she retorted, not one to be outdone by her own grandson.

Osamu had frowned. “Don’t say things like that, Grandma. It’s superstitious.”

Shohei had sighed dramatically, making a face at Osamu. “She does it all the time now. You should hear her go on and on. It’s good that you’re getting married, Shohei. This old woman won’t live for much longer, but at least I can see one of my grandsons getting married. Shame on the twins for making me live in suspense!” He said the last bit with an imitation of Grandma Miya’s toothless drawl, and it drew out a giggle from Atsumu and a swat on the shoulder to Shohei from the woman herself.

“Maybe I do have a girl in mind, Grandma,” Atsumu said on instinct, waggling his eyebrows. “I just haven’t told anyone yet.”

Grandma Miya’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? Is she nice?”

“The best,” he had promised. “You’ll love her.”

Beside him, Osamu had gone very still. Even Shohei quietened down, letting Atsumu and their grandmother talk. In hindsight, Atsumu probably should have realised what a horrific blunder he was making, but he had a habit of letting his mouth run loose and this was one of those times.

Grandma Miya’s eyes had lit up. She had lifted the corners of her mouth into such a wide, hopeful smile, that Atsumu felt a twinge of guilt deep in his chest for lying to her. He couldn’t take back his words, however, because Grandma Miya excitedly clasped her fingers together and said, “You’ll bring her along to Shohei’s wedding, won’t you? She must meet the rest of the family. It’ll be nice for Sakura to meet her, too.”

Shohei nodded. Sakura was his future wife, a beautiful and kind lady who complemented Atsumu’s cousin perfectly. “Sakura would love to meet someone that’s going to be part of our family.”

Osamu didn’t say anything. When Atsumu looked at him, he had his lips pressed together in a thin line. “Uh—” he began.

“No hesitating,” Grandma Miya had said firmly. “Tell her to come along. It will be fun.”

Atsumu couldn’t deny that; events that took place within the Miya family were always fun. But he couldn’t exactly create a girlfriend out of nothing, could he? Belatedly, Atsumu felt the guilt and horror of his words seep into his brain. He flashed a panicked look at his brother, but Osamu only shook his head and didn’t say anything. 

He looked back into his phone screen, at his grandmother’s happy expression. If there was one thing Atsumu hated, it was letting down the people important to him.

Meekly, he nodded and forced a smile to his face. “Of course, Grandma. Don’t say I don’t do things for you.”

“Silly child,” said Grandma Miya affectionately, and that had been that.

Atsumu has since paced in front of the living room couch exactly eight times after Osamu pressed end on the call. He twirls in his spot, ready for his ninth walk around the living room. His brother sits on the sofa with one leg thrown up, watching him amusedly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Okay,” Osamu interjects. “Swearing isn’t gon’ help your situation.”

“What else can I do?” Atsumu wails pathetically, flopping onto the sofa next to his brother. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Glad to know you’re aware.”

“Samu, what do I do?” Atsumu leans his elbows on his knees and holds his hand in his hands. “‘m so screwed.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you decided to get Grandma’s hopes up for nothin’.”

Atsumu huffs, annoyed at both himself and his brother for being so unhelpful. “I know that, asshole. I jus’ meant— What the fuck do I do about it now?”

Osamu pats his brother on the shoulder, a sympathetic look on his face. “Tsumu, I can think of only one solution.”

“What?”

“You need to find yourself a girlfriend.”

Atsumu wrinkles his nose when you wave a bottle of some sort of bubbly, green-coloured concoction at his face. It looks disgusting even through the translucent plastic, and he has no doubt that it’ll taste twice as bad.

“Eugh. What’s that?”

“Wow. It’s so nice to see you too, Atsumu. I’ve only just flown back from halfway across the world after two weeks. No big deal at all,” you deadpan, staring at him.

“Yeah, I’m so happy you’re back, but what is that, and is it for me?”

Atsumu is glad you’re back—you’d gone overseas on your first ever business trip at the company you work at, and he’d missed your presence at the Tokyo apartment right next to his. He tries to verbalise it, but truthfully, his attention is solely fixed on the green muck you’re holding out to him.

“It is, actually,” you reply, shoving it into his waiting hands so he can scrutinise it better. You turn back and rummage through your open suitcase, pulling out an identical bottle—only this one is filled with something that looks like a cross between a squashed pumpkin and a gruesome shade of brown he doesn’t want to define. “And this one’s for Osamu. Can you give it to him the next time you go back to Hyogo?”

He lets out a sound of disgust, puffing out his cheeks and blowing a raspberry at you. “You couldn’t have gotten us somethin’ more… eatable?”

“Edible, Atsumu,” you correct, walking around the luggage strewn about your living room and plopping down on your sofa with a grunt. “This is what’s popular everywhere now. Apparently.”

“That doesn’t sound very optimistic,” he points out, sitting down next to you. Atsumu holds the drink bottle close to his face and squints at the ingredients printed on the back in a tiny font. “Is that… spinach?”

“Yeah.”

“And…” he continues, “kale? What’s a kale?”

“It’s some kind of leaf? Kinda like spinach,” you say, shrugging. 

“Oh, wonderful. This is a cocktail for cows.”

You huff out a soft laugh, shoulders shaking with the movement. Atsumu grins, pleased that he’s made you smile. 

“It’s supposed to be healthy, Tsumu. And you’re a professional volleyball player so I figured you’d drink stuff like this.”

“Sounds like a nightmare.” Atsumu shudders, but pockets the bottle anyway. It bulges out of the side of his cargo pants and he might look a little silly, but it’s really the thought that counts; the fact that you’d bought this drink with him in mind makes his heart rate spike. He nods at the muddy orange drink you left on the floor, meant for Osamu. “What’s in that one?”

“Carrot and squash, if I remember correctly.”

Atsumu gags. “Did’ya pick the worst flavours or somethin’? You say this is popular?”

You nod, a little embarrassed. “They were selling it everywhere I went!” you defend. “I just figured it was, like, the thing, or whatever.”

“If me and the team promoted this, it’d be sold out in no time,” he says thoughtfully. “Even if it tastes like a gourmet meal for goats.”

“So humble.” You roll your eyes, letting your head fall back on the couch cushion. 

Your airport clothes—a hoodie and jeans—stick uncomfortably to your skin after hours of being airborne, and you scratch your elbow. Atsumu thinks it must be annoying; you must be itching to peel off your clothes and take a warm shower.

But first, Miya Atsumu needs to ask you out.

He tries not to let the wording mess with his head. He’s doing this for his grandmother, and most certainly not because of the self-indulgent fantasies his mind conjures up for him when he’s asleep. Dreams of holding your hand, walking through the cherry blossoms together, kissing your cheek and taking in your delighted gasp—they haunt him even in his waking moments, and Atsumu aches to make them turn into a reality.

He acknowledges that he is a coward in some ways. This is one of them.

“Hey…” he begins, and then trails off, unsure.

“Hm?”

“That bottle of muck you got for Osamu—” Atsumu gulps, ignoring the hammering of his heart inside his chest. “Think he’d like it more if you gave it to him yourself.”

You sigh. “I would love to, Atsumu, but I don’t know when I’ll be going to Hyogo next. I don’t want that milkshake to stay rotting in my fridge for, like, six months.”

“Well… I’m goin’ there next Saturday. Wanna come with?”

“I don’t know…”

“C’mon. It’s Shohei’s wedding. You can’t miss it. Grandma Miya specifically told me to tell you to get your ass down there.”

It’s a lie that slips easily through his teeth, but he’s not exactly wrong, is he? Just—bending the truth a little. Grandma Miya did tell him to bring his girlfriend with him, and if he thinks about it, you are his girl friend, aren’t you? With a space in between the two words, but that’s just semantics. Atsumu ignores the voice in the back of his mind that tells him he’s coming up with excuses that he used to think of when he was in elementary school. 

“I’ll think about it—”

“You have to,” Atsumu implores, briefly letting go of his pride in favour of convincing you to come with him to his hometown. “It’ll be a nice break. You can meet Samu and Shohei. Have fun at a wedding—you know how fun Miya weddings are. Get dressed up, dance around a bit. And Grandma would be ecstatic if you came.”

“Ecstatic…” you echo, an amused smile flickering on your face. “Did Osamu teach you that word?”

“Yes,” he says immediately. “But that’s not the point! The point is, I want your company for Shohei’s wedding.”

Atsumu waits for his words to sink in. He notices your sharp inhale when he emphasises on the fact that he wants you there. This one is the truth, and nothing but; there is no one else he would rather go to his cousin’s wedding with. 

For all the lies he’s spouted out this afternoon, some part of Miya Atsumu wants you to recognise that he’s not lying this time.

“So, please,” he continues quietly, “will you come with me to Shohei’s wedding?”

You look away, teeth worrying your bottom lip. A moment later, you nod.

“...Fine. But you’re paying for the train tickets.”

Atsumu’s exhale is both relieved and anticipatory.

It takes exactly two hours and forty-six minutes to get to Hyogo from Tokyo by train. Atsumu purchases the tickets, partly because you’d asked him to, but mostly because of the steady feeling of guilt gnawing at his chest. He even purchases tickets for the first-class coach, because he wants you to be as comfortable as possible, even going so far as to give up the window seat for the aisle one.

“You’re being weirdly nice,” you note suspiciously, as he hefts your suitcase onto the rack above. 

Atsumu grunts with exertion, his muscles rippling under his shirt. He takes in the small bob of your throat at the sight with a gleeful sense of pride. “Dunno what you’re talkin’ about. I’m always nice.”

Luggage secured successfully, he rubs the palms of his hands on his jeans and settles down into the seat next to you. The plush cushion is soft and velvety to the touch, a dark shade of blue that’s soothing to the eye. As he looks around, he can’t help but notice that the rest of the passengers consist of old people—senior citizens, with wobbly knees and wrinkled skin. Old and married, they must be on their way back to their hometown after visiting their children and grandchildren in Tokyo. As far as he can tell, you and Atsumu are the only two people here who don’t have a relationship beyond the platonic. There’s the occasional family of four: a tired husband, an even more tired wife, and two boisterous children. One child, no more than four years old, with her hair done up in two pigtails, points a chubby finger at him.

“Mama, look! That man looks like Pikachu!” she exclaims loudly.

You giggle at the chagrined look on Atsumu’s face, and his heart lifts slightly at the sound.

“Komi! Shhh. It’s rude to point at people.” Her mother pulls her hand down, giving Atsumu an apologetic bow of her head.

“She has a point, I guess,” you whisper to your friend, nudging his shoulder.

“The point being…?”

“You do look like Pikachu.”

“Huh?”

“Your hair, Tsumu.” You grin mischievously. “It’s yellow. You’re practically halfway to having electric powers.”

Atsumu flushes. He runs a hand through his dyed-blond hair self-consciously. “That bad, eh?”

“I don’t know,” you reply, shrugging. “Your fans seem to like it.”

“And you?” he asks softly. “You’ve never told me what you think.”

You hum and look away, fiddling with your phone case. “If you like it, then I like it.”

“That’s not even an answer.” Still, Atsumu will admit that your reply makes him happy.

“It is.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“It’s—”

“You both argue like Mama an’ Papa.”

Startled, you and Atsumu look in front of you. Komi pokes her head out from the seat in front of you, a wide grin on her lips. You stifle a laugh; it turns out Komi and her brother have occupied the seats in front of you and him. The tips of Atsumu’s ears turn crimson—whether with embarrassment at being caught bickering by a four-year-old, or at Komi’s previous comment about his hair, he isn’t sure.

“Hello, there,” you greet the small girl with a grin as wide as hers. “Komi, isn’t it?”

She nods, her pigtails rocking with the movement. “‘m Komi! An’ my brother is Kento!”

“It’s very nice to meet you both, Komi and Kento,” you say, solemnly holding out a hand for her to shake. Although you haven’t met her brother, you can hear his excited babbles from his location on his mother’s lap. “I’m ____, and this is my friend, Atsumu.”

“But you can call me Tsum,” Atsumu supplies, knowing it must be hard for the little one to pronounce his name properly.

Komi shakes your hand with the sort of vigour that one only has at the young age of four, and then glances expectantly at Atsumu. He holds out his hand as well, and the little girl grips it with all the strength she can muster. Her soft palm is sticky; once she releases it, he tries to discreetly rub his own palm on the seat in front of him, garnering a frown from you.

Slowly, the train begins to chug forward.

“Tsum and ____,” Komi says, “are you both like Mama an’ Papa?”

“Like… Mama and Papa?” you repeat, tilting your head.

“Yeah! Like, sleepin’ in the same room an’ givin’ each other kissies while cooking dinner!”

Atsumu gapes at the child. He feels his face heat up at the insinuation—if Komi thought his hair was like Pikachu earlier, then now she’d surely think his entire face was akin to Charmeleon, or something of that sort. Unable to answer, he glances at you.

Your face settles in an expression that he can only describe as pained amusement. Your lips twitch up, finding the whole situation funny, but you pick at your cuticles at the same time. A chuckle forces its way out of his mouth.

“That’s right, Komi,” Atsumu says. “Except we aren’t… married yet.”

The girl tilts her head, confused. “Wha’s that mean?”

“It means” —Atsumu pauses, just enough to notice the stupefied glower you give him— “that we haven’t promised each other what your Mama and Papa promised each other.”

“Oh!” Komi gasps, her eyes lighting up with excitement. She grips the seat with her tiny hands, clearly thrilled at his words. “Like a pinkie promise?”

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Atsumu scolds himself yet again for letting his mouth run loose all the damn time. How is he supposed to break this poor, innocent girl’s heart by telling her that you and Atsumu aren’t married? Heck, you aren’t even dating, and he doesn’t even know if you want to get married to someone eventually. He wishes he could blabber about his feelings for you directly to you—but it appears that he is tongue-tied only around you, as well. The irony isn’t lost on him.

Regardless, he cannot take back his words now, which means he must plough on.

Ignoring your pointed glare, he nods. “Exactly. You’re very smart, aren’t you, Komi?”

“‘m the third in my class!” The girl beams proudly.

“Really?” Atsumu gasps. “I was only fifth!”

“From the bottom,” you interject, seemingly having finally found your voice.

“Don’t listen to her,” he says. “She’s just trying to make me look stupid.”

Komi giggles. “Papa says that’s a bad word.”

“And Papa is right.” Atsumu nods. “Idiot is also a bad word.”

“You’re so brilliant, Tsumu,” you mutter. “Teaching her bad words by saying they’re bad. Genius.”

“See, Komi, now what ____ did is something called sarchasm—”

You let out an odd noise, something in between an exasperated sigh and an amused giggle.

“...And now she’s laughin’ at me,” Atsumu finishes, staring at Komi and shaking his head ruefully. “Can’t believe I’m payin’ for this one’s train tickets.”

Komi’s curious gaze darts between you and Atsumu, a little confused but wholly entertained. “Stop, stop, stop!” She holds her palms out as though she’s a judge imparting all her four-years worth of knowledge to pass her verdict. “Both of you need to make a pinkie promise.”

You blink. “What for, Komi?”

“To always love each other. Forever an’ ever, until you both die!” she declares seriously.

Atsumu’s smile turns soft around the edges. Ah, the child-like innocence that vanishes so quickly. He doesn’t remember much of his own childhood—it’s mostly just a blur of juvenile volleyball and fistfights with Osamu and Aran, and playdates where you would come over with your mother and the three of you would romp around with the twins’ toy dinosaurs—but he hopes he had the same sort of faith in the world that little Komi so proudly presents to him. 

He turns to you, fingers already twitching with the urge to wrap his little finger around yours. “I think you have a point, Komi. Whaddya say?”

“I agree,” you say quietly, shifting slightly in your seat.

Atsumu gently takes your hand in his, hooking his pinkie finger with yours. Your skin is soft, a little bit clammy, but so is his. He swallows thickly, nervous for no reason at all, and says:

“____, I promise to love you forever and ever, until we both die.”

“I, um” —you inhale shakily— “I promise to do the same.”

He squeezes lightly and then lets go, letting his hand drop down to his lap. It was only a brief moment of contact—barely thirty seconds—but Atsumu’s finger twitches again; he aches to prolong the contact, to hold not just your finger but your entire palm, encase it within his hand’s confines, and never let you go.

“No, you didn’ do it properly!” Komi whines, her chubby fingers tightening around the headrest. 

The volleyball player’s gaze snaps back to his small friend’s face. Gruffly, still wary, he asks, “What did we do wrong, Komi?”

“Mama an’ Papa always make me an’ Kento kiss after we fight! You should do the same!”

“But we haven’t fought, Komi,” you try to gently persuade her from exacerbating your situation. 

It doesn’t work. Komi is adamant, as most children are, and Atsumu senses the beginning of a tantrum. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Komi and Kento’s parents napping in their seats, probably taking a well-deserved break from handling two kids. He doesn’t want to wake them up, all because he couldn’t satisfy their daughter’s harmless demands.

“All right, all right,” he says, flashing Komi a winning smile. “We’ll kiss to seal the deal, ‘kay?”

Next to him, he hears your sharp intake of breath. Atsumu’s heart thuds in his chest, a marching band of his own. The words just slipped out—as they always do. It is his fatal flaw.

Before he can turn towards you, he freezes. 

You kiss him on his cheek. 

You kissed him.

He can feel remnants of your lip balm on his skin, a slightly oily residue that he doesn’t bother wiping away. His brain feels like it’s a laptop with the Blue Screen Of Death causing it to cease all functions; blood rushes to his ears.

“There,” you tell Komi with an air of finality. “Pinkie promise made properly.”

The girl giggles and claps her hands, but he can tell she’s getting tired as well. With one last parting smile, she turns back around, presumably to nap for the one hour of travel left.

Atsumu’s cheek tingles at the spot where you kissed him. He resists the urge to brush his fingers against it, conscious of the fact that you might find it weird. Instead, he forces down the giddy smile that threatens to overcome his face and joins you in silently observing the countryside whip past him through the window.

Jealousy is an emotion Miya Atsumu grapples with rather frequently, and it’s no exception when he sees his brother tackle you into a hug as soon as he lays eyes upon you both.

Meanwhile, he’s left standing at the genkan, carrying both your bags and suitcases. Osamu doesn’t even spare him a look. Atsumu scowls; is this what their brotherly love has been reduced to?

“Don’ mind me,” he announces, toeing off his shoes and socks. “‘m just a luggage carrier.”

“Guest room’s all yours,” his brother says, arm still wrapped around your shoulder. 

You snicker at Atsumu’s disgruntled expression and he rolls his eyes. Hefting a bag on his shoulder, he smirks and shoots back, “Someone’s gotta be the useful one. Cookin’ isn’t gonna save your life.”

“Dinner’s on you, Tsumu,” Osamu calls out to his retreating back. “And then we’ll see who survives after eatin’ your food.”

Atsumu blanches, but he sees the amused tilt of your head and flashes a winning grin at you instead, trying to quell the envy that bubbles in his chest when he sees Osamu whisper something into your ear and you giggle. 

After depositing your bags in the guest room, Atsumu heads upstairs to put his own luggage away and wash up a little. He can hear the sounds of you and Osamu talking and laughing downstairs, taking the time to catch up on everything you’d missed in Hyogo district—about the twins’ mother and her little circle of friends, the news about when one of their neighbours threatened to cut down another person’s apple tree—and your delighted laugh sends a ripple of something warm down his spine. 

He knows he’s well and truly fucked when he thinks about how much he wishes he could be the one to draw those elated sounds out of your mouth.

Downstairs, you’re doubled over with laughter as Osamu regales you with the story of their Grandma Miya accidentally crashing the wrong knitting circle and not realising until three meetings in that they were discussing trashy romance webnovels instead of actually knitting. Atsumu lingers at the top of the stairs, listening to your guffaws. You snort, once, and it sends you and Osamu into peals of laughter again. His fingers curl around the bannister.

The volleyball player steels himself, plastering on a confident smile as he saunters down the stairs.

“Oi, what’s so funny?” he drawls. “Ya laughin’ without me now?”

“Just tellin’ her about Grandma’s new knitting club,” Osamu says. “She’s startin’ to think she can direct a romantic drama now.”

“I mean, she probably could,” you agree, smiling. “From what I know of her, your grandmother is a force.”

Atsumu scoffs, dropping into the armchair closest to you. He mutters, “A force that guilt-tripped me into bringin’ a date to the wedding.”

Osamu snickers. You tilt your head, curious. “A date for Shohei’s wedding?”

“Yeah. And if I show up without one, I’m doomed. Grandma’ll start parading me around to every eligible bachelorette she’s ever met—the neighbours, the cashier at the konbini I said looks cute, random strangers on the street.”

The corner of your mouth quirks up. “That doesn’t sound so bad. Maybe you’ll find someone perfect.”

Atsumu swallows down a groan. The last thing he needs is for you to think he’s taking his grandmother’s matchmaking seriously. “Nah, it’s a nightmare waiting to happen. Imagine Grandma introducin’ me to that one lady who brought natto salad to her friend’s birthday party.”

Osamu barks out a laugh. “Everyone ended up with really bad diarrhea that day,” he explains to you. “Guess Tsumu will hafta rely on me for cookin’ unless he wants bowel problems by the time he’s thirty.”

“As if,” Atsumu says quickly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Point is, I need someone to save me from this circus.”

“Hm, better start polishing your flirtin’ skills, Atsumu.” You give him a teasing smile.

His eyes lock with yours for a fraction of a second longer than he intends, and the words sit heavy on his tongue. You’re my date. I was thinkin’ of asking you. But his throat tightens; instead, he tosses a pillow at his twin brother to cover his nerves.

“You busy, Samu? Wanna be my date?” he jokes, deflecting easily.

Osamu catches the pillow without missing a beat, and then shudders. “Not a chance. The second they see me with you, they’ll think you’ve finally lost it.”

“Hasn’t he already?” you pipe up. 

Atsumu clutches his chest dramatically. “Even you, ____? Betrayed in my own home!”

“Technically, it’s Samu’s home.”

Osamu grins triumphantly. Atsumu sneers.

“Well, don’t worry ‘bout me,” he says, leaning back and stretching his arms behind his head. “I’ll find someone. Real classy. Someone who’ll shut Grandma up for a whole year.”

His brother rolls his eyes. “Sure you will, Tsumu.”

You glance at Atsumu again, lips pressed together in a thin line. There’s something indecipherable in your eyes, the way your forehead is creased ever-so slightly. Before he can say anything, Osamu’s phone rings. He excuses himself to take the call, leaving the two of you alone.

“Who’s the lucky fake date?” you ask after a beat. You don’t meet his gaze.

He rubs the back of his neck, debating his next move. His heart pounds as he tries to muster some semblance of courage, but all he manages is a lopsided grin and a shrug.

“Dunno. Guess I’ll know when I see her.”

“We have a problem.”

“We do?” Atsumu has only just woken up. His brain is still struggling to catch up with the rest of him; he blinks once, twice, waiting for your statement to sink in. 

“Get up, loser,” you say, walking into his bedroom like you own the place. You flick his duvet off of his body. “We’re going shopping.”

Atsumu sits up, pressing his palms to his face and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The duvet slips further down.

“Fuck!” you yelp, immediately turning around. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t see anythin’.”

A shiver ripples through his body. Without the warmth of his blanket cocooning his body, the cold of the morning seeps into his skin. He’s trying to figure out why, exactly, he’s being presented with a marvellous view of your back, and what you’re apologising for, when the chill makes him shiver again.

Oh. He looks down at himself. 

Atsumu didn’t wear a shirt to bed.

His cheeks flood with heat, the back of his neck prickling with embarrassment. “Er. I’m wearin’ pants,” he says, like that’s going to be of any help.

“I’m, um, going to leave,” you say. Your voice sounds stilted—likely due to being similarly embarrassed by Atsumu’s bare-chestedness. Atsumu grunts in agreement. You walk out slowly, gingerly tip-toeing over a discarded pair of sweatpants he left lying on the floor.

You shut the door behind you, face lowered, and exaggeratedly twist the doorknob until it lets out a click sound, as though you’re showing him that you have not seen anything indecent. As though his abs have personally offended you. Like you’re a National Geographic narrator documenting a rare, disgruntled creature in the wild. 

The shirtless Miya Atsumu, with its ruffled plumage and tragic morning breath, appears to challenge the peace of its habitat.

Ha. Wouldn’t that be a hoot.

To his credit, Atsumu gives himself five minutes before he flops onto his stomach and screams into his pillow. Then, he rises and rummages through his closet for a shirt—he settles for a grey one that he probably stole from Osamu’s closet during high school—and, still mortified, slips out of his bedroom and heads downstairs to see if breakfast is ready.

He finds his mother and you sitting side-by-side on cushions by the chabudai. It’s the usual motherly nonsense she always spouts whenever you come over—gushing over your job, asking about your parents, and, of course, wondering if you have a boyfriend yet.

“Not yet, Miya-san,” you reply politely, though Atsumu can tell you’re a little embarrassed. Your eyebrows furrow just slightly, and it’s always a tic you’ve had, Atsumu’s discovered.

“Oh, well, that’s too bad,” his mother says. “Beautiful girls like you should have boys tripping over their own two feet to date you.”

Atsumu is sure he’s tripped over his own two feet in front of you enough times by now for him to be able to date you. He clears his throat and puts a little swagger to his step when he sits down opposite you. “Missed me, Ma?”

“Slightly lesser than how much I missed ____,” she says.

“Just adopt her already, why don’t you?” Atsumu quips, rolling his eyes.

His mother actually seems to consider this, as she presses her lips together. “Marry one of the twins, ____. You know I would love to have you as a daughter-in-law.”

Your eyes widen, and you flounder, beseechingly locking eyes with Atsumu and begging him to help you out. He smiles a little. He remembers why he brought you here in the first place. His smile gets wiped out in an instant.

It’s not as though Miya Atsumu doesn’t want to spend time with you. He knows Shohei would love to have you at his wedding, and Hyogo is a beautiful place to be at this time of the year. But the thought that he needs you to be a scapegoat to appease Grandma Miya niggles at the back of his mind, unforgiving. He really should tell you, he thinks.

Thankfully, you’re saved from his mother’s matchmaking attempts by Osamu, who walks in balancing bowls of rice and miso soup. He sets them down on the table expertly—Onigiri Miya has trained him well—and plops down on a cushion next to his brother. 

“Sorry for bein’ late,” he says gruffly. “Forgot to add salt in the miso.”

It smells delicious. Atsumu has to admit that he’s missed his brother’s cooking. After surviving on a majority of meals that were either konbini snacks or cheap ramen in Tokyo, home-cooked food makes his stomach grumble in a good way.

The four of you chorus your gratitude for the meal with bowed heads and folded palms, and then dig in. Atsumu slurps up the miso soup, chewing on a piece of tofu. It’s heavenly—it really is, and he nudges his brother’s side with his elbow to convey it. Osamu nudges back, and the table is silent for some time.

“Oh, by the way,” his mother says, “we need to get your suits from the dry cleaners. I have to go help your aunt out with last-minute wedding preparations, so I need one of you to do it.”

“Not me,” Osamu says. “I’ve got a restaurant to run.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that, Osamu,” she continues, giving him a small smile. “That’s why I asked ____ to wake up Atsumu early today. Both of you still have the same build, so Atsumu can go to the tailor’s to see if it fits or if he needs any adjustments.”

“Oh,” says Atsumu. You don’t meet his gaze. “I didn’t know we had actual work to do today.”

“I also offered to buy ____ a dress, but she refused.” His mother casts a quick, affectionate glance at you. “So, Atsumu, I need you to buy her one, all right? Get her a gorgeous one.”

“O’course I will,” he says, quietly.

Osamu looks curiously between you both. “Didn’t ____ tell you all this when she came to wake you up, Tsumu?”

A wad of rice gets lodged in Atsumu’s throat. You accidentally inhale miso soup through your nose. Both of you cough and splutter.

Osamu frantically pats Atsumu’s back, while you, eyes watering, accept a glass of water from the twins’ mother. Something unfurls inside Atsumu’s chest at the thought of spending the whole day with you, getting his suit tailored and buying you a dress.  

It’s almost like you’re actually his date for his cousin’s wedding.

Is it weird that Miya Atsumu wants to see your reaction to him wearing a suit? Is he being presumptuous in the way he lifts his chin and puffs out his chest so that the tuxedo fits him better? What are your thoughts about men wearing tuxedos and ties, in general? Should he buy a tie that matches your dress?

This, and other such mysteries of life, are what the volleyball player ponders over in the tiny fitting room while one of the seamsters kneels in front of him and measures the length of his leg with measuring tape. 

Atsumu has to constantly remind himself that you don’t know he’s your date yet. The wedding is tomorrow. He doesn’t know if he has it in him to stick it out until then. 

“All done,” the seamster announces, getting back to his feet. “Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be able to alter this to the right size.”

“Thanks,” Atsumu mumbles, pulling back the curtain and heading outside. 

You’re sitting on one of the couches they’ve kept by the corner of the shop, scrolling through something on your phone. The bag with your new dress—his mother’s gift to you—is placed on the floor by your feet. He doesn’t know what the dress looks like; you’d insisted on buying it secretly because it was, apparently, embarrassing to go dress-shopping with a close friend who happens to be a well-built, devilishly handsome, popular, famous pro-volleyball player. 

Not that you said those words exactly, but Atsumu can fill in the blanks.

He plops down next to you, leaning back and circling his head to get rid of the cricks in his neck. You put your phone away and glance at him.

“Take a picture,” Atsumu says, not looking back at you. “Lasts longer.”

“If only your face actually looked good in photos.”

“My face looks excellent. Haven’t ya seen me and Bokuto in the Calpis advertisement?” It was a small gig they’d gotten right after the Olympics season. Kuroo had said it would make for good PR, and Atsumu and Bokuto jumped at the chance to have their small five minutes of fame. Shouyou had sulked about not being a part of it for two weeks straight afterwards.

“I have, actually,” you respond, crossing your arms over your chest. “You know I wouldn’t ever miss out on that. I’m surprised no one here’s recognised you yet.”

“Livin’ under a rock, the whole lot of them,” Atsumu mutters.

You laugh softly. “The fame’s gone to your head, Atsumu. Don’t forget me when you and the team go gallivanting across the country.”

“You know I wouldn’t ever be able to forget you,” he says, after a beat. “You’re, like, a part of me now.”

You blink. “That’s kind of weird.”

Atsumu’s cheeks burn. How is it that he always, always fumbles so much in front of you? It’s like his brain sees you and immediately decides to unplug itself for maintenance. He gulps, thinking of ways to salvage whatever dignity he has left.

“‘S not weird,” he forces out. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. I think you spent more time at our house durin’ elementary school than you did at your own.”

“Fair enough,” you acquiesce. Shifting slightly, you eye the bit of fabric from your dress that pokes out of the paper bag. “Still can’t believe your mom insisted on getting me a dress,” you murmur, lightly brushing your fingertips against the edge of the bag. “It’s a bit over-the-top, don’t you think?”

“She just likes you a lot,” he responds. “Honestly, I’m startin’ the think she likes you more than me or Osamu.”

“That’s not a very high bar.” You roll your eyes, but there’s no malice in the action. “But it’s probably ‘cause I didn’t dunk her favourite teapot into the toilet when I was seven.”

“That was an accident! And I apologised more than a hundred times!”

“Yeah, and I’m sure the apology totally made up for the fact that you made Osamu stick his hand down there and fish it out for you.”

“Why d’you always take his side?” Atsumu grumbles. “Can’t ever catch a break with both of you around, I swear.”

You lean back, shoulder brushing against his. Atsumu can feel your gaze roving over his face; he bites the inside of his cheek, feeling strangely self-conscious.

“Maybe,” you say, “I just enjoy making fun of you. You always make fun of me back. It’s nice.”

Atsumu swallows hard, trying to focus on anything else—the tacky wallpaper, the sound of pop music blaring from the shop next door. Anything but the way your words make his heart somersault, or the way your smile lingers for a second more than usual. 

“That’s cruel, yaknow,” he manages to say. “Gangin’ up on me all the time. Makes a guy feel unloved.”

You stay quiet, thoughtfully steepling your fingers under your chin. Atsumu glances at you from the corner of his eye. Your expression doesn’t betray anything, until you reach out and gently grasp his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. “Didn’t realise you didn’t like it.”

Miya Atsumu is certain—not for the first time in his life—that he’s utterly doomed. It’s a little bit pathetic, really. It started back in middle school, and still, somehow, he’s unable to move on. You’ve consumed him. Your thumb brushes over the veins on his wrist; he wonders if you can feel his pulse racing.

“Don’t stop,” he says, because what else does a fool in love say?

“Atsumu, I—”

You’re interrupted by the seamster, who calls Atsumu over to the register to finish his billing. He grits his teeth. This is the worst sort of interruption ever. He turns to face you properly, because maybe if he pretends he didn’t hear the tailor, you’ll tell him what you were about to say. 

But your face is carefully blank, your lips pressed together. “Go on,” you tell him. “Don’t forget to collect Osamu’s tux, too.”

“Yeah, okay.” Atsumu nods once, twice. He gently extricates his hand from your grasp, as much as he dislikes it. “I’ll, uh, go do that, then.”

“Okay.”

Atsumu hates this. He’s not sure if he even wants to attend the wedding anymore. All his relatives are going to heckle him about his love life—and that’s fine, he can deal with them. He just doesn’t want his grandmother’s face to crumple with disappointment on finding out her grandson’s whole “relationship” was a farce. Feeling sick to his stomach, he pays for the alterations done to his and his brother’s outfits, and gestures for you to accompany him outside. 

You don’t meet his eyes the entire way back home.

It’s the eve of the wedding reception, and Miya Atsumu can’t find you anywhere.

The reception hall is lovely. Golden lanterns hang from the ceiling, enveloping everyone in a soft, warm glow. Vases of peonies and cherry blossoms, intertwined with sprigs of baby’s breath, are placed on top of the soft linen covering each table. The delicate strains of a koto and shamisen ensemble weave through the air. The centerpiece stage, framed by cascading fairy lights and flowing silk, bear the names of the bride and the groom, written in exquisite calligraphy. An array of traditional Japanese sweets and cups of sake are placed on a long table by the corner of the hall.

Shohei and Sakura sit by the shintaku, looking resplendent in their outfits, surrounded by family members and friends. He’s already congratulated them, clapping his cousin on the back and winking proudly at Sakura. You’re nowhere near them, so he tries the snack table instead.

Atsumu hides his mounting worry by shoving a piece of mochi into his mouth. He racks his brain, trying to think of other possible hideouts where he can find you. It’s not like you to disappear like this—and it’s a shame, really, because all he wants is to be by your side this evening. Osamu is posing for a group photo with his second cousins and his mother is helping his aunt with the gift bags, but you’re not anywhere near them either.

He knows you won’t be at the smoking area where his uncle has held court all evening, but he decides to check anyway. Atsumu gives the area a cursory glance, confirming that you’re not among them, before hastily walking out. He curses under his breath, his usual confidence giving way to an unfamiliar, gnawing unease.

You’re supposed to be here. You said you’d be here.

He adjusts the lapels of his tailored suit and forces himself to think rationally. You’re probably just outside, he tells himself, getting some air or hiding from the relentless matchmaking attempts of meddlesome aunts. It’s probably fine. It has to be.

Atsumu’s footsteps turn towards the garden doors. His urgency is masked by the cocky, practiced demeanour he wears like a second skin.

“Atsumu, boy, where d’you think you’re running off to now?”

The volleyball player freezes mid-step. He exhales slowly and drags a hand through his meticulously styled hair before turning around.

Grandma Miya stands by the hall’s entrance, wearing a lavender kimono that glows under the warm lights. Her lacquered cane gleams as she taps it softly against the polished floor. Despite her diminutive frame, his grandmother commands the space effortlessly. Sharp eyes—so like his own—pin him in place.

“‘M not runnin’ anywhere, Grandma,” Atsumu says, summoning a sheepish smile that he hopes will placate her. “Just, uh, checkin’ on something.”

Her eyebrows lift, arching in a way that shows she’s wholly unconvinced. “Checking on something or someone?”

Atsumu opens his mouth, an excuse perched on the tip of his tongue, but she raises a hand and continues before he can say anything. “Thought you ought to know—there’s a pretty girl standing outside in the garden cussin’ out your name like she’s auditioning for a sailor’s choir. Care to explain why?”

“Wait—outside?”

“So you do know her,” Grandma Miya states.

“Um. Yeah—I— She’s—” The grin he’s worn like armour falters under the Miya matriarch’s scrutinising gaze.

“Out with it, Tsumu,” she prompts, tapping her cane once on the floor. “Who is she?”

“She’s my… date,” Atsumu admits. The words tumble out awkwardly, and he can’t deny the way it sounds both weirdly foreign but strangely right at the same time. “For the wedding.”

His grandmother’s eyes narrow. “And why is she out there cursing you to Hell and back all alone in the cold?”

“I didn’t—” He stops, shoulders slumping. He knows there’s no point in lying—not to her. Grandma Miya has always been able to see right through him, as though his thoughts are scrawled across his face.

“She’s not really my date,” Atsumu mutters, gaze downcast. “I mean, she is, but she doesn’t… know that she is.”

Grandma Miya blinks, and then lets out a short huff of laughter. “Atsumu, are you tellin’ me you brought this poor girl here, told everyone she’s your date, but didn’t think to inform her of that little detail?”

“I didn’t forget,” Atsumu protests, though his words sound weak to his own ears. “I just didn’t have the chance to tell her.”

“Why would you go and do something so spectacularly foolish?”

He hesitates, avoiding her eyes. “‘Cause I didn’t want to disappoint you,” he says quietly, the admission dragging itself out of his throat.

His grandmother’s smile fades, and without it, her wrinkles look more and more pronounced. “Disappoint me?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu whispers. “You’re always askin’ me when I’m gonna bring someone home. You want to see me and Osamu get married, too, before you—” His voice catches. “Before. Um. I just wanted to make you happy, ‘s all.”

There’s a long pause, and when Grandma Miya speaks again, her voice is sadder than he expects. Classic Atsumu, he thinks bitterly. Always findin’ a way to mess things up for everyone.

“Atsumu, you daft boy,” his grandma says, “I don’t care if you bring someone or not. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

Atsumu swallows, her words entering his chest and settling down with a warmth that wraps around his body. When he looks up, he finds her observing him not with judgement, but with quiet understanding.

“Are you happy?” she asks. 

Something about the way she says it is tinged with hope, and it makes his heart lift. The truth lodges in his throat, too big to swallow, too heavy to speak.

“I like her,” he blurts out finally. “A lot. But she doesn’t—she doesn’t know that either.”

Grandma Miya’s lips lift up in a grin—the same smile that passed on to his mother, and then to him and his brother. “Then go find her. Tell her the truth.”

“But what if—”

“No,” she says firmly. “Life’s too short for all that nonsense. If you care about her, you owe her the truth and an apology. Go on, now. Dinner’s starting soon.”

Atsumu nods, the corners of his lips twitching up in a small, grateful smile. She waves him off with her cane, before turning around and bellowing to Osamu to get her another cup of sake. He heads out to the garden.

The cool night air fills his lungs when he steps out of the ornate doors. He catches sight of you pacing near the koi pond; your movements are tight with frustration. The moonlight shimmers on the water, and dances across your face. The ends of your dress billow out because of the wind and Atsumu swears he forgets how to breathe.

It’s not until he climbs down the steps and comes to a standstill in front of you that you finally acknowledge Atsumu. Even then, it’s with flaring nostrils and flashing eyes, and he knows he’s fucked up really badly this time.

“Atsumu,” you say, voice taut. “What the Hell is going on?”

He winces. He doesn’t know what to say, how to explain everything. He tries to speak, but no words come out, and all he can do is watch helplessly as you curl your fingers into your palm with anger.

“Why the fuck did you tell your entire family that I’m your girlfriend?” you snap, when it becomes apparent he isn’t going to say anything. “What did you think was going to happen?”

A dozen half-baked excuses fly over his head, but none of them feel right. Grandma Miya was right—he owes you the truth—but first, he needs to find a way to calm you down.

“Do you realise how messed up that is?” you continue. Your voice increases in pitch, garnering the attention of a few wedding-goers milling about. “You didn’t ask me. You didn’t tell me anything. Do you know how embarrassing it was to get bombarded by all your relatives asking me how long we’ve been dating? They think we’re something that we’re not—fuck it all, they think I’m something I’m not.”

“I didn’t— I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Atsumu pleads, finally having found his voice. “I just—”

“Just what?! Just thought it would be easier? Just wanted to impress your family?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No. I just—shit, I dunno—I didn’t want my grandma to think I was screwing around. I didn’t want my relatives to look at me with pity ‘cause I can’t even stay in a decent relationship for longer than three weeks!”

Atsumu searches your face for something—some sort of reaction to his words. But you’re silent, and he can’t read your face. He can’t tell if you’re angry, hurt, both, or something else entirely, and it’s making him feel even more out of his depth.

“What were you thinking, Atsumu?” you ask softly. Your teeth worry your bottom lip, and he resists the urge to give in and kiss you silly.

“I wasn’t thinkin’,” he says, hoarsely. “I didn’t think about how it would make you feel. I should have.”

You don’t say anything for a long while; Atsumu thinks he’s said too much. But then, you speak and the bite in your voice has reduced.

“You didn’t think about me. You didn’t think ‘bout how I’d feel being that person for you.” 

Your words ring hollow in his ears. The hurt in your voice makes his stomach twist with guilt. He wants to defend himself, but what could he possibly say? Instead, he looks at you quietly, hoping against all hope that somehow you will understand.

“Fuck,” Atsumu mutters under his breath, more to himself than you. He takes a tentative step forward, but you hold up a hand.

“You don’t—” Your voice trembles. “You don’t get to just walk over to me and give me some half-assed apology, Atsumu.”

Atsumu stops, letting silence blanket you both once more. He stares at you for a moment, at your beautiful face and your beautiful dress, and without thinking, he steps closer, his hand reaching out.

You don’t pull away—not immediately.

He’s close enough now that he can see his reflection in your eyes, the small tremor in your lips. Something inside him shifts, something urgent, something that makes his head spin. He doesn’t know what he’s doing until it’s too late. 

He curls his hand around your waist and pulls you in, crashing your lips with his. He feels you stiffen at first—but then you kiss him back, hard and sharp, and everything in him unwinds.

It isn’t gentle or sweet. It isn’t tender, the way Atsumu had always imagined his first kiss with you would be like. It’s angry—you are angry at him, and he is angry at himself. 

It’s over far too quickly. Atsumu’s chest heaves with each breath he takes. You gawk at him, wide-eyed and breathless; a mirror to the expression on his own face, most likely. 

“I—” Atsumu starts, but the sentence gets lost somewhere in his brain when you take a step back.

“I’m not some… prop to your little charade, Atsumu,” you say. “So unless this means something to you—like it does for me—don’t do things you’ll regret.”

“I won’t,” Atsumu promises. His voice is gruff, his heartbeat a rapid staccato against his rib cage. “I could never. I like you too much for that.”

You look at him like he looked at you earlier—like you’ve forgotten how to breathe, like you’re drinking in the sight of him and trying to commit him to memory. It comes out as a whisper when you say, “What?”

“God, ____, I like you. I like you so much I don’t know what to do with myself when you’re around.” He owes you the truth, and so the truth is what you will get. He’s not very good with words—you know this, and he’s sure you will recognise this for what it is: he’s laying his heart bare for you to take and keep safely for him.

“Me too,” you say. “Me too, Atsumu. Me too.”

He kisses you again, gentle and tender and sweet, his hand placed on the curve of your neck and your hands clutching the front of his shirt. 

Osamu finds him and you later, curled into each other’s sides. Atsumu���s cheeks colour when his brother shoots him an impressed look.

“Finally,” he says. “Been waitin’ forever for this buffoon to get his head out of his ass and make a move.”

Atsumu doesn’t deny it, and you laugh softly. “Been waitin’ for him myself,” you say, squeezing his arm affectionately.

“Anyways,” says Osamu. “Grandma Miya’s lookin’ for Tsumu. She says she can’t wait to meet his new girlfriend.”

Atsumu’s mouth splits into a grin. “Tell her we’ll be right there,” he says.

[mitsureigen]

ㅤㅤㅤ౨ৎ ace & dog privileges

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©1864RERUNS

includingㅤ━ㅤportgas d. ace

tag(s)&warning(s). drabble, fem/afab! reader, established relationship, creep, reader has BOOBS, i'm sorry flat chesters, this ain't for you, crack treated so seriously, this is not nearly as poetic as my other drabbles sorry, pervert! ace

from vyon. nasty dog but he's tamed so it's okay! 🎀 THIS IS SO STUPID I'M SORRY LMFAO

he's so focused on you that it takes him a second— his attention never divided when you're in front of him, or, well divided onto other things. ace was doing his best, listening to you and staring at your chest equally; you know that he's looking, you don't mind really. you think you'd be a little suspicious actually if ace's eyes weren't systematically rising up to look at your eyes and then moving down to linger at the curve of your chest through your tank top.

his eyes move up again after he gets his fix, stupid smile on his face, as you continue on with your story. your eyes moved over to the side, peeking over his shoulder but he doesn't make much of it when your eyes moved back to him. then, for listening to you and being such a good boyfriend, he treats himself to looking back down to stare at your chest.

his face falls when he sees that you've closed your jacket around your torso, his jaw slack open and eyes widened in horror. "babe..." he called out, a small whisper as he reached out over the table like you two were mourning over a friend's death or like you'd just told him you've done something horrible and he needed to show you support.

"what?" your eyebrows furrowed together, a hand moving towards his open palms on the table. your other arm is still pulling your jacket together.

you follow his gaze back down to your chest before the realisation hits you— the idiot was whimpering because he couldn’t get a good look at your boobs of all things. you kick him under the table, aggrieved. "there's some guy behind you that i think has been having a staring contest with my tits."

"who the hell—?" ace's eyebrows creaks, his smile twitching as his hands turned down on the table; he straightened up, slowly turning himself around. he has half the mind not to go over there and fuck up this random guy for commiting two grevious crimes against him. count one, staring at tits that should be for his eyes only; count two, forcing you to hide said beautiful chest from his view?

actually. "i'm going over there."

"ace—"

"i'm not living in a world where you have to cover up your beautiful rack 'cause of some fucking creep." he straightens up, you pull on his arm; ace looked down at you, annoyed, and then he turned to look at the guy who'd taken to looking at ace now because of his movement. "fuck you think you lookin' at? get your own fuckin' girl."

"dressed like that, she's our girl."

you let go of ace's arm, raising your hands in surrender. "have fun."

ace grinned, stepping out over the bench. "knew you'd come 'round." he leaned down to press a kiss against your cheek and his hand sneaks a squeeze of your boob, "for good luck." he claimed— then he's running off to 'protect your honor' or maybe stake his claim on your boobs.

"wear whatever you want, babe." ace tells you sometime later, after you both make a quick exit from the scene of the crime. his arm slung over your shoulder, obviously taking advantage of his height to get a bird's eye view of your 'beautiful rack', "ohhhh, that mesh lace shirt that you wear over nothing but your bra is fuckin' gorgeous." he remembered.

he rambles on and on, somehow planning outfits for you in the distant future— all of them are planned around tops that promise a view of your tits but you don't really mind. ace'll be there anyways to protect your honor.

[mitsureigen]

Synopsis: It's your first time seeing snow and you decide to make the most of the day until you wander off from the group and Law finds you admiring the scenery. Pairing: Law x reader CW: fluff, first kisses!! • ficmas masterlist • ko-fi • discord server •

The first snowfall of your life felt like stepping into a dream. Each flake tumbled gently from the sky, blanketing the island in a glistening white, transforming the island into something out of a storybook. Everything about this day made your chest flutter with an excitement that you couldn’t quite put into words.

You were barely two steps on land before diving into the snow, your laughter ringing out as you flopped onto your back in a pristine patch of snow. Sweeping your arms and legs back and forth, you formed a snow angel, grinning up at the sky as you worked. When you sat up to admire your new creation, you caught sight of Law standing a short distance away with amusement etched across his features. 

“Not bad,” he remarked as he glanced between you and your creation. 

“Not bad?” you repeated, feigning offense before flashing him a teasing grin. “I’d like to see you do better. Come on, make one!” 

Law raised an eyebrow at your challenge, muttering a ‘maybe later’ under his breath. You rolled your eyes, laughing as you dusted off your gloves. “You’re no fun,” you teased before bounding off to find your next snowy adventure. 

Your enthusiasm was infectious, drawing everyone around you into your antics. Snowball fights erupted with chaotic energy, your laughter mixing with yelps as you narrowly dodged some perfectly aimed throws. You sculped a lopsided snowman, its crooked grin and mismatched arms earning a beaming smile from you as you showed it off. When you weren’t building or battling, you were tilting your head back and catching snowflakes on your tongue. 

The day wore on, and some crew members retreated to the warmth of the Polar Tang, while others stayed behind longer. You were just about to join those going towards the warmth until you caught sight of something shimmering through the woods. 

It was just a glimmer, subtle and fleeting, but it tugged at your curiosity. A light? Ice? Something hidden in the forest? You couldn’t tell, but you didn’t think twice before wandering off and trudging through the snow toward the source.

Eventually, you emerged into a small clearing, and you let out a soft gasp. A frozen lake stretched out before you, its surface gleaming under the pale light of the late afternoon. The surrounding trees were dusted with snow, their reflections faintly visible in the ice, and the scene looked like something pulled straight from a dream. 

You stepped onto the ice cautiously, the crunch of snow now replaced with the faint creak of frozen water beneath your boots. The chill bit at your exposed arms, but you hardly noticed, too entranced by the beauty before you. You stared in awe at the surroundings, soaking in the moment in bliss, thinking nothing could ruin something as perfect as this. 

That was until one voice came and shattered the peace as it cut through. “Are you out of your mind?” 

You spun around startled to find him standing at the edge of the lake, his figure stark against the snowy backdrop. You could barely make out his expression to be something caught in between exasperation and disbelief at you. 

“What happened to your coat?” he asked, tone sharp as he started making his way towards the center of the ice where you were. 

“It was holding me back,” you replied flippantly, crossing your arms as if to emphasize your point. 

Law’s brow twitched. “Holding you back?”

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant even as the cold began to seep into your bones. “It got caught on a branch, and well, I figured I didn’t need it.”

“Well you figured wrong,” he snapped back, voice losing some of the calm it once held. “You’re going to freeze to death out here.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but a shiver wracked your body, cutting you off. Law’s frown deepened, and he stepped closer.

“Don’t tell me you’re not cold,” he said, his voice low and firm. “You’re freezing. Come here.”

Before you could protest, he opened his coat, revealing the warm lining inside and gestured for you to step closer. The size of the coat didn't surprise you, as Law always seemed to favor clothes that dwarfed him, but what did surprise you was the way he pulled you into his chest, wrapping the heavy fabric around both of you.

The warmth was immediate, his body heat radiating through the layers and chasing away the chill that had settled into your skin. His arms circled you, holding the coat closed around you and you reveled in the comfort. 

“Better?” he asked, voice less harsh. You nodded and murmured a ’thanks’ in response. “Let’s get back to the others, you’ve had your fun for the day.”

You leaned back to look up at him, your eyes wide and pleading. “Can we stay a little longer?”

His brows furrowed, lips parting in an attempt to argue back, but you pressed on quickly, your tone insistent. “The sun’s about to set, and I want to see what this place looks like at night. Just a little longer, please?”

Law glanced around at the frozen lake and the woods that surrounded it. The temperature was already brutal and he knew it would only get worse as the night settled. “It’s going to get even colder,” he pointed out, tone sharp as he attempted to reason with you. 

“I know,” you said, your voice tinged with desperation and excitement. “But just look at it, Law. The way the ice catches the light, the way the trees frame everything so prettily. I just… I just want to see it under the stars. Please.” 

Your eyes met his, wide and shimmering with sincerity, and for a moment he was at a loss. Logic dictated that he should insist you leave and drag you back to warmth if he had to, but the look in your eyes shattered any logic he had in his mind. 

With a long sigh, he relented. “Fine. But we’re not staying on the ice. Come on.”

He guided you off the frozen lake, hand firm on your arm as he led you to a small patch of dirt nestled between the snow-covered trees. The area offered a clear view of the lake and the horizon beyond, and the ground was a much more comfortable spot to sit. 

He pulled you down with him as he lowered himself to the ground and you got comfortable as you settled into wait. The sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the world in oranges, purples, and reds, bouncing the colors off of the lake as the surface shimmered with the last rays of sunlight. 

The first stars began to emerge as the sky deepened into twilight, their faint twinkles growing stronger with each passing moment. You sighed in contentment, murmuring ‘It’s perfect’, more to yourself than anything. 

The stars above glittered like scattered diamonds, and you sat bathing in their glow, your breath puffing into the crisp air as your wide eyes scanned the constellations. Law hadn’t intended to linger, much less to find himself utterly captivated. Yet here he was, his attention irrevocably anchored to you.

He caught himself entranced by the small things: the gentle curve of your jaw, the way your eyes were wide, alight with a child-like wonder that shimmered with the reflected glow of the stars. The way the night wrapped itself around you, painting you in muted blues and silvers, made you seem untouchable. And yet, there you were, close enough that each puff of breath that you released towards the night sky mingled with the warm breaths of his own. 

You reached a hand towards the heavens, fingers outstretched as though you could pluck a star from its celestial perch, and when the illusion faded into your palm, your soft and breathless laughter filled the silence.

Law’s gaze softened further, lingering on the curve of your face, the way your breath puffed into the air like tiny clouds. His eyes lingered on your lips, softly parted as you signed in contentment, and he found himself captivated by their softness, their unspoken pull. To put it simply, he was mesmerized, caught in a moment where only you remained. 

It was rare for Law to let himself linger like this, to let his thoughts wander without restraint, but at that moment, your body pressed against his, he allowed himself to memorize you. To etch this instance into the depths of his mind, knowing it was a memory he would hold onto long after the cold had faded. 

Before he realized it, his hand moved of its own accord. Fingers brushed a few stray flakes of snow from your hair, the movement catching your attention. You turned to face him, and his breath hitched at the sight of your curious eyes meeting his. 

“What?” you asked, a soft laugh escaping your lips, a smile tugging at the edges. 

Law hesitated, his mouth parting as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, he shook his head, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Nothing,” he murmured, his voice lower than intended. “Just thinking.”

“About?” you pressed, playful and unguarded.

He swallowed, the air suddenly feeling too thin. He should have deflected, should have buried the words threatening to spill over, but instead, the truth fumbled from his lips in an accidental confession. 

“You.”

That one little word seemed to suspend the moment in time. You blinked, your lips parting as his answer settled over you. “Me?” you murmured, your voice soft and almost unsure, as though saying it too loudly might make this whole moment go away in an instant. 

Law didn’t respond. Not immediately, at least. His heart stuttered and he opened his mouth, but words failed him as his golden eyes, softened by the starlight, flitted from your questioning eyes to the faint quiver of your lips. The silence stretched out and he seemed like a man frozen in time, caught in a trap of vulnerability that he didn’t intend to expose.

A shiver coursed through you, and it snapped him from his trance. His arms tightened reflexively, moving to pull his coat closer around you. The movement was meant to shield you from the biting cold, but instead, it brought you both even closer. The press of your bodies was no longer incidental but undeniable. 

The breath you exhaled wavered as the sudden proximity left neither of you room to escape. Your hands, once bunched up in fists wrapped around you, now lay against his chest while his hands froze at your sides mid-movement, as though he too had just realized just how close you'd become. You could feel his heart beneath your fingers beat in a rapid rhythm that matched your own. Neither of you breathed. Neither of you dared to. 

Your eyes flickered to his lips, a breath away, the distance so small you feared even taking in a gulp of air would close the gap. The world narrowed to the warmth of your breaths mingling, his faint scent, and the feeling of the winter air kissing your skin. 

You couldn’t tell who leaned in first. Perhaps it was both of you. Or maybe the universe itself conspired to close the gap. All you knew was that the moment his lips brushed yours, the rest of the world fell away. 

The kiss started off as a question rather than a statement, as though both of you were unsure whether to continue. But that hesitation dissolved the moment you melted into him, your lips parting to welcome the warmth he offered. 

His lips were soft and tasted faintly of the coffee he had not too long ago, mixed with something that was wholly, undeniably Law. His hand rose to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing against your cheekbone with a tenderness that made your stomach flip. 

You leaned into his touch, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you kissed him back, deeper this time. The cold seemed to vanish entirely, replaced with the heat blooming between you. His tongue brushed against your bottom lip, and when you parted for him, he seized the moment to deepen the kiss as his tongue brushed against yours. His taste was intoxicating, heady and consuming, and the way he kissed you, left you breathless. 

The moments blurred, reduced to the press of his lips, the muffled sounds that slipped past both of your lips and the faint crunch of snow beneath your shifting bodies. You wanted to draw this out as long as you could, not wanting it to end. 

When you finally broke apart, it wasn't out of desire, but necessity. Your breaths came in soft pants, visible in the air as the cold rushed back to remind you of its presence. His forehead rested against yours, and you could see Law’s lips quirk into the faintest of smiles as his eyes searched yours for a confirmation that you enjoyed that as much as he did. 

It was you who broke the silence when you asked between pants, “Do we… have to go back yet?” A smile stretched across your lips as you finished the question, the sight alone dissolving any final pesky bits of tension that may have been floating in the air. 

His smile widened, and he let out a huff of laughter as he wrapped his arms tighter around you, pulling you flush against his chest. “Not if you let me keep you warm a bit longer,” he responded. 

Such words of affection felt foreign coming from him, but you did not complain one bit as you settled into his hold, leaning into the warmth he provided. You giggled, the sound light and airy, as you leaned in again and captured his lips in yours. 

The stars above glittered on, indifferent to the magic folding just beneath them, but you couldn’t help but feel that they were shining extra brightly for just the two of you.

[mitsureigen]

WHAT ARE UR HEADCANONS 4 DAISUKE X READER??????

Pairings: Daisuke x F!reader

Warnings: a lil cringe, maybe some cursing, not proofread, probably contains grammar mistakes, ENGLISH isn't my first language!!

(A/N): OMG I LOVE DAISUKE😍😍 ANYWAYS THIS IS KINDA SHORT AND RUSHED BECAUSE I WAS EXCITED TO WRITE THIS I'M SO SORRY👉👈 -> m.list

★CRUSHING/CONFESSION

Hear me out, you fell first he fell harder.

I am very confident that at first he didn't even realize he himself had a crush on you... Like, he wanted to make you laugh more than he wanted to to the others, he always wanted to help you and be there for you... So, he pieced two and two together, and figured out that he actually was in love with you.

If he were to tell someone (probably not) it would OFCCC be our nice old man Swansea☺️

You see, Daisuke is very... Uhm, an idiot, so he won't understand when you're flirting with him. That's just him, he's too dense. You have to speak up, or else he won't pick up.

He always cracks jokes around you just to try and make you laugh😀

But like, it's so obvious he likes you

He's following you like a lost puppy, eager to please you in ANY way.

He's crushing on you so hard...

You kinda notice it since he just helps you with everything, offering help with your chores or just anything in general.

HE THINKS HE'S HIDING IT SOOO WELL BUT IN REALITY AT LEAST SOMEBODY CAUGHT UP TO IT (probably Swansea duh)

Let's say he's the one to confess first...

He would do it on accident for SURE. Do what you will with that information, let your imagination get ahead of you😍 (I'm actually lazy that's why I didn't write it but yeah whatever sue ME)

So then, he realizes what he said and then you also confess and BOOM, he's all over you. Good luck trying to get rid of him (who tf would do that🤨)

★DURING THE RELATIONSHIP

This man will go show you off the moment you two have an established relationship (unless you don't wanna)

RANTS TO SWANSEA ABOUT YOU

No but fr Swansea's probably tired of hearing him babble about you, he seriously had to force him to shut up just for a small moment of peace. BUT he secretly likes the fact that Daisuke is happy so like🤭

Daisuke is a really energetic guy so I feel like if you match his vibe he's never gonna let you go

LISTEN TO MEEE, he loves both physical affection AND words of affirmation, he's big on BOTH.

If he could, he would hold your hand forever, NEVER would he let go of you. He wants to hold you, close, for as long as possible.

If you decide at some point to sleep in the same bed, you will get cuddles every single night.

Big spoon or little spoon, he doesn't care. Just TOUCH him, in ANY way, he doesn't care and doesn't mind just do it!!

OMG PRAISE HIM

He always searches for your compliments, just PRAISE HIM please, tell him you're proud of him or something IDKKKK

"Did I do good?" "I'm doing great, right?"

UGH if there's something he loves most about you (he would kiss every inch of your body but whatevs) it's definetly your laugh.

Okay, maybe it's the way you praise him at the end of each day.

Okay, no, MAYBE it's the way you play with his hair while he slowly drifts to sleep from your soothing touch.

Okay, maybe he just loves you wholeheartedly and would do anything for you (he's whipped)

I imagine that he seeks out for head pats. Just pat his head. Pet him or sum idk ask him.

While in bed, he definitely headbutts your palm just to let you know what he wants. Cause like at first he just nudges you but if you don't get the hint, he'll straight up headbutt your hand (I saw someone say this and I love you for that)

CALL HIM A GOOD BOY UGHHH

Lowkey imagine if you called him a good boy tho that's crazy

I have to say that I think Daisuke, as much of a dumbass as he is, listens very well.

He's surprisingly very good at comforting you

He might now understand you, but he listens, and tries his best

TELL HIM YOU'RE PROUD OF HIM OMG

He's gonna find cheesy nicknames for you so buckle up >⁠.⁠<

Daisuke LOVES kissing you, there, I said it.

Whether it's a small peck on the cheek or a full on make out session, he's gonna enjoy it and THANK you.

He sometimes wonders how he pulled you ngl🤨

If like, some sort of small argument got in between you, he'll be apologizing on his knees and begging you to forgive him with snot running down

Imagine you called him a good boy that'd lowkey be crazy

If you somehow ever decide to wear a piece of clothing that belongs to him, it WILL be yours.

He's gonna squeal like a school girl and compliment youuu

Overall 10/10 boyfriend. He's sweet, charismatic, energetic, a bit of an airhead, kisses the ground you walk on, and bonus for being handsome.

★yoyomiko ★miko

[mitsureigen]

⛥ﾟ・。 oiran

synopsis: while luffy and the others are off saving sanji, zoro is assigned the role of a ronin, and told to keep a low profile as he roams the land of wano... but he risks revealing himself and the entire crew when he discovers you're a nearby oiran, and in need of his rescue.

cw: lots and lots of fluff, comfort, zoro is down bad for reader, reader is super pretty, zoro does NOT play about you, took me hella long for some reason.

a/n: i took the song hell n back by summer walker as inspo for this

"Thanks," Zoro nodded with a smile, giving the boat owner a thankful nod as he took a box of sushi from him, quickly setting it down in his lap and cracking it open.

Though he had failed to notice the word WASABI written in bold on the side of the tray.

In his travels throughout the Flower Capital, Zoro had landed himself in a little bit of trouble, having been arrested for the crimes of a serial killer, and convicted as a murderer when he cut down a very important magistrate—who was the real culprit—at his own execution.

 Luckily, after defeating the magistrate's followers and walking out the execution yard, he had managed to stumble across a literal sushi boat leaving one of the docks, which gave him the perfect means to escape.

While also offering the perfect opportunity for him to stuff his face.

Eager to eat, he picked up the first piece, which was topped with fresh salmon nigiri and salmon roe, the rice a little more green than the swordsman expected.

But he was too hungry to care, not giving it a second thought as he shoved the whole thing in his mouth.

An act he was quick to regret.

Cheeks puffed and nose scrunched, a bead of sweat trailed down his temple as his face contorted into an expression of discomfort.

'It burns!'

Frantic for something to cool his tongue, he snapped his head around, letting out small hums of muffled agony as he searched for his sake gourd.

Though the spiciness made him feel like his mouth was being seared by flames, most of the heat was moving upward toward the back of his nose, hitting his sinuses just enough to make his eyes water.

Typically, he enjoyed things that sat more on the bitter side, but he'd never imagined food could get this spicy.

Quickly grabbing his sake, he guzzled well over half of it, ignoring the two large streams running down the sides of his mouth as that was what finally stopped the burning.

But as he began to regain feeling in his mouth, he realized that the sushi piece itself actually tasted delicious, slightly smiling at the flavor.

'Looks like I'll just need a sake chaser.'

"My, my! Look at this!" the older man next to him gasped, marveling at a mysterious flyer in his hands. "To think that such a breath-taking beauty actually exists! It's unbelievable!"

Completely unbothered, Zoro went back to stuffing his face, following each bite with a huge gulp of sake.

Though his curiosity began to pique when the man continued to stare at the paper, almost as if he was hypnotized.

"What's unbelievable?" Zoro asked, muffled, as he gulped down another piece. "Hot!"

"An oiran nearby by the name of (f/n)! She's said to be one of the most beautiful women in the country!" the man answered, holding up the paper for the swordsman to see. "It's rumored that her beauty would give oiran Komurasaki a run for her money."

Zoro took another lazy swig of his gourd, brow raised as he flippantly glanced at the flyer, only for his eye to blow wide at the sight.

It was you, your features gracefully laid out and unmistakable in the detailed ink painting.

Surprised, Zoro spit out his mouthful of sake, shooting it directly into the face of a nearby patron.

"Hey! If you don't like wasabi, don't eat it! But I won't tolerate you spitting on other customers!" the owner of the boat shouted, brows furrowed as he glared at the swordsman. "Hold on! Have you even paid?!"

"Lemme see that!" Zoro growled, completely ignoring the owner as he snatched the flyer out of the old man's hands, looking at it closer.

It was indeed you, as radiant and stunning as he'd last seen, which was well over a month ago.

He wasn't told what identity you were assigned or where you were stationed—a precaution taken by Kin'emon as he'd seen throughout his travels how hell-bent the swordsman was on protecting you, and couldn't trust the man not to seek you out if he knew.

And, of course, his intuition would be right, as the paper suddenly began to crumple in Zoro's hand, his expression dropping into a deep scowl.

Zoro was dim, but he wasn't stupid.

During his time in the capital, he had managed to piece together what the whole oiran business was about.

He'd overheard the stories.

He'd seen the men.

It was nothing but an excuse for stuffy rich guys to gawk and leer at women, treating them like objects and products to be bought rather than actual people.

His fist clenched even tighter, veins bulging in his hand as it practically shook, nearly destroying the paper.

While eating out somewhere nice, he'd eavesdrop on some of the stories the men of higher status would tell, and to call their actions harassment would be a grave understatement.

He grit his teeth, attempting to fight off the swell of anger threatening to burst from his chest.

Just the thought of any man doing those things to you made his blood boil, and his hands itch for his swords.

Plan be damned, he wasn't gonna let anything happen to you on his watch.

Abruptly turning around, he yolked up the boat owner by the front of his yukata, the man letting out a fearful yelp as Zoro pulled him closer with a deadly glare.

He held out the crumpled flyer for the man to see, tone deadly serious and leaving no room for argument.

"Tell me where I can find her..."

"Care for some sake, sir?" a blonde-haired geisha asked, a slight flush on her cheeks as she approached Zoro, who was sitting rigidly on his tatami mat.

The man was certainly a sight, and every other girl in the room was having a hard time focusing on their clients with him sitting so close.

He was significantly more handsome than their typical patrons.

Pronounced jawline.

Clearly muscular physique.

Dark, bedroom eyes.

A dream come true for a woman in this profession.

"No, thank you," he curtly denied, not even bothering to look the girl in the eye.

But he had turned down every one of their advancements.

Yet, in all actuality, he wasn't even supposed to be there.

Once the boat owner told him where to find you, he immediately jumped ship, leaving behind some money to pay for his meal before landing on the riverbank.

He ran as fast as his legs could carry him with nightfall drawing ever closer, as he knew that was when red-light districts were at their most busy.

 And only after mugging a few rich guys—using their money to pay the exorbitant entrance fee—did he finally gain access to your room, entering himself under the guise of a wealthy samurai.

Then, he laid in wait, watching with a certain disdain as the other men practically jumped the other girls, getting particularly handsy particularly quick.

But he did his best to ignore it, instead focusing on the fact that you had yet to arrive, worry beginning to spike in his veins as he had been sitting there for thirty minutes, with little to no sign of you at all.

"Hey," he called, snappily, snatching the girl out of her lovesick stupor. "When the hell is the oiran comin' out?"

Visibly, her shoulders dropped, a pout settling on her painted lips as she finally caught the message, now understanding why he was so cold toward everyone else.

He was waiting for her.

'Much like the rest of the men that pass through nowadays...'

Sucking up her slight annoyance, she faced the man with a polite smile, fixing her grip on the tray of liquor.

"Oiran (f/n) will be—"

"Lords! And esteemed samurai of Wano!" an older woman suddenly exclaimed, seeming to appear out of nowhere, utterly elated. 

Zoro snapped his attention away from the girl, eye zeroing in on the door the madam was standing in front of.

He could sense you standing just behind it, and was fighting off the all-encompassing urge to bust it down and drag you away from the place.

"It is with great honor that the Ogimoto House presents to you our very own shining star... oiran (f/n)!"

As the door slammed open, a woman in the corner suddenly began to play the shamisen, the other girls joining together to gracefully dance as you made your entrance, carefully stepping into the light.

And once Zoro caught sight of you, nearly all the air was knocked out of his lungs.

You were a vision.

Your hair was tied in a both simple yet elaborate updo, adorned with several golden, gem-encrusted hairpins, two small strands of hair falling before your ears.

Your kimono was heavily layered, but richly decorated with bold greens and intricate embroidery that accented the fabric's dragon design—the most prominent one, ironically, missing its left eye, much like your swordsman.

Your makeup was surprisingly simple for an oiran, more focused on accentuating your natural features, while offering small pops of color to your cheeks.

Zoro's heart added another beat to its pattern, feeling as if the skin on his chest was tightening over itself, rendering him unable to breath.

Just being able to look at you brought him an embarrassing amount of happiness.

Lowering your fan, you flashed the men a coy smile, their eyes quite literally turning into hearts at the sight.

"Sorry for the delay," you simpered, gracefully walking into the room.

Because of traditional oiran etiquette, it was impossible for you to move faster than a mile an hour, but that only added to the appeal as that made it seem as if you were floating through the air. 

Calculated, your eyes scanned over the crowd, analyzing each face within the room.

You'd recognized a few of the usual suspects—rich, thirsty men who would fall over themselves trying to catch your attention—and noticed a few new faces—skeptical types who wanted to see if the rumors of your looks were true.

But one man among them all stuck out to you.

You'd recognize that head of hair anywhere...

 Internally, you let out a sigh, fighting off the wide smile threatening to break out on your face.

'He just can't follow directions, can he?'

Your swordsman.

Though you two had only been apart for about a month, give or take, you couldn't help but allow your heart to swell with joy at seeing him again.

Countless nights you'd found yourself pining over the man, missing his presence by your side.

His genuine, obnoxious laugh.

His funny, snarky remarks.

His drunken, horrible flirting.

His bad habit of resting his hand on your hip, keeping you tethered to his side.

All that was why you found your feet carrying you over to his mat, entire body burning at the intensity of his stare and the cockiness of his smirk.

"May I join you, sir?" you asked, slyly, biting back the grin threatening to crack on your lips. "I don't believe I've seen you here before."

He let out a quiet chuckle, perfectly fine with playing along, so long as he was your only customer.

"Be my guest," he greeted, his hand instinctively coming up to pat his thigh.

You typically sat in his lap when you two were alone, but he was so excited to see you, he didn't really care.

Though, when your eyes flashed him a scolding look, his hand halted in mid-air, brow raising in confusion.

You glanced toward the other patrons discreetly, taking notice that they all were still watching intently, before turning your attention back to your swordsman.

'We can't do that here, dumbass,' your expression said. 'You're gonna blow my cover.'

It finally hit him, and he nodded with an adorably vacant look.

'My bad,' he backed off.

"Oiran (f/n)!" a man suddenly shouted from across the room, grabbing everyone's attention as he bustled to his feet and scrambled toward you. "Oiran (f/n)!"

Despite your confusion, you turned to him with a warm look, masking your apprehension.

"Yes, Sir Kyoguro?" you asked.

You'd recognized the man from a few of his previous visits, and you made a point to remember every name you met, in case they could be of use to you later.

"I must say, I am bewitched by your beauty, absolutely enthralled by your grace, and in awe of your poise!"

You pretended to be abashed by the comments, slightly hiding yourself behind your fan.

"Sir Kyoguro, you flatter me."

Zoro nearly gagged, rolling his eyes at the sight.

He knew you were faking it, seeing as you'd just given him a real reaction only moments ago, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

"(f/n)!" the man eagerly lurched forward, taking your hand in his. "I am utterly taken with you. I see no other woman that can take your place in my heart!"

You fought off a grimace, smiling down uneasily at the stranger, who seemed to have found it in his right to touch you without your permission.

Zoro, on the other hand, was less than pleased.

Arms tightly crossed over his chest, his gripped his yukata, occupying his hands to prevent himself from shooting up and severely hurting the man.

It was painfully obvious that you were uncomfortable, yet you seemed to be taking it in stride.

How many other interactions had you had like this one?

How many men have touched you without your say so?

How many times have you had to hide your distress behind a kind smile?

'Bastard...'

He grit his teeth, fingers tightening painfully into a fist.

"This is why... I want you to marry me!"

Your entire world scratched to halt, Zoro's eye widening at the words.

"I-I beg your pardon?" you weakly stuttered, utterly shocked, praying you heard him wrong.

"I've already paid off your contract and then some. So tonight we leave for the Flower Capital! There we will be wed! And we'll finally be able to start our lives together!"

Your heart practically sank to your feet, the very thought making you shiver under your skin.

It was unheard of for an oiran to get a marriage proposal just within a month of working, much less one where the client pays well over the asking price.

Kin'emon telling you that fact was the only thing reassuring you throughout this whole endeavor.

As cheesy as it was, you had no intention of marrying anyone else in this world other than Zoro, whether the wedding was real or not.

But it wasn't like you could outright say no, or simply run away.

You'd blow your cover that way, and the others needed you to find out everything you could from the nobles of Wano.

'Of all people, why did this have to happen to me?'

It was safe to say... you were shitting your pants.

In a desperate attempt to debunk this, you turned to the madam, but she gave you a proud thumbs up, nodding in concurrence.

'Fuck!'

"And while we're on the topic... please forgive me if this comes off too vulgar for your delicate ears," the man leaned in closer, whispering so only you could catch it. 

You shivered, terrified of what nonsense he might say.

"Once we reach the Flower Capital, I must insist that we start the process of producing an heir at once. My family is in great need of one, you see? And we need to start his upbringing right away."

You nearly laughed at the statement, eyes wide, nearly disbelieving of the words that just left his mouth.

There's no way he just said that...

But he did.

And Zoro heard him loud and clear.

And right then and there was when the swordsman decided the time for sitting idly by was over, plan be damned—Traffy could make another one.

It'd be a cold day in hell before he ever let you get married to some pervert for some mission, much less have a kid with him.

Silently, Zoro stood up from his mat, rising to his full height ominously quiet.

The entire room suddenly turned their attention to him, you included, your lips letting out a faint gasp as you caught a glimpse of his eyes, which were darkened with malice.

You recognized the look instantly... and you knew it spelled trouble.

'Oh, no...'

Your swordsman clenched his fist, grabbing the air as if it were one of his swords, before winding up his arm for a swing.

"Zoro, please... he didn't mean anything by it... we'll figure something out, alright?" you tried to calm him down, completely ignoring the fact that you used his real name, and the fact that it was completely inappropriate to talk to a customer that way.

You were more preoccupied with making sure he didn't kill anybody.

But his mind was already made up.

Suddenly, a dark, shiny substance coated his arm from his fingertips to his elbow, emanating a menacing, purple glow.

'HA!'

If he was using his haki, there was no point in talking anymore.

You sighed, exasperatingly rolling your eyes, giving up on any hopes of calming him down and simply waiting for the inevitable.

"No Sword Style... Tatsumaki!"

Faster than everyone else could see, he swung his arm through the air, creating a giant, aggressive air funnel that knocked the sniveling man before you out cold—the winds so harsh that it blew the hairpins right out your hair and tore through the roof of the house, letting in the torrential downpour from outside.

While everyone was distracted, Zoro scooped you up in his arms, bridal style, your yelp of surprise snatching back their attention.

"Hey!" the madam shouted, furious. "You put her down this instant!"

"I'm stealing the woman!" Zoro announced, running right past her and out the exit, snatching up the large sack of money the man left. "And the cash!"

"Don't tell them that!" you lightly smacked him in the chest, laughing, as you wrapped your arms around his neck, the pelting rain forcing your loose hair to stick to your face.

Breaking down the door to the exit, your swordsman sprinted out toward the dirt road, the owner of the house along with your other loyal followers chasing you both outside.

"Get back here!"

"Where are you going with the oiran?!"

"You can't take her!"

"Someone stop him!"

"Oiran (f/n)! We'll save you!"

As if you needed saving...

"Y'know, most guys say hi, how are ya before kidnapping a girl from her house," you teased, turning to your swordsman.

"Most girls typically say thank you after being saved from an arranged marriage," he countered, his trademark cocky grin plastered on his face.

"What other girls are you saving?" you playfully huffed, brows furrowing as you tugged at his cheek.

Amused, Zoro let out a small chuckle, rolling his eyes.

He'd missed you... desperately.

Looking over your shoulder, you checked to see if the men were still chasing you, happy to see that they had given up, all of them stopping and turning back toward the house.

'So much for loyal...'

Pushing the thought to the side, you suddenly cupped your swordsman's face in your hands, thumb softly gliding over his cheekbone.

"I missed you," you smiled up at him, sincerely, taking a moment to re-familiarize yourself with his face.

You'd missed him... desperately.

And the man seemed even handsomer than you remembered.

Finally a decent distance away from the house, Zoro stopped in his tracks, pulling over right in the middle of the road.

"Stand on my feet," he stated, shifting his grip to put you down.

You were only wearing tabi socks, and he didn't want you to get muddy feet.

Following his instructions, you stepped carefully onto the tops of his feet, his hands sliding down to your hips to balance you.

Though, once he was sure you were steady, he didn't hesitate in pulling you flush against him and smashing his lips against yours.

Your eyes widened, slightly surprised by the sudden movement, before you instantly melted into his embrace, relishing the way his strong arms felt wrapped around you.

He kissed you like he was famished, like you were water in his desert, his blunt fingertips having a near bruising grip on your hips.

Moments like these made him wonder what life would be like if the two of you didn't have to split up every two fucking seconds.

Pulling you even closer, he only deepened the kiss, his eagerness electrifying you right down to your core.

Emotional displays of this magnitude... coming from him?

In public?

You never thought you'd see the day.

Pulling back with a soft pop, you took a moment to catch your breath, unable to fight off the stupid smile settling on your lips.

"I should get married off more often," you chuckled, breathlessly, resting your hands on his chest for purchase.

He scoffed, scooping you up again before going back to running, hoping to find somewhere to shelter you both from the rain.

Glancing down at your smug grin, he smirked, rolling his eyes before placing a quick peck on your forehead.

"Don't push it."

[mitsureigen]

ASL BROTHERS WITH A SHY S/O

WARNINGS: GENDER NOT SPECIFIED + NOT PROOFREAD

CHARACTERS: Luffy + Ace + Sabo

NOTES: Do Luffy haters exist? It’s a dumb question, yes—but I’m genuinely curious. He’s so cute and dumb, I find it hard to not love him.

LUFFY

Luffy wouldn’t really “get” shyness in the conventional sense. But here’s the thing about Luffy: he’s all about accepting people as they are, no questions asked. He treats you with the same bright-eyed, wide-grinned enthusiasm he shows everyone. The idea of you needing to be more outgoing wouldn’t even cross his mind because, to him, you’re already perfect as you are. Shyness? Never heard of it. Just pass the meat, please.

Now, Luffy’s approach to social interactions is, well, 100% Luffy. He doesn’t really adapt his wild and carefree style to match anyone else’s comfort levels. If you're quiet and reserved, that’s cool—Luffy just goes on living life at full volume like it’s another Tuesday on the Sunny.

At first, you might be left wondering how in the seven seas you’re going to survive the endless hurricane of chaos that follows this rubbery captain around. But soon, and without realizing it, you start to find that his reckless antics and headfirst approach to life are... kind of charming. Sure, it’s like living next door to a tornado, but it’s a tornado that makes you laugh until your sides hurt and never lets you get too deep into your own thoughts.

What’s funny is that while he doesn’t actively try to make you feel more comfortable, he ends up doing it anyway. It’s his Luffy magic. You find yourself smiling more often, your shyness loosening its grip bit by bit as he does dumb stuff and throws himself into trouble that only Luffy would consider fun.

He’ll walk up to you, grin stretching from ear to ear, holding out some bizarre, questionably edible snack and say, “You gotta try this!” And just like that, the nerves you felt melt away—not because he’s making an effort to make you feel at ease, but simply because he’s himself.

And sure, sometimes his energy is a lot. We’re talking sprinting-across-decks, yelling-about-meat kind of “a lot.” But in the middle of all that noise, you come to realize that you feel safer and more at ease when you’re around him. Why? Because Luffy has this way of making everything fun and natural, and soon enough, that includes you too.

Before long, your shyness isn’t something you worry about around him; it’s just another thing Luffy accepts without blinking, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. And in his eyes? It is.

It’s cute because you two really are like the sun and the moon, with Luffy as the blazing, never-stopping sun, and you being the more reserved, quiet moon. It’s like a cosmic duo—he’s all light and energy, and you’re the calm, cool reflection of it all. You balance each other out in the weirdest, most wonderful way.

And when people catch wind of the fact that Luffy is dating someone—let alone someone as shy as you—it’s like watching a cartoon character’s eyes bug out of their head. Yeah, they’re not wrong to be surprised, but Luffy doesn’t care. He’s already busy thinking about what’s next on the agenda, probably involving meat or some kind of treasure hunt.

Luffy is anything but shy. He could probably talk to a rock and think it’s the best conversation he’s had all day. So when it comes to affection, he’s not exactly one to shy away from it. He might not be the clingiest partner out there—he’s not going to be hanging off you like a koala (okay, maybe sometimes)—but you can bet he’s there, always.

Whether it’s randomly giving you a hug in or tossing his arm around your shoulder like it’s no big deal, he’s just Luffy—and that means showing affection wherever and whenever he feels like it, no matter who’s watching. Basically, he’s like a “here’s my arm, it’s yours now” kind of guy.

While Luffy doesn’t exactly get what makes you shy, he’s surprisingly good at picking up on your feelings. If you’re feeling anxious, or if you’re shrinking back into your shell a little bit, Luffy has this unbelievable ability to sense when you need a change of pace. Without even thinking about it, he’ll grab your hand and drag you off on some wild adventure, just to get your mind off things.

He doesn’t even need a reason—he just knows that you could use a distraction, and he’s the perfect person to provide it. Besides, that just gives him more time to spend with you! And, of course, he might offer you one of his beloved snacks or a full meal if you’re feeling off. Seriously, do you know how big that is? Luffy parting with his food is like a miracle in itself, so if he’s offering it to you, you better believe you’re special.

And let’s talk about the food thing for a sec. Do you even realize how big of a deal it is that Luffy shares his food with you? Like, do you know how many times he’s turned down offering a bite of his meat to anyone? Probably never. So when he hands you a piece of his prized food, you know it’s a huge honor. We’re talking sacred territory here.

If you ever doubted your place in Luffy’s heart, just remember: he shares his food with you. That’s a level of trust and affection that not even the grandest feast can outdo. Trust me, you’ve got a special place in his world, and it’s right next to the meat and maybe a little bit of the chaos.

Luffy’s naturally the type of guy who’d include you in absolutely everything—because why wouldn’t he? To him, you’re part of the crew, part of his world, and that means he’s going to drag you into every single bit of it.

You’d be minding your own business, maybe sitting quietly with your book or trying to sneak in a nap, when suddenly—BAM! Luffy's in front of you, grinning like a madman, already talking about the next big adventure or game that everyone’s playing. “C’mon, join us!” he’d say, and before you could protest, he’s already tossing you into the mix.

It’s not that he’s forcing you to join, though—Luffy just has this way of making you feel like you should be there, without ever putting you on the spot. His carefree, inclusive attitude makes it feel like the natural thing to do. You never feel pressure; you just feel... valued. Like you belong, whether you’re quietly cheering from the sidelines or joining in with your own brand of awkward enthusiasm.

It’s like Luffy’s energy is so contagious that you can’t help but want to be part of whatever insane thing he’s cooking up that day, even if it’s just watching him eat his weight in food and making random, nonsensical decisions.

If anyone ever crossed the line with you—teased you, made you uncomfortable, or said something that got under your skin—Luffy would flip the script faster than you can blink. That goofy, carefree grin would disappear in an instant, replaced by a rare, uncharacteristically serious expression.

Suddenly, he’s standing right in front of you like a human shield, ready to take down anyone who dared upset you. He’s usually a chaotic force of nature, but mess with his loved ones, and that’s when you see a side of him that is all about protecting you.

He wouldn’t hesitate to confront the person, his voice firm and unwavering. “Hey! That’s not cool! You don’t mess with my crew!” He’s not one for subtlety or second-guessing, so you’d know right away that Luffy’s on your side. If someone’s being rude or making you feel small, he’ll make sure they know they’ve messed with the wrongggggg person.

The crew’s used to this by now—because Luffy, despite his childish nature, would go to the ends of the earth to defend the people he cares about. You’d feel like the most important person in the world in that moment because, in his eyes, you are.

Luffy’s loyalty is on another level entirely. Once he’s decided he cares about someone, they’re in—no questions, no conditions, just pure, unfiltered loyalty. If you’re lucky enough to be someone Luffy loves, you’d know it in every grin, in every spontaneous gesture, and in every single, joyfully shouted “Let’s go!” You’d never have to second-guess where you stand with him, because Luffy’s affections are as clear as day, as honest and unwavering as the sea he dreams of conquering.

So whether you’re officially part of his crew or not, in his mind, you’re always one of them, and he’d tell anyone who’ll listen, “Yeah, they’re with me!” with a pride that’d make your heart swell.

The best part? Luffy would constantly invite you to tag along on whatever wild journey or ridiculous stunt he’s about to pull. There’d be no hesitation; it’d be, “Hey! Let’s go on an adventure!” as if going on an impromptu quest was as simple as taking a stroll to the market. It’s almost like Luffy has this unspoken rule: every exciting, crazy, fun thing has to be experienced with you.

From treasure hunts that end up in unexpected fights with sea kings to races through bustling ports (where he definitely has no idea where he’s running but is laughing the whole time), Luffy wants you there, right in the middle of it all. You’d probably sigh at the thought of jumping headfirst into another unpredictable situation, but Luffy’s enthusiasm is like a gravitational pull—it’s impossible to resist.

And thank goodness for that, because your timid self wouldn’t stand a chance at taking the lead in any of these wild endeavors. Luckily, Luffy’s the type to charge forward, dragging you along by the hand with zero doubts and zero plans. He makes all the decisions for both of you, which, sure, sometimes means ending up lost on an island full of very angry, very large monkeys because, “They looked friendly!”

You’d feel a mix of exasperation and endearment at his antics. He doesn’t realize it, but his willingness to be the fearless leader—even if his plans are sometimes made with the strategic prowess of a rubber chicken—takes the pressure off you. You don’t have to stress over decisions or worry about whether you’re doing the right thing, because Luffy’s already ten steps ahead (probably literally sprinting) and dragging you along with a confidence that borders on reckless.

And honestly? That’s part of the charm. His “plans” might be half-baked and a little foolish, but he makes up for it by being completely and unapologetically himself.

You’d find yourself smiling more than you ever expected, getting swept up in the whirlwind that is Luffy, and realizing that being with him means never feeling alone, even if you’re quiet or shy.

His laughter, his outbursts, and his impulsive decisions would all become things you cherish, because with him leading the way, life feels a little less scary and a lot more exciting.

ACE

Ace is all warmth and energy, like a bonfire on a chilly night, and he’d go out of his way to make sure you feel comfortable in his presence. Despite his natural tendency for excitement and spontaneity, he’d be mindful of your shyness, making a conscious effort to dial down the volume when needed.

You’d catch him lowering his voice a bit, softening his laughter, or even sitting a little closer with a reassuring grin. His laid-back nature would do wonders for your anxiety, melting it away bit by bit like ice under the sun. He’d take a more casual, playful approach when he’s with you, balancing his liveliness with a kind of gentle attentiveness that makes your heart feel at ease.

Ace has a knack for starting conversations, even if the topic is completely random. He’d sense your hesitance and jump in without skipping a beat. “Did I ever tell you about the time I tried to cook for the crew and accidentally set a whole forest on fire?” he’d start, eyes twinkling as he watches your reaction.

His stories are always ridiculous—stories of clumsy mishaps, epic pranks gone wrong, or that one time he fell asleep mid-battle. You’d find yourself laughing in spite of yourself, the tension in your shoulders easing as you realize he’s making himself the butt of the joke, just to make you feel more at ease. He’d keep talking until he sees that spark of amusement in your eyes, and then keep going, his smile growing wider every time you giggle.

And Ace’s teasing? Oh, he’d be a master of that fine line between making you laugh and making you blush. He’d lean in, smirking just enough to be charming, and say, “What’s this? A smile? I knew it was in there somewhere.” His playful comments would come with a wink and a laugh, just enough to make your face warm, but never enough to make you feel like you’re being put on the spot.

If he ever saw you growing quiet or noticed that hint of panic in your eyes, he’d immediately back off, switching to a softer tone and throwing in a quick “I’m just messing with ya” followed by that disarming grin of his.

Ace would be incredibly in tune with your reactions, watching for the tiniest signs that you’re feeling overwhelmed. The moment he picks up on it, he’d change gears—maybe suggesting a quiet spot on deck where you could sit together and watch the stars, or offering to take a walk to get some fresh air. He’d brush off the seriousness with a light, “Hey, it’s just us. No pressure, alright?” The way he says it makes you feel safe, like it’s just you and him against the world, no expectations or worries allowed.

Ace is the definition of a warm hug in human form, so being a tactile person comes naturally to him. But when it comes to you, he’d show an impressive amount of restraint—not an easy feat for someone who’d usually throw an arm around a friend without thinking twice. Well, you’re not just his friend but his lover, obviously—but what I’m getting at us that he’s a pretty affectionate guy.

He’d start small, easing you into it with light touches: a friendly pat on the shoulder when you share a joke, a playful ruffle of your hair that would leave you smiling and maybe a little flustered. You’d catch the subtle glances he’d shoot you afterward, as if he’s silently checking, Was that okay? Did that make you uncomfortable? It’s endearing how he’s so in tune with your comfort level, his natural affection turned into a gentle dance of patience and care.

As time went on and your confidence around him grew, Ace would start to introduce more meaningful touches. He’d sneak in side hugs when you’re sitting together, leaning into you with that easygoing smile of his that made your heart race. And when the day finally came that you leaned into him on your own, whether it was out of exhaustion or just because you felt safe, the soft, proud look on his face would be priceless.

Ace would make a big deal out of it in the quietest way possible, his hand finding yours in a reassuring squeeze as if to say, Hey, look at you, being brave. Eventually, he’d graduate to full-on snuggling when you were comfortable, and the first time he wrapped you in his arms and pulled you close, you’d know just how deeply he cared.

And when social situations become too much—because let’s face it, Ace has a lot of friends and a magnetic personality that draws people in—he’d be the first to notice if you’re starting to feel overwhelmed.

In those moments, he’d spring into action without making it obvious. He’d tell a ridiculously over-the-top story, one that would steal the spotlight from everyone else and have the whole room’s attention fixed on him, leaving you a moment to breathe.

Ace would always throw himself into being the distraction, whether it meant cracking jokes or reenacting a failed stunt that ended with him pretending to trip over his own feet. He’d shoot you a quick wink in the middle of it, as if to say, See? I’ve got you.

It’s not that he wanted to be the center of attention—okay, maybe a little, but only when it’s for you.

He’d take on the role of court jester, chaos-maker, or even reluctant hero if it meant taking the pressure off you for a while. If anyone questioned it, he’d brush it off with a laugh and a shrug, all while keeping an eye on you to make sure you were okay.

And if things really got too much, Ace wouldn’t hesitate to steer you away from the noise altogether, leaning in close and saying, “Let’s get outta here for a bit, yeah?” He’d lead you somewhere quieter, a hand on your arm or fingers interlaced with yours, the simple touch grounding you as you walked.

You’d both end up somewhere peaceful, maybe under the stars or by a flickering campfire, where he’d wrap an arm around your shoulder and say, “You don’t have to explain. Just take your time.” And you would, with the steady thump of his heartbeat right next to yours, knowing he’d take on the world just to make sure you felt comfortable and safe.

Ace would be your number one cheerleader, hyped beyond belief over every little victory you achieved. You managed to say something in a group conversation? He’d beam at you like you just solved world peace. “Look at you go! You’re amazing!” he’d shout, probably a bit louder than necessary, with that signature grin that lights up his entire face.

If you reached out to touch his arm or, heaven forbid, initiated a hug, there’d be a solid five minutes of him staring at you in delighted disbelief before breaking out into an excited, “Did you just—? You did! You did!”

What you might not notice is that whenever you step even half a toe out of your comfort zone, Ace is in the background punching the air with all the subtlety of an over-caffeinated kid at a birthday party.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a tiny thing, like making eye contact with someone new, or a big step like saying a few words in front of the crew—Ace is celebrating it like you just discovered the One Piece itself.

He might look a bit unhinged to anyone passing by, but he’s never cared about that. You’re his person, and your wins are his wins. He’s just out here being the proudest guy alive, punching invisible foes and mouthing, That’s my partner!

And the way he looks at you? It’s like you’re the most priceless treasure in the world, and not just in the fleeting, pirate-wants-your-gold way. No, Ace’s gaze is full of warmth and genuine awe, the kind that makes you feel like you’re wrapped in a blanket of sunshine.

When you speak, whether it’s a confident statement or a hesitant mumble, Ace is all ears. His eyes would fix on you with this almost comically serious expression, nodding along like you’re revealing some ancient, life-altering secret.

You could point to the sky and say, “That’s the sky,” and he’d respond with a deep, earnest nod and a wide grin, “Exactly! I love that you noticed!” The rest of the crew might shake their heads and mutter things like, “Here they go again,” but Ace doesn’t care. If it matters to you, it matters to him—simple as that.

It doesn’t matter how mundane your observation is or how shyly you say it; to Ace, every word is golden. He’d hang on every syllable as if you were weaving a tale worthy of a bard’s song. You’d catch him repeating things you said back to you later, just to show he’d remembered, saying things like, “Oh yeah, like you said the other day, the sky really was a perfect blue.”

It’s almost ridiculous, but that’s Ace—he’d make you feel like every tiny thing you did was extraordinary, because in his eyes, it truly is.

SABO

Sabo is the calm breeze compared to the whirlwinds that are Luffy and Ace, which makes him the perfect blend of approachable and comforting.

With his natural ease and warm, diplomatic demeanor, you’d find yourself feeling more at peace around him sooner than you’d expect. Sabo’s the kind of person who could have a conversation with anyone, but when he’s with you, you’d feel like you’re the only one in the world that matters.

He’s just got this knack for making everything feel safe, like he’s a sturdy anchor in a storm. If you ever started to feel overwhelmed, Sabo would be the first to notice, with a quiet attentiveness that doesn’t scream I’m watching you but more like I’m here if you need me.

He’d be a master of subtlety, paying close attention to what made you nervous and what helped you open up, all without making it seem like he was analyzing you. You’d catch him making mental notes when you shifted uncomfortably or lit up at something specific. He’s probably like, “Write that down, write that down!” in his head.

And he’d use those observations to make your interactions more comfortable. If he noticed that certain topics or big crowds made you anxious, he’d steer conversations towards lighter things or find a reason to take a quiet walk somewhere less crowded.

Sabo would never rush you into sharing more than you were ready for. He understands that trust is built slowly, like adding logs to a fire, not dumping gasoline on it and hoping for the best.

Sabo would show his affection in the most considerate ways, taking into account what you’d find comforting rather than overwhelming. That being said, grand and dramatic gestures aren’t his style when it comes to you; he’d save those for his other acts of rebellion.

With you, he’d stick to smaller, more intimate actions. He’d brush his fingers across yours before holding your hand, always making sure it was welcome. He’d lean in a little closer when you’re talking, eyes fixed on you with that soft, attentive gaze of his that makes you feel like you have all the time in the world.

There’d be moments when he’d reach out with a light touch on your arm, or just the simple press of his shoulder against yours when you sat side by side, enough to let you know he was there but never too much to make you uncomfortable.

It’s like he has a sixth sense for what was just the right amount of closeness. And if you ever looked unsure or nervous, Sabo’s eyes would catch yours, full of warmth and encouragement, like he was silently saying, Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.

The patience he’d show would be unmatched; you could almost hear him mentally cheering you on even if you were just picking your words slowly or taking a deep breath before saying something important.

And the way he’d support you? Subtle but powerful. If you ever found yourself second-guessing or fumbling, he’d quietly step in to help redirect the conversation or offer a reassuring comment. “I think that’s a great point,” he’d say with genuine enthusiasm, giving you that extra boost of confidence.

And when you’d catch him watching you speak, the look in his eyes would always be one of admiration—never judgment, never pressure, just pure, patient support. And whether it’s a simple chat or a quiet walk together, Sabo’s presence would be your reminder that you’re valued, seen, and cherished, just as you are.

When it came to conversations, Sabo would be your guy for deep, meaningful talks, but with a healthy dose of humor to keep things light. He’d pick the coziest, quietest corner on the ship or at a café, leaning in with a thoughtful smile and saying, “Alright, you ready to hear some top-secret stories about Ace and Luffy’s greatest flops?” And he’d be off, recounting tales of Luffy trying to eat something he really, really shouldn’t have or Ace’s legendary nap times that ended in near-disaster.

His stories are designed not just to make you laugh, but to remind you that even these larger-than-life brothers were and still are total dorks sometimes. And before you know it, you’re easing into sharing a few of your own stories, prompted by his gentle encouragement and the safety his presence provided.

If there was ever a moment where you hinted at wanting to join in on an activity or step outside your comfort zone, Sabo would light up like someone just told him there was free cake on deck. But instead of jumping up and down and looking crazy, Sabo’s celebration would be the dignified, internal kind.

Picture a boardroom in his mind filled with 10 tiny Sabos all jumping out of their chairs, high-fiving each other, and throwing confetti in the air. On the outside, he’d just offer you that calm, reassuring grin and a simple, “You’ve got this. And if not, we’ll laugh about it later, yeah?”

He’d be your biggest silent cheerleader, always ready with a patient hand to guide you or a subtle nudge if you needed it. If you wanted to join in on a game or join a conversation but hesitated, Sabo would seamlessly include you, making it feel natural and not like he was pointing out your shyness.

He’d say things like, “Hey, I think Y/N would be perfect for this—what do you think?” and then shoot you a wink that says, See? Not so bad, right? And when you took that first step, whether it was a comment or a hesitant laugh at a joke, Sabo’s inner cheering squad would be losing their collective minds.

So while Ace might be punching the air and Luffy would probably shout, “You did it!” at full volume, Sabo would play it cool—at least on the outside. But don’t be fooled. The minute he see’s you trying something new or making a move outside your comfort zone, those 10 tiny Sabos in his head would be throwing a full-on carnival, complete with fireworks and dancing.

And he’d just keep giving you that look that said, You’re amazing, and I’m so proud of you. Because to him, you’re always worth celebrating, no matter what.

If there’s one thing Sabo doesn’t tolerate, it’s someone messing with the people he cares about. So if he spotted you feeling uncomfortable or noticed someone trying to be intimidating, he’d swoop in with the subtlety of a master diplomat. Sabo wouldn’t make a scene, but instead, he’d redirect the situation like an absolute pro.

Maybe he’d throw out a well-timed joke, ask a question that shifts the focus, or suddenly develop an urgent need for your opinion on something random, like, “Hey, didn’t you say you know a lot about… apples?” The offender would be left blinking, and you’d find yourself in a new conversation before you even realized what happened. Crisis averted, all thanks to Sabo’s suave social maneuvering.

And then there’s Sabo’s sweeter side—his covert operation of affection. He knows that grand, dramatic proclamations can sometimes make you want to dive head-first into the nearest bush, so he’s perfected the art of subtle, heartfelt gestures.

He’d leave little handwritten notes tucked in places he knows you’ll find, maybe in your favorite book or slipped under your plate at breakfast. Each note would be filled with the kind of genuine, thoughtful words that would make your heart do an embarrassing little flip. They’d say things like, I know you’re stronger than you think, and I can’t wait for the world to see it, too, or The stars were beautiful last night, but not as much as seeing you smile today.

And don’t even get started on the letters. Oh, the letters. Sabo would write you these intricate, beautifully crafted notes that read like they came straight from the heart of a poet who’s just returned from a victorious battle.

He could have just finished a day of intense Revolutionary Army missions, covered in dust and exhaustion, but you’d still get a note that starts with, Hey, you. I’m thinking about you, and ends with some metaphor about how your presence makes the world brighter, even when he’s knee-deep in chaos.

You’d find trinkets, too—maybe a small charm he found that reminded him of you or a pressed flower from somewhere he thought was pretty. It’s the little things that would make your day and remind you that, no matter what chaos he’s wrapped up in with the Revolutionary Army, you’re always on his mind. And when you’d look up at him, cheeks flushed from finding yet another one of his notes or small gifts, Sabo would just grin that charming, lopsided grin and say, “Did you find it? Good. I meant every word.”

He’s protective, thoughtful, and romantic in a way that feels like it’s tailored just for you. And even if he’s balancing the weight of revolutions and strategic plans, Sabo makes sure you know that you’re not just part of his life—you’re the best part.

[mitsureigen]

Could you write something with 34. insomina: owner’s instructions for zoro? I’d love to see what you come up with <3

prompt list reqs are: temporarily closed

34. insomnia: owner's instructions

opla!zoro; 1,818 words; teeth-rotting fluff, truly mind-numbing amounts of fluff, strawhat!reader, gn!reader, simp!zoro, emotionally constipated!zoro, naps are the superior pass-time

summary: to nap, or not to nap, that is the question

a/n: or, the one bed trope, lampshaded with a hammock instead.

one.

The door opens.

“You’re in my space.”

“Last I checked, this wasn’t yours.”

“Who do you think set up the hammock?”

Zoro opens one eye and gives you a sidelong look.

“Hn. Thought it came with the ship.”

You narrow your own eyes, folding your arms.

“I’m gonna count to five —”

“Congrats, didn’t know you could count that high.”

You grab the nearest thing, which just so happens to be a fishing hook, and hurl it at him. Zoro parries it with the hilt of a sword, sighing as he turns to fix you with a hard look again.

“You wanna nap here? Then nap here.” He turns away, closing his eyes again.

You stare at him for a solid three seconds.

“So — not gonna move?” You frown.

“Never said I was.” He doesn’t so much as open his eyes.

You stare for three more seconds before the implication crashes over you like a wave. You go nearly apoplectic with indignation and embarrassment, heat cresting up the back of your neck at the image of the pair of you — together — on that tiny little —

“Whatever,” you mutter, shaking your head as you tug open the door and slip through it, letting it click closed behind you.

two.

“Hn.”

You smirk, the vague contempt emanating from the body by the door tells you who it is before you even open your eyes.

“Don’t like what you see? Look away,” you parrot his words back at him, cocking your head as you shift left and right, making a show of swinging in the hammock, stretching your arms above your head.

“Tch.”

You’re just about to turn back around and resume your nap, content that you’d driven him away just like he did you but then — your world spins as a pair of arms hoist you into the air, and the next second, you’re being slung onto someone’s shoulders.

“Z-Zoro?!”

He grunts, and the room spins again, but this time, as it rights itself, you find yourself somehow still in the hammock, though now pressed against a body — all solidness and smooth skin stretched over corded muscle. You blink, startled, down at Zoro, who stares up at you, a daring smirk perched over his lips.

“There. Now we can both nap.”

You stare, utterly bewildered at this strange turn. But when you try to pull away, his arm bands tighter around your waist. Your fingers dig into his chest; he barely moves, only shifting slightly to better accommodate the shape of you lying next to him, nearly on top of him —

“I — I don’t think —”

“Thought you were tired.”

“Well — not after —”

“Whatever. I’m tired.”

“Y-you’re —”

“You’ve been in my nap spot for the last few days.”

You bite your lips, staring down at his too-close face. A shaft of errant sunlight falls through the small window near the top of the room, landing in a thick strip across his face, bisecting it over his left eye.

As if feeling your gaze of him, he peaks open that eye to stare back up at you, and in this indulgence of light, the black of his iris looks trapped in amber.

“You… you can’t sleep anywhere else on the ship?” you ask, your mouth suddenly very, very dry. His skin smells of sea-salt and steel.

“Tried. Not as comfy.”

He blinks, the barest hint of a smirk on his lips as his eyes flicker down to your mouth, lingering there for a beat before it trails back up your face. You swallow, suddenly very much aware of all the different places your bodies are touching — chest to chest, your leg slung over his, his arm still wrapped around your back, palm pressed to the bend of your waist.

“F-fine… I’ll just g —”

“Mn.” He shakes his head, closing his eyes as he tugs you back again, easily pinning you to his side, “quit squirming.”

“I’m not squirming — I’m trying to leave so you can —”

“I said quit it.” His arm tightens again, flattening you against him. Like this, you can feel every solid ripple of his stomach as he breathes, each steady beat of his heart pressed to your cheek. You hold yourself like this for a few more seconds, coiled and tense, before slowly — you force yourself to relax.

“You… you really want to nap like this?”

Zoro sighs, his grip on you loosening ever so slightly.

“If you’re gonna keep on asking stupid questions…” his voice is already gravely with sleep, like woodsmoke, or the edges of a serrated blade.

You let out a long breath as well, resigning yourself to the strangeness of it all, but unable to stop a tiny smile from forming along your lips as you settle into the crook of Zoro’s arm.

three.

Sleep comes easily, almost too easily. And even though some say that it takes twenty-one days to form a habit, Zoro wonders if some other habits are easier to form. If some might feel instantaneous because it isn’t so much a habit as it is a resolution — he wonders what it means for it to be so easy to fall asleep next to you, what it means for someone like him to be so willing to give up consciousness in your presence.

He’s gotten so used to sleeping with one metaphorical eye open that when he does finally fall asleep, it seems the most natural thing in the world — a reverting back, a coming home.

The sun is setting — he can tell from the dim, orange light seeping in through the tiny high window, casting the entire room in stark shadows, long and languid as a lover’s limbs.

You are soft and pliant next to him, your skin the scent of milk and cotton, the ocean breeze still caught in your hair. Your breathing is steady, and he knows you’re still asleep — briefly, he wonders at the landscapes of your dreams, if they might just mirror his. If they might be about something like this — about the sea as it laps at the hull of the Going Merry. About the muffled laughter of the crew — his crew, their crew — of the clank and clatter of Sanji’s pans as he prepares dinner down the hall, of the dull creak of the main sail as Nami shifts the tillers.

“Good dreams…?”

Zoro almost jumps at the sound of your voice, thick with honey, your cheek shifting against his chest as you curl deeper into his side.

“Don’t remember,” he lies easily, because he has no plans on telling you about his dreams, about how they’d looked somehow exactly like this — like waking up with a warm, solid body next to his. And perhaps, of waking up next to you.

“Liar,” you say, just as easily, grinning as you lift your head to pillow your chin on his shoulder. And when you’re this close, you don’t see someone move, so much as feel the compression of air between your bodies.

Zoro scoffs, shifting his arm up so his fingers trail up the small of your back. You let out a soft sigh of contentment.

“You’re right, this really is the best nap spot.”

You lay your head back down on his chest; when he glances down, he can see the flutter of your lashes in the burgeoning dark. He doesn’t know if your eyes are closed, but he finds that he doesn’t care much about that now as he reaches down to trace absent patterns into the skin of your back.

“Hn. Didn’t know that was up for debate.”

You laugh, the sound trickling of his skin like water.

“It wasn’t, I was just… validating your opinion, I guess.”

Zoro grunts a vague sort of concession as you make to pull away, sitting up to stretch your arms, yawning hugely. And in the rapidly fading light, the way your hair clings to your bare shoulders seems like an odd kind of poetry. And Zoro’s never ever been the poetic sort, but he finds himself held captive by the sight regardless.

Mindlessly, he reaches up to tug a few strands of hair free, letting them fall through his fingers.

Once, he’d lain awake in the dark and wondered what courage the lack of light had always seemed to give to cowardly men.

Now, he doesn’t question it.

Now, he only finds himself leaning up to kiss you, propelled by some unknown force — perhaps the same force that had possessed him to take a nap with you in the first place.

His fingers are still tangled in your hair when your lips meet.

You make a surprised half-squeak that Zoro finds he’s rather fond of and immediately resolves to hear it again. And again. His free hand presses you back into his chest, where he’d been noticing a distinct lack in the space where you’d been. You melt into him almost immediately, and he lays back, content with the task of exploring your lips, the column of your neck, the wonderous dip between your collarbones.

“Is this…” you gasp, your fingers threading through his hair as he slowly trails his lips back up your neck, letting his teeth skim over the delicate skin of your shoulder, “what you dreamt about?”

“Dunno. Might be.”

He lets out a satisfied hum as you pull him back up for another long, lazy kiss.

“Might still be dreaming,” he murmurs against your lips, reveling in the soft vibrations of your laughter. This, too, he thinks — is a sound he wouldn’t mind hearing again, of tasting again.

“Didn’t know you could be so cheesy,” you say, cocking your head as Zoro scoffs.

“Don’t mistake me for the cook — I’m just still —” he cuts off, searching for something to say that isn’t stomach-twistingly embarrassing.

“Still… sleepy?” you offer, grinning a Cheshire grin.

Zoro narrows his eyes, pushing himself away from you, flipping out of the hammock in one fluid movement, his swords clanking at his hip.

“C’mon, sounds like dinner’s almost ready.” He waits by the door, a hand already resting on the hilt of his swords.

“Hm… and here I thought you might’ve wanted to sleep some more.”

Zoro glances over his shoulder, fixing you with a dark, piercing look.

“Food first.”

You smile, slipping out of the hammock, “Sleep… after?”

Zoro nods, seemingly satisfied with this sequence of events as he opens the door and waits for you to step through. Neither of you question where each of you might be sleeping that night. It is, after all, now a foregone conclusion.

“Sleep after.”

[mitsureigen]

Ahhh, student!Satoru, who's leaning into the palm of his hand, mouth concealed behind his pale hand, eyes stuck on you. And they've been stuck on you ever since he saw you first walk up the steps into Jujutsu Tech. Bright blue. Heart quivering. Fixed gaze.

He takes any excuse to be near you, even though he knows that you're annoyed by him — he's so cocky and full of himself. But don't you see that he's also just a lovesick boy? Look at the way he follows after you down the halls, long striding legs effortlessly meeting your quick pace.

You're just trying to get a cold soda from the vending machine after a long two hours of practicing martial arts with Satoru, Suguru and Shoko. And since Shoko promptly left with Suguru for a cigarette break, that left an overjoyed Satoru alone with you.

"Which flavor do you usually get?" he asks, grasping at any conversation starter he can think of. He just wants to talk to you, even if it's about something so dumb... even if it's while stood next to a vending machine.

"Uh, strawberry... it's my favorite."

He takes a mental note of that.

He's always trying to get your attention, even if he has to become a fool in order to earn a glance from you. Walking away, looking dumb, even his best friend shakes his head at him and tells him that he's way too downbad for a girl that doesn't even like him back.

But Satoru doesn't listen to anyone when they say that you don't like him back. He knows the chemistry is there, as awkward as it may be sometimes. He knows there's something connecting him and you, like an invisible thread.

He still brings you gifts on V-day. He still pesters you in class. He still shares one earbud with you on train rides. He still gets that accelerated heart beat when you so much as graze your hand over his while walking side-by-side.

So eagerly looking at your lips, Satoru pulls out lip balm and makes eye contact with you while applying it. He's always got chapped lips, he knows because someone made exactly 1 comment about it and now he's never forgotten to put a lip balm in his pocket.

"Whatchya starin' at my lips for? You wanna have a taste of strawberry?" he winks, puckering his kissable lips at you.

"Ough..." you cringe at him, "Satoru, it's no wonder you're single."

Okay, he has zero flirting skills. But he earns a smile out of you right then, so even if he's cringe, he's surely doing something right. Are the cogs turning in your head? Do you think he's cute? Do you want to kiss him should he lean into a kiss oh he's leaning into a kiss now aaand he nearly falls flat on his face, because you didn't notice that he was leaning in for a kiss and now he just has to play it off and look like a dumbass once again.

His feelings grow exponentially as the years pass.

You're always catching him staring and he doesn't even feel ashamed.

Though it's been on his mind all the time, it's not until after three years of knowing you that Satoru kisses you.

It happens one day during heavy rainfall. He runs to you with a grin, no umbrella, totally soaked, and like a bright-eyed bunny he bounces at your side.

He's unzipping his uniform jacket, hanging it over the two of you. The proximity has his heart thumping. Before he knows it, he's leaning down to kiss you, right there as the two of you are concealed from the world in your own little bubble — in reality, everyone knows that you two are liplocking under Satoru's jacket. Duh. His shoes click on the ground as he repositions himself, bending his knees and arching down to meet your lips, 'till his spine gets angry at him for falling for a short girl.

[mitsureigen]

cw: fluff. alcohol.

You’re starting to think Nami must have known something you didn’t, when she whispered a couple weeks ago that Zoro didn’t drink around people he had found attractive into your ear out of the blue, swiveling in her barstool once before sauntering off, leaving you with that information to do what you will. 

Confused, you turned back to Robin and she smiled, knowingly, before she went back to enthusing you about a classic novel you’d both read as children. You remembered the smile, the apples of your cheeks warming slightly, most likely from the cider you’d taken hardy sips from without a sufficient snack (clearly not for any other reason at all), and went back to discussing the plight of your favorite side character. 

But by the end of the night, a furtive glance over your shoulder located him at the opposite end of the pub, focusing on keeping up with the men in the corner.

The longer you look, the more you realize he’s trying to not look in your direction.

Or perhaps you’re simply imagining it.

—

Perhaps you weren’t.

Two weeks later, you decide to test out this theory, shifting from your usual commiseration with the crew’s women and unwittingly Sanji to sidle up close to Zoro, who is four drinks in and the type of stoic that comes with a man trying very hard not to reveal that he’s at least a bit tipsy. He’s near the dart board, having ignored Franky’s demands to play pool despite Franky having destroyed at least two pool tables between grazing them with his cyborg forearms and leaning too hard on the table, instead opting to challenge a few of the bar’s regulars.

Playing darts while drunk is probably a dangerous affair, but it will probably take more than that to kill anyone in the immediate vicinity. 

Tapping his elbow gently to get his attention is possibly one move too far.

“Hey, you won’t hit anything that way,” you joke, adjusting his aim ever so slightly with a careful maneuver.

Zoro freezes for a moment at your touch, a soft pink suddenly painted over his facial features. For a moment you worry you’ve embarrassed him, until he slowly clears his throat.

“Move around me to my other side,” he says.

Surprised, but figuring he just wants you to be careful, you do so, and to your surprise, his hand slips around your waist gently, pulling you close before he throws the dart. 

Taken aback, your heart skips a beat.

“Bullseye,” he says under his breath, leaning into you. He hasn’t let go,in fact turns you towards him so that your noses are inches apart, and his voice is lower, smooth like the top shelf liquor he’s too unrefined to drink.

Your heart catches back the beat, and doubles its pace.

Zoro’s eyes are heavy lidded and immediately desire-filled, and he is so far from his usual self it actually startles you. Turning your gaze quickly to confirm the dart landed in the place where he says, you turn away from him but he resists for a split second, not enough to truly impede your motion but enough to communicate he liked holding you.

“Yeah, that seems about right,” you say, lamely, flustered. He trails behind you a couple paces, coming to a stop when he places his hands on your shoulders.

Again, too close.

“You don’t trust me?” he asks again. He chuckles slowly under his breath and you turn quickly to look him in the eye.

“Are you making fun of me?” is your first go-to response, hostile to overcompensate for your jarred response to his sudden affection.

He raises both hands in front of him in the guise of defeat.

“Would never,” he says, the stupid smile on his face an unnatural replacement for his usual scowl.

You open your mouth to say something else, unsure of what’s going on, when he pulls you into his chest suddenly, and you shriek; a dart whirs past you just behind your head.

“Sorry!” Luffy yells from a distance.

You would yell back for him to be careful, but your heart is pounding again. Zoro looks up at Luffy, and you expect him to revert back to his normal self and yell, but instead he gives him a disapproving look, then looks back at you. 

“You okay?”

He’s still looking at you like that again, like he both wants to keep you in his pocket but also may decide at some point to devour you, still deciding on which one.

Nami is right.

Zoro doesn’t drink around people he finds attractive, and for good reason.

[mitsureigen]

the best gift is you

OPLA!Zoro x F!Reader

Summary - You're having an incredibly difficult time finding an appropriate birthday present for Zoro.

Warnings - none, i think? I just wrote this right after hosting a soccer festival for an orphanage at my club, so I'm pretty much dead but wanted to get something out for my favourite Straw Hat's birthday <3 please excuse any errors, and happy birthday Zoro <3 <3 <3

"Usopp! Come with me."

You were just dragging the confused and slightly startled sharpshooter - because why did you want him to go shopping with you? - across the deck when you heard your boyfriend call out to you.

"Where are you going?"

You froze, having not expected him to be up from his nap so soon, "Um, grocery shopping?"

He frowned, "I can go with you."

"No!" You said quickly, then backtracked when you noticed how he became even more confused - and slightly hurt. "I mean, sorry babe but I really need Usopp's help with this specific trip."

This only confused the swordsman more, but before he could argue you were pulling the blabbering, protesting Usopp off the ship and into the small town. You could explain later, and make it up with the present, because you wanted this to be a surprise.

Zoro was left more puzzled than ever, wondering why you didn't even want him to go with for protection. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, so he guessed you must have your reasons. Then it hit him.

Oh...no.

"You two fighting or something?" Sanji asked from above.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Was Zoro's snarky response, coupled with an annoyed eyeroll. Sanji scoffed, but even he knew better than to further antagonise the already upset swordsman.

A few hours later...

"Ugh! Why is this so hard?!"

Your frustrated protest alarmed your crewmate, who had been eyeing a pair of sniper goggles at a nearby stand. You were practically pulling your hair out, on the verge of hot, angry tears, and your bottom lip was trembling.

"I can't go back without one!"

"You still haven't told me exactly what we're looking for," Usopp reminded you.

"Something Zoro would like," you sighed, "Or need. But there's nothing here. And it's almost dark out."

"Can't you just find something at the next island?"

"No! It has to be today, it has to..." You trailed off, biting your lip and trying your hardest to hold back tears.

"Why?"

"I...Because it has to."

You'd spent the last few hours scouring every shop on this island, but you had no idea what to get your boyfriend. He already had everything he needed, and there was nothing he wanted to your knowledge, so he was pretty difficult to shop for. He wasn't a typical boyfriend, that much you knew, so matching chains or charms wouldn't be appropriate. It was bugging you so much that you wanted to cry.

"Let's get back to the ship."

You took off before Usopp could question you, so he just followed without a word. Your behaviour baffled him, and slightly worried him, but he wasn't going to press any more if you didn't want to tell him. When you both got back to the ship, the green-haired swordsman was anxiously pacing the deck - the first time Usopp had seen him this nervous. The first time any of them - minus you - had seen him this nervous. But when you boarded, he breathed a sigh of relief.

His relief quickly morphed into concern when he noticed your eyes glistening with tears, and within seconds he was in front of you, hands gripping your forearms gently.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," you choked out, the tears free-falling. "I couldn't find anything. I looked everywhere. I looked so hard. I don't know...I didn't...I'm sorry..." You tried to wipe your tears away, but he beat you to it.

Usopp was long gone, not sticking around to see yours and Zoro's inevitable affection - the rest of the crew seemed allergic to your displays. So Zoro pulled you close, wrapping his strong arms around your waist. He reached up with one hand to brush the tears falling away, his expression softening.

"Hey," he spoke softly, "Look at me." He continued only once you met his gaze, "I don't need anything. I don't want anything. You are enough, okay? More than enough, actually. You don't need to get me anything, because you've already given me the greatest gift in the world. You." He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger there for a few seconds.

A soft blush crossed your cheeks, the disappointment in you slowly deflating until it was nothing more than an afterthought. You sniffled as you smiled up at him, your body filling with warmth at his words - and at the look of absolute love and adoration he was blessing you with right now.

"I love you. You are all that I want, and all that I need. Don't ever apologise for something as silly as a birthday gift."

Before you could protest, his lips were on yours and he was locking you in the most loving, passionate kiss he had ever given you. He was trying to convey his message through the kiss, proving that you were all he craved. Proving that you were his favourite gift of all.

"I love you too," you smiled even more when he pulled away to let you breathe - ironically you were breathless.

"Good, now can we please go and sleep?"

You laughed, allowing him to pick you up and carry you off to bed.

"Whatever the birthday boy wants."

"Whatever I want, huh?"

"I thought you wanted to sleep!"

"...Changed my mind."

[mitsureigen]

Nothing in my head but Levi's sleeping pattern changed when he's with you.

He had a hard time sleeping. He would rather stay up all night doing anything at all, work, domestic chores, or watching the city slowly going to sleep as he struggled to alone with his thoughts.

He would often pass out in whatever he was wearing. He never had any pyjamas or sleeping clothes. He usually woke up on the balcony chair or the sofa. The bed he got was merely a useful decoration. He still changed the sheets every once in a while just to keep things clean.

But when you moved in with him, his habits changed. He started to have sleeping clothes (clothes that you liked to see him in at home), he lied on the bed every day, and sometimes managed to fall asleep with you. He was a light sleeper. Any small noise could wake him up. A distant traffic noise, or a drunk neighbor's slamming the door, Levi would jolt awake.

As time went, the time he woke up in the middle of the night reduced. And he would yawn when it was about bedtime. It didn't cross your mind then, but Levi would usher you to bed and occasionally fell asleep first as he held you in his arms. Your steady breathing next to him was a soothing melody. Without waking up, Levi knew how to hold you close no matter how you twisted and turned in your sleep.

One morning when you woke up first, you watched Levi sleeping peacefully next to you. Shirtless, he was sleeping on his back. He had one arm on you while another on his chest. You realised he no longer slept with his arms crossed on his chest. You snuggled closer to him, and he welcomed you even in his sleep. He loved you even subconsciously.