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cryb4byem · 9 months ago

Text

Purgatorium

Kyojuro Rengoku x ArrangedMarriage! Reader

My first fanfic ever omg!

cw: 15.1k words, canon typical violence/injury, alcoholism, parental emotional abuse/neglect

You feel as though you might as well be merchandise as you approach the Rengoku Estate with your father. But you knew this would happen a long time ago.

The sound of an angry voice from over the high walls that surround the house like a fortress sends a shiver down your spine as you think with horror, “Is that him? Rengoku Kyojuro?”

You turn the corner to finally enter the expanse of property that had been home to generations of Flame Hashiras dating back to the Sengoku Period, you know this, you’ve been here before after all. Your heart is in your throat, you’re about to see the man who was chosen to be your husband when you were still a child after a decade of close to no communication.

Your mind drifts back to when you came here first. You had just turned ten, the same age as the eldest son of the Rengoku family, to one day assume the role of Flame Hashira from his father and become the head of the household. You had always been shy, not one to interact with strangers, but he had been so warm, much like flame itself.

After some discussion, your respective parents agreed that a marriage between the two of you would be mutually beneficial to both families, and just like that, your hand was promised in marriage when you reached adulthood. The whole day was hazy in your mind now, but Kyojuro’s bright smile and lively voice still appear vividly in your memory.

You wonder if he still had them, or maybe he was the source of the enraged noises you had heard as you drew closer. Even if it was him, it didn’t matter. You had to do this. Your family was one of well-repute, and it knew it could only stay that way with a strong strategic marriage every generation. This engagement was seen as just that. Not to mention, they were well aware that your tie to the Rengoku would open their ample pursestrings from centuries of Flame Hashiras.

You say a brief goodbye to your father, and enter the gates. The younger Rengoku son stands in the doorway of the home, impossible to miss thanks to the unmistakable hair and vibrant hued eyes that run through the men of the family.

The young man spoke politely, “Welcome, we hope your travels here weren’t too strenuous. I’m the only one here at the moment, I apologize my brother is coming back from some work with the corps.” He looked down for a moment, “And my father is unfortunately… unable to see you at the moment.” He introduced himself as Senjuro and welcomed you into their home, offering refreshments and recounting the epic tale his brother’s crow reported transpiring the night before.

Senjuro spoke of how he bravely vanquished a demon wreaking havoc in a town over the mountain. From the grandiose language to how his previously placid tone elevated, it was clear he idolized his brother. You act piqued courteously, however truly you don’t really have the understanding of demons or swordsmen to comprehend what kind of a task he had accomplished. Your chest felt hollow even as you tried to look composed, your mind spinning, overcome with nerves. A flurry of what ifs make up a cacophony in your thoughts, you may as well be meeting the man you were expected to raise children and share your life with for the first time in mere moments.

Your ears perk at the sound of the coarse gravel covering the walkway crunching beneath heavy footsteps, indicating someone approaching. The shoji door lightly drags against the floor as its opened by a firm grasp. One look, and there was no question who it was. A matured spitting image of Senjuro stood before you in corps uniform, with the same warm smile you recall seeing as a child.

An upbeat voice engulfs the room, “Hello! It’s been many years! I do hope you are well.” Minding your manners, you bow and reply as you’ve been instructed, “Thank you Rengoku-sama, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

He takes your shoulders and gently lifts you out of your bow to an upright position, “Oh please, no need for that! It’s Kyojuro!” His tone rings out a cross between assertive and cheerful, quite authoritative but deeply optimistic.Your eyes widen with shock at how casual he was being, you had yet to see a husband who treated his wife as such an equal before.

You don’t even know what to make of the man standing before you. He seemed nice enough, he was your age, he was attractive, not to mention highly motivated in a noble occupation, coming from what you knew from other arranged marriages, this was not a given.

On paper, he might’ve been “perfect,” but you still felt skeptical. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you both were pawns, both being used for the gain of others. You were strangers to each other. Based on what you had seen of other similar matches, there was a chance the rest of both of your lives together would be nothing more than what it began as, a business exchange.

You had gotten too lost in your own thoughts, it was apparent. Kyojuro’s bold gaze met yours that had been lingering on the floor for too long. His voice lowered to an inflection of sincerity. Kyojuro reigned in some of his fervor from moments ago, hoping he had not scared you with his temperament which has been called various things ranging from cheerful to overzealous. He slowly reached into his pocket to pull out a long rectangular box.

“Although, I admit I do not know you very well. You once told me how you liked the plum blossoms.” Suddenly you remember, sitting on the grass outside while the adults spoke, with Kyojuro picking up fallen flower petals and timidly saying how beautiful you found them.

You look at him with slight surprise at his memory of an event you all but forgot, and curiosity where he was going with this. “Please look inside, I hope it is to your liking.” Kyojuro says earnestly, passing the box to your hands.

You open it to find a hairpin adorned with the same color of petals from that day. The hairpin resembled them so closely it looks as though it could’ve been the very same blossoms crystallized into an accessory.

The gesture was so thoughtful, and not to mention unexpected. Kyojuro looked at you intently, clearly waiting for a response to his gift, any response. “This is simply lovely, Ren—Kyojuro. Thank you.” You say after a moment. Making your best effort to not let on your overwhelm, and your reluctance to find comfort in such an inherently uncomfortable situation.

Kyojuro says while taking your hands in his own much tougher ones to remove the hairpin from your grasp. “Allow me,” he asks respectfully. Understanding what he means, you tilt your head to the side for him to gently slide it into the side of your hairstyle. Your eyes dart up and down, unable to make eye contact, as you feel the cool metal against your scalp, and the heat emanating from his touch. With a soft smile he spoke reassuringly, “This will be an adjustment, but I believe we can find happiness together.”

He knows as well as you do the origins of your marriage, he knows that his father was urged to retire (rather dishonorably) once he began excessively drinking. The last straw being once it was discovered, by the Master as well as his fellow pillars, he was attending high-stakes missions completely intoxicated.

The Breath of Flames was intricately woven into the very existence of the corps. There had never been a generation of pillars that did not have a user of Flame or Water, and surely the Rengokus wouldn’t allow that tradition to be broken. So, the eldest son of the former pillar quickly satisfied all prerequisites, and assumed the mantle sooner than anyone anticipated to take his father’s place as the Flame Hashira.

Kyojuro knew as well as you, the good to the Rengoku name that would come from another successful marriage with a well bred young lady of a respected family. Duty was no foreign concept to him, but he cannot help but recall back to his early memories of joy he saw in the life his parents built together. He wants the same for himself naturally, even with the weight of expectation resting heavily on his shoulders.

But all the same, he can remember sitting on the grass with you a decade before. The delight radiating off your face at the simplest things, he’d like to see that in you now. He can tell you are guarded, but with some time, maybe he’ll get a glimpse again.

The days leading up to your wedding, ten years in the making, go by in a blur. Kyojuro had to work for several of them since he planned to take off for his wedding proceedings. You spent your time engaging in small talk with Senjuro, writing letters home to each relative letting them know you had arrived safely and were in the care of the Rengoku family now, or simply walking the expanse of the property. Slow, uneventful minutia, at best.

The elusive father, Rengoku Shinjuro, still yet to be seen by you, for whatever reason. Before you knew it you had both signed the license papers making you officially the lady of the Rengoku house. This all seemed to move at a breakneck speed, and as soon as you left the ceremony to move into a separate residence from the main house on the estate with your now husband, you remembered what came with your new position.

Would Kyojuro expect you to sleep together since it was your wedding night? Would you have to start giving birth to heirs as soon as possible? While you understood the whole reason you were brought here in the first place was to become his wife, you wondered if it all had to be so quick. You had barely been here a week, and had been with Kyojuro even less than that.

You shuddered at the idea that your fate was to be stripped of any sense of agency, and relegated to a vehicle for continuing the Rengoku line. But at this point, you felt like your wants were no longer relevant. This is why you were sent off here, it was all part of the arrangement. You would have to just go along with it all.

Kyojuro proudly took you inside the home on the Rengoku Estate set aside for you both to live in. It was just across the courtyard from the main house with a view of the entire property. As the evening trailed into night, Kyojuro could see you out of the corner of his eye standing stiffly in the corner, looking at the floor with the same pensive look he had seen days ago.

“How are you my dear?” he said in his usual upbeat tone looking at you with a genuine expression. “I’m alright…” you reply with a painfully forced smile that you hoped wouldn’t set off any alarms to Kyojuro about what you could possibly be dreading. “Oh I’m glad to hear that!” he beamed.

“You know, I tend to work at night, usually coming and going at all kinds of unholy hours! If you want a place to rest on your own I set up the room next door for you! Feel free to stay there as often as you would like. I would not want to disturb you with my irregular schedule.”

A wave of relief washes over you as you thank him and go into your own quarters for the night. As you walk in the outfitted room you notice a small vase off to the side, you realize it's a bundle of the same plum blossoms.

A pang of guilt stops you before you can lay down to sleep, you had run out of the room to be alone a little abruptly. Kyojuro was considerate enough to give you a separate room to sleep in and even tried to decorate it how you might like it.

Even if you resented the situation you found yourself in, Kyojuro was no more to blame than you were. You needed to have a little empathy. He was going through the same thing right now, he had just married what could be considered a stranger himself.

Popping your head in the other room to say something, you realize you had walked in just as Kyojuro removed his top. Not fazed by this a bit, he turned to look at you with his saying “Yes my dear?” in his usual tone.

You could see his muscular arms and chest leading down to his prominent abs followed by a chiseled v-line at the edges of your vision. You felt naive for a moment, had you expected him to be the same little boy you met all those years ago? For some reason in your head when you thought of him, that was still the person you saw. He had matured into a man, and not only that, was one of the nine elite weapons of the Demon Slayer Corps.

You refrained from making this awkward unnecessarily, you should’ve announced yourself or done something before just appearing in his doorway after making it clear you wanted to be by yourself. If you made it obvious you were gawking at him, it would just make things weird. No, worse, it would make it inappropriate.

You simply smile, a real genuine smile this time. “Uh, thank you, truly. Good night.”

Smiling sweetly, he replied “Oh, of course, good night darling.” Feeling somewhat foolish, you sheepishly return to your room next door to turn in for the night.

As you laid down studying the gifted hairpin in your hands, tracing your fingers over it, you felt a sense of hope? Like somehow, someway, this might all work out? Kyojuro returned to what he was doing with a sense of accomplishment, he finally got to see you smile with that delighted look, for the first time.

—————————————

The next day, Kyojuro returned to work. Such is the expectation of a hashira. You rose around dawn to look out in the courtyard to see Kyojuro awake, already sword in hand. His motivation really was commendable, it was known that he stopped receiving formal training from his father as a child and relied on historical texts to learn the art of Flame Breathing. Since then, he had taken his training upon himself, and rose to the rank of hashira with practically no outside help.

After noticing Kyojuro still completing his intense regimen after a few hours, you casually watched while reading at a safe distance across the courtyard. You slightly jump when you hear a gruff voice from behind you, you recognize it, it was the same rage filled one you heard the first day you arrived. It can only be the former Flame Hashira, Rengoku Shinjuro.

“The Rengoku men really take after each other in appearance,” you think to yourself upon seeing the same features possessed by both Senjuro and Kyojuro. “I was a bit surprised you went through with this. But I suppose you seem like the type to just go along with things. I bet you even told yourself it's your duty or something like that. We’ll see how far that gets you” he said to you bluntly.

“You’ll learn soon enough that the life of a Hashira isn’t some noble samurai existence. It’s a miracle when they all live long enough for the next appearance of the Master. The shadow of death follows them everywhere they go.” He took a long swig of sake, before muttering, almost incoherently. “Probably follows everyone around them too…”

This was definitely one of the more uncomfortable ways to be introduced to your father in law. “Do you even care for my son?” he followed up with. You didn’t know what to make of his first statement, the Rengoku were a long line of fierce warriors, clearly the “shadow of death” didn’t loom them too closely. What did he even mean by that? As for the second statement, you had hoped it wasn’t as obvious as it may seem, but you hardly even knew Kyojuro. Of course you married him for the good of your family. Did you care for Kyojuro? Was he asking if you loved him? Is it possible to truly love someone given the circumstances?

“Whatever. I really don’t give a damn. It’s none of my concern anyway.” Shinjuro said, walking away. Your pause might’ve been an answer enough, or maybe it was your expression that always tends to betray you. You knew you shouldn’t ponder the words of an inebriated person for long, but the question stuck in your mind for the rest of that day. There was no requirement to love him so long as you filled your duty as his wife, anything in addition to that was at your discretion alone.

—————————————

Not long after, the pillars were all called from their respective regions and responsibilities for a semi-annual meeting. The hub of the Demon Slayer Corps buzzed with a particularly lurid tale. News of an alleged benevolent demon, being carried and protected by a young slayer, spread like wildfire. Even a civilian like yourself could see the conflict of interest there. Apparently, the slayer was summoned by the Master himself, and was to appear before all nine Hashira.

You were relieved that there was something more exciting to be gossipped about than the latest rumors surrounding the ever-popular Flame Hashira’s personal life. After their meeting, which had clearly left an impression considering the looks on faces, Kyojuro began introducing you to some of his colleagues. Among the first was a fellow pillar, Uzui Tengen, whom he considered his closest friend. You don’t think you had ever met a bigger person before. You thought Kyojuro was tall and brawny, but he was dwarfed by the Sound Hashira.

“Uzui, this is my dear wife” he gestured to you with pride, that same glowing look he always had. “Oh so you're the flashy bride! I’ve heard a lot about you.” Those words made you pause for a moment, what did he mean by this? Had Kyojuro said how you refused to share a bed with him? Had he talked about how frigid you acted?

"I have to say, Rengoku," he began, a knowing glint in his eye, "you really undersold her. She’s even more ‘lovely’ than you described, if that’s possible!" Speaking through his teeth with a smirk he added, “No wonder you’re satisfied with one.”

Kyojuro laughed, bold and vibrant as ever. “You are too kind! My heart is truly filled to the brim!” Eager to return a retort, clearly relishing in banter on the topic of the number of wives the Sound Hashira possessed.

“Indeed you are correct. I suppose I was not able to do her justice with words alone, but, at least I gave you a notion of what to expect. I’m sure you recall my bewilderment when, after I introduced myself, and then proceeded to do so two more times when another, and then yet another wife stepped out.” You let out a soft chuckle, trying to hide the blush that crept up your cheeks. The warmth of Kyojuro’s joy was infectious, and you could feel your heart racing as he caught your eye. His bright smile widened, and you couldn’t help but smile back, even as a blush colored your cheeks.

You walk the grounds of the hub of the Demon Slayer Corps talking to whomever Kyojuro could borrow for a moment. Meeting people was not your forte, old habits die hard you suppose. It was relieving to be with someone so easily able to light up a room.

Something about being proudly introduced by your personable husband gave you a sense of security. You were happy to be able to just smile and do the bare minimum of talking to the onslaught of strangers. Kyojuro almost felt like a shield of charisma and positivity to hide how socially awkward you felt, and deflect those unwanted questions.

Especially since there were definitely some intimidating individuals around here. You were happy their enemies were the demons, never did you want to find yourself on the other end of any of their blades.

With each person you met, you found yourself inching closer and closer to Kyojuro. This didn’t go unnoticed, and he couldn’t help but get a flutter in his chest seeing you blushing and getting closer and closer to pressing yourself against his chest.

Eventually when walking, you gently took his four calloused fingers in your hand subconsciously. He paused and turned to you, “Here, if I may” he said with earnestness.

Kyojuro entwined your fingers, his grip secure yet gentle, and as you resumed your walk, his thumb began to stroke the back of your palm. There was an innocence and tenderness in this simple gesture, a quiet reassurance that spoke volumes. He seemed to sense your anxiety, and with each soothing caress of his thumb, it felt as if your worries were slowly melting away, replaced by an enveloping comfort.

—————————————

One thing you quickly learned about Kyojuro was that he was a creature of habit, and you soon saw yourself following suit. You had begun nonchalantly sitting in a usual spot at the edge of the courtyard with a direct view of where Kyojuro did his daily conditioning. Rain or shine, he would be out there honing his techniques and maintaining his fitness.

You preferred when it was bright out, the radiating light off the sheen of sweat on the surface of his skin was a sight indeed. Something about it was so fitting. He seemed to have a perpetual glow about him anyway, his energy taking on a visible manifestation seems like it was that way it was always meant to be.

He wasn’t always alone in his training. Nearly every pillar came by at least once, some more outgoing than others. Kyojuro’s former tsuguko, The Love Hashira, Kanroji Mitsuri, had even fawned over you as if she was meeting a celebrity. Absolutely bubbling with compliments over how “cute” you both were. You were happy to not be seen as the icy girl you feared everyone, including Kyojuro, saw you as. Upon hearing this comment, you glanced over at him to see a slight hue of red over the top of his cheeks? Was he actually blushing? No, you thought, it’s probably just warm out. You doubt he feels any way in particular about you yet.

Soon you realized you were reading and sketching less and less each day, and watching Kyojuro instead. In addition to the pillars joining him for spars and exercise, Senjuro also took part as well. Kyojuro had no official tsuguko at the moment, but he seemed prepared to give this role to his younger brother.

Senjuro wasn’t quite strong or skilled enough for a blade, but with a wooden stick he would do his best to copy his brother’s demonstration of each form of Flame Breathing. You were no master, but there was something obviously missing in Senjuro’s understanding of swordsmanship. Kyojuro’s movements carried so much power and fluidity through them, but no matter how he slowed them down and simplified them, Senjuro couldn’t seem to catch on.

Despite this, Kyojuro never looked disappointed or faltered in his passion for instructing him. Whenever Senjuro asked to practice with him, Kyojuro gladly took long breaks in his own regimen to try to correct Senjuro and encourage him with insightful pointers.

Senjuro wasn’t oblivious to his own ineptitude. One day after leaving his brother to resume his own training, he walked past where you sat watching as you always did looking especially dismayed. You felt as though you should say something to the young boy, he was your brother in law after all.

“Your swings are looking more and more like Kyojuro’s every day” you say as he passes. Senjuro stopped, pitifully turning to face you as if he had gotten caught doing something wrong, “I’m not sure about that, but thanks. I need to spend more time practicing...”

You frown slightly, “I see you spend lots of time out here as it is, you don’t want to burn out.”

Senjuro responds with desperation in his tone, as if he had reason for shame. “If I can’t master this, there might be a day I need to carry on the title of Flame Hashira, but won’t be able to. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me, my brother is the best teacher I could ask for.” You don’t know what to say, he clearly wanted this and was willing to work for it. But it was like he was trying to squeeze into a position that he couldn’t fit into, no matter how he tried.

“I can tell he likes being able to see you while he’s out here. I catch him looking over here at you all the time. He really is a great teacher, you should ask to try one day. I think it would make him happy.”

The dejected look on his face dissipated into resolve, “I’m going to work even harder until I’m as strong as my brother. Thank you for comparing me to him.” You were glad to be able to help him gain some confidence, but Kyojuro looked over at you often? Had he noticed how intently you had been watching him lately?

The next time you sat in your usual spot at the edge of the courtyard, you did something you didn’t think you would do. Honestly, you weren’t sure why you were walking towards Kyojuro right now, but nevertheless you had approached him and gotten his attention in doing so. He was in the middle of his striking drills when he noticed you, his demeanor changed in an instant.

He abandoned the formidable striking stance he was once in to an approachable posture, his brow furrowed once with concentration and lips curled into a pensive grimace snapped into his trademark look of unwavering joyfulness.

“My wife!” He exclaimed. “Do you need anything dear?” His words were enough to take you aback for a moment. It still didn’t feel real to you, you wonder if he felt the same deep down. It was easy to forget you were actually married sometimes. It often felt like you were friends at best, all things considered. “If you aren’t too busy, would you teach me a little?” You said almost as if you expected him to decline your request. “You want to try? Oh absolutely!” He gestured you over, standing beside you as he passed his katana into your grasp.

Upon his transferring the weight of the sword to you, it took you by surprise how heavy it was. Immediately the blade drooped sideways as you tried to keep it upright. When Kyojuro wielded his sword, he made it look as if it was another limb that he moved as easily as one could move any part of their body. Noticing your early difficulty, Kyojuro moved himself behind you to wrap his masculine battle worn hands over your own.

Your own forearms between his own corded muscular forearms coming out of his rolled sleeves, their vascularity on full display to you. More intimate than that, you could feel the heat coming from his presence directly behind you. Kyojuro was careful not to completely press up against you, a gentleman through and through. But that didn’t change how flustered it made you to hear his voice, not wanting to shout while so close to you, he lowered himself close to your ear to speak much more softly than usual to instruct you.

Using his strength to guide the blade in your hands, told you “Just start here and follow through the movement.” He paused for a moment to let you watch the sword's motion before continuing “Just like that, you’ve got it. Beautiful.” You copied the stroke once more with his help before trying it on your own.

“You might just have a career slaying demons if you keep that up! Ha ha!” His laugh rang out melodically, you understood why people enjoyed training alongside or under him. Hearing Kyojuro praise you even for the simplest thing made you feel so good, special even. “I’m proud of you, you did very well.”

He told you with the same electric smile you recalled from the first time you saw him, you had seen it many times in the time you had spent watching him and in his presence. But something about it never got old.

Feeling a sense of giddy as you walked up to the main house, you quickly came down when you heard the same negative gruff voice you knew belonged to your father in law. “I’m surprised you show yourself around here. Your family already got the money they sent you here for.”

He didn’t even make eye contact with you, focused on finding another bottle to get his fix. “You’re not obligated to spend time with him. The closer you get the harder it’ll be when he inevitably finds an early grave.” Shinjuro chuckled dryly, he seemed to want to hear what you had to say to that, a change considering he often speaks at you rather than to you.

“I don’t see why you think that. He is very ski-“ you are cut off mid sentence abruptly, his tone rising from indifference. “Skill is something you’re born with. He tries to cheat this rule by training himself to the bone. No amount of work can ever supplement an absence of talent. His fate is decided. You getting attached will only make it harder when that fate comes to pass.”

You were appalled by what you were hearing, wasn’t this man a hashira? He had to understand that a human is always at a disadvantage to a demon, yet that does not stop the righteous fury that compels them to confront those monsters anyway. Innate ability is overcome by work all the time, otherwise how would a human ever beat a demon?

The essence of the Demon Slayer Corps is finding strength through determination and will. Dismissing work ethic as a cheap short cut for those never meant to succeed was contradictory to everything it stood for. How did the man once celebrated as the greatest hashira of his generation end up like this? “You do whatever the hell you want, but I tried to warn you. It’s for the best that you didn’t marry him for love.” With this, Shinjuro got another jug of sake and returned to where he resided alone.

—————————————

You had always known how taxing the work of the nine leaders of the Demon Slayer Corps was, but even you were taken aback when you realized how much was demanded of Kyojuro. He was not only a leader in spirit for the other slayers, but the one who was tasked with being aware of everything happening throughout his sector.

Recently, he had learned about a village with a troubling incident involving a well, where someone had allegedly fallen in and vanished without a trace. It seemed that only a few lower-ranked slayers had been sent to investigate, but Kyojuro insisted on going along personally.

He wanted to be involved in as many missions in his sector as possible; it helped the lower-ranked Corps members assigned to the incident feel more at ease, even if he was just there to stand by and ensure the extermination went smoothly.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he set out to investigate. Taking off on foot to follow any traces, he suspected a blood demon art was the culprit. Now, he had been gone for what felt like over a full day. His absence was palpable, as if a swell of energy had been drained from the home.

As the late afternoon dragged into evening, you found Senjuro bags in hand coming through the gates. You watched as he made his way into the kitchen, and followed in suit.

“Gone to the market? You could’ve asked me to go.” Being the elder of the two of you, it was only natural that such tasks would be your responsibility. You felt bad that unbeknownst to you he had gone on his own.

Senjuro washed his hands before unpacking the groceries he had bought, donning a kitchen apron. “Some years ago, Father dismissed all our housekeepers. So I pretty much take care of the chores and cooking around here, I’m so used to it I didn’t think to mention.” As the youngest Rengoku informed you, it started making sense. You had always wondered why the son of a wealthy noble family spent so much time doing household errands, he had adopted it as his role in the family. “I don’t mind though. As much as my brother loves to eat, he really can’t cook anything,” Senjuro said endearingly.

“I try to have some food ready before he comes home from his duties, mainly because otherwise he’ll insist on helping, then end up making it all no matter how many hours he’s been working.” Senjuro put several large sweet potatoes in a loosely woven basket before submerging it into a wooden basin of fresh water, the dirt on the reddish-purple flesh coming off as he scrubbed them with a soft bristled tawashi brush.

“But also because I think he is far better with a katana than a kitchen knife.” Senjuro shook his head with a soft chuckle. You could tell he had his fair share of miso saltier than the sea and gluey rice balls.

As he worked, he moved to the stove, rinsing a measure of rice and putting it on to cook. The sound of water bubbling and the aromatic nutty scent on the steam filled the air.

“I’m a bit useless… but this is something I think I can do”

Senjuro lifted the basket of sweet potatoes out of the basin, the remnants of Earth cleared from the skin, leaving them ready to be cooked. The furnace was already warm and simmering a main course, that had seemingly been cooking for hours, to compliment the carb rich Rengoku family favorite side dish.

He had begun adding cubed bite-sized pieces of the starchy vegetables to a large pot to infuse the hearty taste into rice, before long the smell notified all that dinner was nearly done. When a roaring voice made Senjuro jump, leaving him clearly shaken to the core.

“Senjuro?! Where are you boy?”

The young man fumbled with the tie of his apron, frantically removing it, before scurrying off to the origin of the shout. You couldn’t help but overhear the conversation in the other room.

“Where’s the damn sake I told ya t’get?” The voice barked angrily. The words slurred in a state of intoxication. Your father in law. No doubt.

“I just thought maybe…” Senjuro replied sheepishly, trying desperately to keep the incident from escalating.

“Can’t even do something as simple as buyin’ sake from th’ market, huh? Worthless.” Shinjuro’s seething rage turned into cold disdain. It was sickening.

“Go back. Now! Don’t come back t’my house until you have some!” You couldn’t tell if Shinjuro was willing to make good on the threat he elucidated, but there was venom in his words nevertheless.

Senjuro piped up timidly, speaking as though any word could and would lead to consequences. “B-but brother will be back soon… I need to finish making hi-”

“I don’t give a damn! You will obey your father, boy!” The muddled speech from the alcohol was cut by Shinjuro’s fury, he bellowed clear as day.“He has someone else to do that anyway! It’s time you get a fucking life and stop worshiping that bastard!” You hear the door slide shut so forcefully you worry if it had broken.

Senjuro trudges by you with his head hanging low. You can see the glassiness of his eyes when he lifts his head to face you. Instinctually, you embrace him, holding his head as if you were his mother. As a tear escapes his eye, you wipe it away with your sleeve offering a warm smile that he halfheartedly returns after a moment.

“I… have to go, but please finish up making brother’s satsumaimo gohan for me? And if he tries to help in any way, promise me you’ll make him sit down! He’s been gone since before dusk yesterday!”

“Senjuro, you know I’m perfectly capable of sitting down and enjoying your cooking! But why not let me lend a hand while I’m already standing?” You felt the warmth of his presence, his charisma and energy igniting a sense of undeniable comfort.

“Brother!” Senjuro’s face lit up with joy as he went over to greet Kyojuro, still standing in the doorway, running to hug him with force that might’ve knocked over an average person. The boy had acted as though it had been months or years of separation the way he clung to Kyojuro, and rejoiced at seeing him standing in the doorway. Foolishly you had forgotten, or maybe just been illusioned by his nigh impenetrable invincibility, that the life of a demon slayer was one of uncertainty. Any time a swordsman left for work, might be their last. It certainly was something to be celebrated each time he returned home.

“Ha ha! Glad to see you are in high spirits Senjuro! Now what is this about needing to go somewhere?” Despite nearly 24 hours of fatigue weighing on him, Kyojuro’s vivacity was as potent as ever.

“Uh… Father has demanded I go and buy him more sake…”

“Nonsense! We ought to all enjoy the fruit of your labors! Surely Father will understand.” Kyojuro reassured, resting his hand on the younger boy’s shoulder. Senjuro seemed to be at ease with his elder brother’s blessing.

Turning to you, Kyojuro lowered to a knee, cradling your hand in his own grasp; the hardened hands of a warrior enveloped yours with a gentleness as though you were made of glass. His amber pools met yours before carefully bringing the back of your hand to his lips for a soft kiss, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “Ah my flame!” His words were thick with affection, tenderness.

You might as well have been electrocuted at the point where your skin connected with his lips. It made you think of what it would be like if you both… You move such a thought from your head, “Welcome home, we’ve all missed you dearly.” You speak, basking in the bright glint in his eye upon hearing your greeting. He carried a scent of the woody musk with faint notes of smoke, no doubt indicating the remoteness he traversed on the way to the village, it was an essence befitting a man such as him. You couldn’t help but notice the way his golden hair was tousled and his features drawn with fatigue leaving shadows beneath his honey rimmed eyes, giving him a ruggedness you had yet to admire in its full glory yet.

“Okay Brother! Now please just sit down! You need to rest!” Senjuro implored, his brother heeding his insistence. The younger boy took the lid off the sturdy pot to reveal the gigantic portion of sweet potato rice, a cloud of steam wafting out carrying an earthy, saccharine aroma. Senjuro pulled a decorated cloth from over another dish to reveal succulent soy glazed meat, it was truly a meal befitting a gourmand like Kyojuro.

“Senjuro what a beautiful talent you have! Truly, what would we all do without you!” Senjuro’s delight at these words was palpable. The beratement received from his father not long ago, was seemingly replaced by Kyojuro's accolades.

Looking out the doorway to the sliding door of the master bedroom, Kyojuro’s smile faltered momentarily. “It would be a shame for Father to miss this! Perhaps I'll inform him that I’m back!” Without hesitation Kyojuro stood from the table.

—————————————

The noises of chatter within the kitchen sounded faint despite its proximity, his hardness of hearing only adding to the sense of anxiety and isolation as he steeled himself outside Father’s room. The irony was apparent. The title “hashira” alone struck terror in the hearts of horrible bloodthirsty monsters, despite their capacity for any amount of both power and unimaginable cruelty under the veil of night. Yet at this moment, in his own home, he found himself more uneasy than he ever had in the face of a demon. He could not hide behind years of discipline, victories, or raw strength. He felt as if he had become a small child again, simply seeking approval.

He hardly sensed any movement from within, exhaling sharply, sliding the door open to speak in a tone he consciously kept as even-keeled and humble as possible. His senses were overwhelmed with the pungence of undiluted alcohol.

“Father… I’ve returned.”

The older man laid his back facing the door, surrounded by the emptied vases of sake, and did not turn, not even to acknowledge the presence of another.

“Yeah? I could tell. I could probably hear you from the afterlife. Tch.” Shinjuro growled caustically, still refusing to meet his son’s gaze.

“Would you care to join us for dinner, Father? Senjuro would certainly be happy to see you enjoying the meal he worked so hard on.” Kyojuro prayed for once he would say yes. He rarely left his room much less the house, hardly doing anything but drinking in solace.

“I don’ give a damn about that. I told your fool of a brother to bring me sake, and of course even that is too difficult for him. Useless. Utterly useless.”

“Please Father do not speak so-”

“Get out. Stop disturbing me.” Shinjuro cut him off abruptly, haphazardly shaking each of the old bottles for anything left within.

Begrudgingly, Kyojuro began sliding the shoji door shut once again.

“As you wish, Father…”

With a small space left before the sliding door had completely shut, he remembered something. A message he was asked to pass on by a civilian he had met earlier.

“In the village I patrolled… another person recognized the family haori. They too, have asked me to thank you… for your time as the Flame Pillar…” Kyojuro waited for what felt like forever, he needed to hear what his Father would say. Yet another living proof professing their gratitude to the passion that he once held.

Setting down the empty bottle in his hand, Shinjuro sighed, even his breath marred with exasperation.

“It’s all meaningless…”

“In the end, we’re both destined to be nothing more than failures. Pathetic until the very end.”

Kyojuro clamped his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to repel the spiteful words. It would not dampen his spirit, he couldn’t succumb to that. Not when he had so many people depending on him, they deserved better than that. The horrible things his father said were not worth thinking of another minute. Kyojuro slid the door back shut, softly as he could, before rising to return to the table. The light emanating from the kitchen beckoned him back like a vessel to the land after days of traversing a cold, bitter sea.

Kyojuro entered once again to see his little brother and you inspect slices of the meat back and forth, before putting a few on a plate with an exceptionally large scoop of sweet potato rice. Senjuro presented the plate to him, his eyes shining with anticipation.

“We’ve decided these are the best pieces of meat, here!”

You nod in agreement beside Senjuro, a smile curling your lips. “For me? Ah! Thank you!” Kyojuro beamed at them, taking the plate from his brother. The juicy pieces making his mouth water at the sight alone. Chatter, warm laughter over trivial things, the sight almost felt like a dream he would be shaken from at any minute. He cannot remember a time in so long the Rengoku household had felt alive, for so long it had been just him and Senjuro. Well, that was not quite accurate, they were not “alone” necessarily.

“It appears Father is not hungry at the moment, let us just put some aside for him for now.” Outfitting the unattended plate with a generous serving of food, he waited until you and his brother were distracted when he transferred the tender slices of meat from his own plate.

“Father does not eat nearly well enough. Perhaps this would benefit his health.” He thought silently to himself.

—————————————

You understood how things worked around here now. You had stopped feeling like a stranger around the estate. Senjuro seemed to really trust you now, especially seeing his idol did too. You abandoned the thought that the father of the house would be much of a presence, he didn’t want to be bothered, and frankly you were okay with that.

Your job appearing as a member of the Rengoku family was in full effect. Of course, Kyojuro tried to make sure you were comfortable and happy, despite his duty keeping him busy. You sensed the guilt that creased his brow whenever he couldn’t see you, and made a conscious effort to make up for it when he did. You became aware of an annual festival to celebrate the transition of seasons, the late Spring entering early Summer.

The next day, during one of Senjuro’s increasingly regular conversations with you, he brought up something that took you back for a moment. “About the festival tonight, I told my brother not to worry about me this year.”

You were slightly taken aback by this, wasn’t it their yearly tradition? “I think you both should go and have some time together. After all, I've had plenty of turns to go alone with my brother, since this would be your first time going. I insist.”

Senjuro seemed sure of himself on this, you could guess he was trying to be an understanding brother and give Kyojuro some alone time with you. But you almost wanted Senjuro to go, it sounded silly, but this would be your first real date with your husband.

Aas day waned into night you felt butterflies in your stomach while getting ready to go. You felt as if you would have to meet Kyojuro for the first time all over again. A whole night, just the two of you with no one to break the tension.

You robe yourself in something presentable. Subconsciously you wondered what you could wear if you really wanted to catch his attention… You push it from your mind for now. You carefully remove the gifted hairpin from the rectangular box that housed it before sliding it into your hair. Your hand moves down from your updo as you glance in the mirror, and suddenly you feel a jolt of shock upon hearing the upbeat voice you’ve grown to know approaching.

You feel a soft tap on the sliding shoji door to your room. You rose and moved to open it. As your eyes met Kyojuro’s he beamed with a grin so infectious you couldn’t help but softly smile back. You noticed he was dressed differently than you usually saw him. Rather than his typical corps uniform, he was clad in traditional attire with a few fiery motifs reminiscent of his usual haori. You tried not to let your eyes drift down from his to rest on where the two halves of the fabric overlapped each other to reveal the upper curvature of his well built chest.

You approached the village center where the festival was being held together. There was an overwhelming buzzing ambiance as you approached, until you were close enough for a surge of stimulation to fully wash over you in a barrage of color and noise.

Worrying that you may be overwhelmed by the sight, Kyojuro turned to look at your reaction. The lights reflected in your eyes as you giggle “How beautiful,” slightly tightening your grip on his arm. Kyojuro wants to say the same, even though his gaze wasn’t on the view.

You walk by the stalls, each with a different delicacy to boast. The air is thick with the enticing aromas of grilled yakitori, sweet candied fruits, and the savory scent of meat sizzling on hot griddles. Colorful lanterns sway gently overhead, casting a warm glow over the main strip. Laughter and chatter fill the atmosphere, punctuated by the rhythmic beats of nearby taiko drums.

“This has always been my favorite part of the festivities. One year my family lost me in the crowds many years ago when I ran off, practically disappearing, after getting a whiff of shrimp tempura.” As you walked through the bustling streets together, the sounds of laughter and cheerful chatter surrounded, adults and children alike filling the street.

“I have been told I was a bit of a rambunctious child, always bursting with energy, but my mother was a remarkably stoic woman. I never saw her lose her temper, not even once. My father suggested tying my wrist to his with an obi sash after the time I went missing, but she was firm in me practicing discipline on my own.” Kyojuro said, his gaze drifting thoughtfully toward the colorful stalls.

You took a moment to reflect on his words, letting them linger in the air between you. “It sounds like she had a lot of faith in you, to be able to make the right decisions, even then.”

“She did.” Kyojuro nodded, a hint of warmth returning to his wistful expression. “I try to remember that, even now.” He paused, a smile widening as he glanced toward a nearby takoyaki stall. “And speaking of good decisions…”

Feeling your nose perk up at a savory aroma, your stomach rumbled. “Can we get some?” You say looking at him wide eyed with enthusiasm. His melodic laugh rang out as he replied “A fine idea! Anything you would like, dear!” After securing ample snacks and refreshments, Kyojuro and you find a nice place to sit down just off the bustling Main Street.

The night peaceful, and the sky a clear endless expanse of stars. This was contrasted by the steady vibration of energy emitted from the heart of the village. You finally cut the silence. “Thank you for inviting me” you say somewhat sheepishly. “We have gone every year since before Senjuro was born, so of course that includes you now! I’m glad you’re here!”

“Is your father,” you pause to gauge his reaction at the mention before continuing, “Busy perhaps today then?”

His usual bravado lowers into a more serious tone, a poignant smile still forced on his lips, “No. He actually hasn’t been in many years.” Despite not knowing all that much about the inner dynamics of the Rengoku family, this didn’t surprise you. “After Mother passed, I don’t think he ever recovered. He hasn’t come since.” That explains it then. The drinking, the bitterness, the isolation, he was caught in a cycle of grief. One he hasn’t been able to get out of. Instinctively, you place your hand gently on top of his much larger one.

“Senjuro was so young when we last all came together, and I just wanted him to have the memories that I was able to have. Even if he wasn’t able to remember coming with our parents. He could at least remember us going together, and I hoped maybe that would be enough.” You had never seen this kind of vulnerability from him before. At a young age, he devoted himself to filling the gaping void left in his family for his brother.

He would become mother, father, mentor, brother, whatever Senjuro needed. Never concerned for himself, or asking for anything. That was just the way he was, you suppose. A man who lived for the well being of others, never expecting anyone to ever reciprocate. A true pillar in all facets of life, one who exists to support and safeguard those around him. What about you? You want to ask. Who is there for you then?

Noticing your pensive expression, his lips spread into a genuine smile, an upbeat yet gentle voice reassures “You shouldn’t lose your smile my flame, it’s quite becoming on you.” He tucks a small piece of your bangs behind your ear as he speaks, his touch tender. “Please do not feel any sympathy on my behalf, this is simply a responsibility of mine that I carry with pride. The last thing I would ever want is to be the reason you wear a heavy heart. To me, that would be a failure on my behalf.”

“No, that’s not it.” Your tone matter-of-fact as your gaze shifted from his to your hands folded in your lap. Meeting his eyes again, you spoke with purpose, a firmness in your resolve. “Whether you want me to or not, I’m going to be there for you now. So, please take care of yourself, unless you want me to worry.” Kyojuro let out the euphonious laugh that you had learned to identify even when he was nowhere to be seen. He replied with a cheerful, “Well I suppose I’ll have to be on my best behavior then!” You couldn’t help but giggle along in contagion with him, it was impossible not to.

Hearing a whistling noise overhead, you cock your head to the night sky where the projectile reached a peak before bursting in a flurry of vibrant hues followed by a loud BANG. You wince slightly at the collapse of sound that hits you all at once. Kyojuro’s brow furrowed seeing your face contort from the impact.

Despite having severely impaired his own hearing to withstand a blood demon art that weaponized music in his early days in the Demon Slayer Corps, Kyojuro remained acutely aware of others’s sensitivity to noise—even if he was incapable of experiencing it himself anymore.

Instinctively, he clasps his hands over your ears, a protective gesture to shield you from the cacophony of pops and cracks exploding in the sky. Slightly surprised, your fingertips grace the rough exterior of Kyojuro’s hands on the sides of your head.

As you begin to move his hands away, turning to face him, you catch the look in his eyes—a mix of concern and curiosity. Looking at you wide eyed, matching your look of surprise, he asked point blankly “Is it too loud?” His voice earnest, searching your expression for reassurance.

“No, I’m alright.” you say with a soft smile.

“Do you… ever think that I am too loud?” His expression remains unchanged, but there’s a hint of vulnerability in his question. You pause for a moment, considering his words. “No,” you reply, your voice steady and confident. “I like how self-assured you speak. It puts me at ease when I hear you; it makes me feel like I can trust whatever you say, unequivocally.”

In a quick attempt to distract you from the color that hadn’t left his cheeks for the past moments, he looked away, quickly directing your attention back to the light show.

“Look, my flame!” he exclaimed, his signature cheerfulness radiating from him, you raise your head to the sky, letting your eyes fall upon the illuminating bursts of color. Despite the brilliance of the fireworks dancing across the sky, you feel your head become heavy and your gaze flicker as you struggle to keep your eyes open. You can do little to stop yourself from swaying, beginning to nod off.

Kyojuro’s gaze falters from the display bursting through the darkness upon noticing, moving you to the side of his chest for support. You feel a gentle touch embrace you, lightly stroking your hair as you subconsciously nestle against the unknown surface you found yourself resting against. Kyojuro was convinced you must’ve been an angel how peaceful you looked with the way the man-made supernova above you flashes across your features, like an ever-changing watercolor on your skin.

You slowly lift your gaze, opening your eyes to meet his own ambered orbs, still flushed against him as if it was where you had belonged all along. Like puzzle pieces perfectly fitting together. Looking up at him, doey eyes, for the first time Rengoku Kyojuro found himself truly speechless.

You clear the haze from your mind and attempt to rouse yourself up. But you didn’t want to remove yourself from the security of the warmth emanating off him. Not yet. You wished you could just lay there, as long as you possibly could.

You felt as though he could see every one of your thoughts with how intently his golden irises pierced yours, with more affection than you thought possible for a person to muster.

“Would you allow me to kiss you?” There is a tremble of fear of rejection in his voice, and you finally notice the rosy blush crossing his cheeks as he looks at you longingly, clearly enraptured. “Please” you reply softly.

Feeling a hand brush against your cheek, your chin was gently raised as Kyojuro pulled you closer. You felt a spark ignite at where your lips joined and a surge of electricity rush through from where you connected.

You feel his hand shift from your jawline to the side of your face where you were sure he could feel the heat of your cheeks. You ran your fingers through the thick sunkissed locks of his hair, and at that moment you felt your frozen exterior melt.

The frigid ice that you encased yourself in a desperate attempt of self preservation, felt all but liquified now. All those painful feelings. There was no way to avoid the reality in your mind. Your own family considering you as no more than a bargaining chip, and giving you away as soon as you reached child bearing age.

That realization created the cold front you manufactured. Even if it kept you detached from the rest of the world, you didn’t want to feel the ache of abandonment or desertion again. Even as you resisted, you couldn’t help but open yourself up in that moment to the radiant warmth that Kyojuro gave off. But you knew this meant now you were vulnerable to succumb to the blaze between you two, you might even be consumed by it.

“A-Are you ready to go home my love.” Something you hadn’t heard him call you, ever. You nod your head in response as you continue to cling to him for support. The fatigue clouds your mind so much so that you hardly even notice what he calls you. But you could practically feel just that, what he called you.

—————————————

A harsh WHACK echoed from the impact of carefully placed hits. Kyojuro’s wooden training stick sharply hitting the solid log propped before him, a staple of training sessions for any swordsman, pillars being no exception. Kyojuro continued hitting the same spots on the log over and over with increasing speed and power, hardly even acknowledging the Sound Hashira leaning against the wall feet away from him.

“You haven't given me a pep talk, or even barked at me to stop screwing around and start 'surpassing my limits’ and all that” he snickered blithely “so what the hell is on your mind.”

Kyojuro stopped his incessant striking. His rough hands wiping a bead of sweat from rolling down his forehead, raking back loose strands of honey-golden hair before turning to his self proclaimed “flamboyant” but incredibly nosy dear friend. He looked blankly for a moment, clearly gathering his thoughts before speaking.

“Don’t make that face, you look like Tomioka.” He chuckled, shaking his head with thinly veiled disgust. “Shit, man, I haven't seen you like this before.” Uzui said, inspecting his multicolored fingernails feigning disinterest, despite his probing.

“Usually you're the type you can hear before you see. Now I have to pry a single word out of you.”

Kyojuro shook his head with a laugh “Come now. I’m the same as I’ve always been. I just don’t know if I ought to share what I’m thinking of, out of discretion for the person.”

Taking a wry smirk upon his face, the fellow hashira’s eyebrow raised slyly “So, what did you do to her?”

Despite being three years Kyojuro’s senior, Uzui had a penchant for regressing into a teenager both in impudence and coarseness. Much in contrast to Kyojuro, typically assuming a role more mature than his years.

“So I…” Kyojuro was interrupted by Uzui slinging a large arm, resembling that of a bear’s around his shoulders. “Aw you finally had your first time, huh? Was it good? I was starting to worry you two would blush and fist bump forever...”

“I kissed her,” Kyojuro said in a self-satisfied tone.

Uzui went silent for a moment before letting out a thunderous laugh, Kyojuro maintaining his expression of complete seriousness. “With a wife that looks like her? You’re a strong man, Rengoku. I probably would’ve gone crazy by now.”

Kyojuro’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You disrespect both her and yourself by talking like some kind of fiend, Uzui,” Kyojuro replied, crossing his arms like a disappointed father.

Uzui sighed petulantly, taking a step back with his hands up as if in surrender. “You’re right, you’re right, my bad. A kiss is still a first for you, so congratulations.”

“You do what you want, I just wonder why you waited until you were hitched to get any kind of a woman’s touch in the first place. I could’ve introduced you to so many girls over the years.” Uzui spoke bluntly.

Kyojuro held his arms straight out in front of him before executing the first four forms of Flame Breathing in rapid succession, deepening the existing divots marking the sides of the log. Looking over again with a bright smile, he answered “I suppose I’ve never felt tempted by the idea of a woman I do not love.”

Uzui replaced his impish visage with one of sincerity reading between the lines of his friend’s remark. “So now it’s all different, huh? You really love her don’t you?”

Kyojuro’s eyes dilated noticeably, his face overflowing with gratitude. “I always planned on making anyone who became my wife happy, but nothing is so simple anymore.”

“All that has faded away now, I cannot think of her as something as superficial as that. I just want her as purely as a man could. I do not think I could be without her if I tried.” The confidence in his voice eliminates any doubt when answering the question.

“I just hope she feels the same for me, even if nothing more than a fraction…” Kyojuro’s voice trailed off.

Uzui chuckles, dragging his palms over his face dramatically with a groan, “Ugghhh. Just don’t get all mushy on me. I still need someone who can match my flash!”

Uzui donned a smirk once again before adding “Albeit barely!”

Kyojuro ran a hand through his thick blazing hair with his unmistakable laugh, “Ha! Of course. If you’re going to keep up with me, you had better stop idling now Uzui.” Kyojuro said, gesturing over with his practice stick.

—————————————

As time passed, the heat intensified. With that, you found the only time it was pleasant for a breath of fresh air was as dusk fell.The plum blossoms that littered the estate upon your arrival had all but withered, and in their stead, small tender buds were maturing into fruit.

Even as the daylight waned, the heat clung to the air like a lingering embrace. The sky was a watercolor painting with streaks of saffron and rose fading into a deeper purple. The hued sky served as a grim warning for humans, and you made your way back to the gates with purpose.

A bead of sweat trickled down your brow, raking through the tussle of your hair, you freeze at the missing sensation of the stiff yet delicate gifted hairpin. You run your hands over your clothes and run your fingers through your hair once again to ensure what you already suspected, it was gone.

Using the remaining embers of the sun, you retrace your footsteps back down the path. The veil of night had fallen, but the moonlight made visibility no problem. It would only take a moment to search…

You recede from the gates in your sights trepidatiously, meandering the path with eyes at your feet. You were vehemently hoping to find the hairpin as quickly as you could. It was no doubt expensive, and you couldn’t shake how rotten you felt that you so carelessly lost it. After some pacing, you finally spy what you had been looking for. A little dirty, but undamaged. You blow some of the debris off before returning to where you ought to be at this time.

Your blood runs cold hearing stirring from somewhere around you, something is wrong. Are you being watched? You feel your heartbeat in your throat. It couldn’t possibly be what you feared. You try to take a breath but your lungs become shallow, unable to take in air. Afraid of making any sudden movement, your eyes darted around your surroundings for anything.

You instinctually jump with a yelp upon hearing a raucous CAW cut through the obscurity of the darkness and your own panic. A kasugai crow? You see the silhouette of the dark bird darting into the distance in the blink of an eye. Why had it flown off so urgently? Where could it be going? You dismiss such questions as you feel your muscles free from tension with a deep exhale. You feel your heart rate coming down to its normal pace with your nerves stilling. You continue walking down the path to return to the house, moving with haste before your luck could run out.

You are filled with the warmth of familiarity as you are but meters from the gates, when suddenly you feel a talloned grip of a murderous creature grab your left wrist yanking you back with such force you nearly bite your tongue. Time nearly stops as you turn your head and gaze upon the monster that wants nothing more than to feast on your flesh. You shriek in terror at the sight, two horrible red beady eyes, scaly white skin, and rows of razor sharp fangs. No doubt about it. A demon.

Doing whatever you could possibly think of to free yourself from the death grip of the beast, you firmly clutch the hairpin in your right hand. Using the breakneck momentum sending you throat first hurling towards the abomination, you dig the metal accessory deep in its eye.

The hair pin was left buried in its face. The creature howled in agony, throwing you to the ground as if you were weightless. Your ears ring and you feel warmth beginning to seep from your lower lip at the impact, but you know you’ve only bought yourself a few crucial seconds to get distance from the bloodthirsty monster.

You rake the ground with your fingertips attempting to force yourself to your feet before stumbling down again. Horror and pain manifesting in your body at last, leaving you frozen in shock. You turn your head upon hearing the shrill screeches of pain turn to aggression once again. Its eye had already regenerated completely.

The hairpin left a crumbled wire on the ground beside the beast. You can’t outrun this thing. If you turn from it again you’re dead for sure. Beads of crimson blood trickled from your lip, the metallic taste ripe in your mouth causing you to spit instinctually. The demon came lunging at you again, its speed and agility unreal as it launched from where it stood.

You braced yourself for the inevitable when you saw a blur of motion, a burst of blazing power. It was as if a fierce, explosive flame had ignited out of nowhere. Suddenly, you heard a pathetic plop as the demon’s decapitated head fell to the ground, disintegrating into ash.

The creature didn’t even know what happened before it was slain with ease, in the blink of an eye. Standing firmly, with a presence exuding both fortitude and finesse, a figure appeared in front of you. The unforgettable haori of the Flame Hashira draped over the shoulders of your rescuer.

In a fluid motion, Kyojuro thrusted the garnet blade out to the side, the demon blood shirking off cleanly. Then, lining the katana’s edge up with the sheath, he slid it into the wooden saya with a resounding click. He kneeled to your eye line, your breathing still ragged and uneven.

He lifted a hand to your face, almost as if to ground himself. You feel his palm tremble against your cheek. You hold your own hand on his, stilling the involuntary tremor. Feeling the warmth of your skin against his, he quieted the panicked white noise in his mind.

You looked in shock, but miraculously, mostly unharmed. Save for the blood dripping from your mouth down to your chin. He lightly swiped his thumb over your bottom lip in an attempt to wipe the blood from your face, the traces of what was nearly his greatest failure.

His mind went back to images of a distant past. She coughed blood as well. Mother.

When it became harder for her to move, he stood at her bedside wiping the red fluid from her lips as her chronic illness advanced. Around that time, the father he looked up to that was once full of passion seemed to forget he and Senjuro even existed, seemingly grieving the loss of his beloved wife already. When the day came she was unable to breathe anymore, she passed in the night, without anyone even getting a chance to say goodbye. And with that, whatever was left of the Rengoku “family” shattered.

“Mother has gone to heaven...”

The words felt like tons of lead hanging in the air when he broke the news to his younger brother the next day. As much as he wanted to scream, cry out, ask someone—anyone—why. Why did a gentle woman like her have to suffer to the very end without anyone even there when her body finally gave out? Why did father drink himself into a perpetual stupor? But he knew he couldn’t. Watching little Senjuro, barely four years of age, clinging to his arm, sobbing, he knew the last thing he could do was crumble. He had to be strong. Not just for himself, but for everyone. Strong enough to protect them all.

He winced at the thought of what could’ve happened if he followed the standard procedure of pillars on standby, and spent tonight fast asleep and blissfully unaware.

“If I only got here a few minutes sooner. Did that thing touch you anywhere else?” His eyes remained steady and solemn on your sole injury, still holding your chin between his index finger and thumb.

Your chest tightened seeing the look on his face, both shame and concern. You told him you would try to lessen the burden he felt. What an empty platitude you’d spewed that night.

“I-I’m alright… really, the Earth did me more damage than it did.” You knew he would only consider it as a personal ineptitude if the very being he swore to annihilate managed to do any degree of injury to you. Even with your futile attempt to ease the concern and remorse, no doubt digging deeper into his skin than any claw of a demon, his countenance was drawn thin. The man who you knew to burn with unwavering sanguinity, was reduced to a flicker of uncertainty at the sight before him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want you to worry about me, you already worry about everyone. I don’t want to be a burden or another thing hanging on your mind. And I broke my hairpin. I’m sor-” Your near hysterical drabble was abruptly cut off by Kyojuro pulling you closer, wrapping his arms around you as if to create a protective cocoon to keep you from harm henceforth, tenderly holding your head like a lifeline.

“Do not apologize. I won’t allow it. I am your husband… so just this once, please, you must obey me. I won’t let you apologize for anything.” His voice wracked with tremors, the usual self-assuredness cracking beneath the weight of everything.

“Even if you apologize for it, you will not leave my mind. It’s not possible. But it’s not because you’re a burden. You’ve never been a burden. Never.” He forcibly regained his composure, wiping a tear that had escaped to run down your cheek. Still holding your face so that he could take it in its entirety, sear each feature into his mind if he could. His lips curled back into a smile, one that he hoped you would mirror back at him.

Despite your insistence you were practically unscathed, Kyojuro insisted on carrying you back to the house. With careful hands, he lifted you effortlessly, as if you weighed no more than a feather. You could feel the heat radiating from him, if you didn’t know better you might’ve thought he was feverish.

“Warm” you think to yourself, he really was always so warm.

—————————————

The morning light filtered into the room like flecks of gold, but he paid no mind to it. He had been awake before dawn anyway. Unable to shake the feeling of a taint sticking to his skin like a film of filth. What had happened hours earlier, a blur of fangs, debris, shadows, and sanguine hued splatters.

He moved deliberately, as to not awaken you so early in the other room. Clamping a fabric tie between his teeth, he lifted his arms to gather the amber strands of his hair, his shoulders flexed, corded muscles shifting smoothly beneath his skin. Before dexterously pulling through and fastening his usual ponytail with one hand.

Next, he inspected the condition of the white haori accented with red and yellow left carefully folded across the room. Scanning it, running his hands over it, he ensured the prized heirloom wasn’t soiled as he did each time he worked. He was meticulous about his corps uniform, never did he allow it to look creased, disheveled, or unprofessional. But the most important piece of the ensemble was his haori.

Passed down from generation to generation, the garment was a symbol of the house Rengoku going back to the Sengoku era, precious, and only be to worn by the current Flame Hashira.The kaen pattern was a sacred motif that served as both a beacon of light to those in need of salvation, as well as a searing warning to evil. The privilege of donning it was not one to be taken lightly. He most literally carried the long legacy of Flame Breathing on his shoulders.

With that legacy came an unyielding duty. Every hashira had a sector they were responsible for protecting, mainly by remaining vigilant for anything suspicious that could be related to demonic movements. Weak demons were much like mindless animals, prowling the night haphazardly seeking human flesh to feast on.

They were easy to both find and slay. On the other hand, powerful demons were intelligent, sinister. They spun elaborate webs, even employing humans or feigning humanity themselves to strategically ensnare unsuspecting victims to devour, only to then return to the shadows and repeat the cycle again and again.

In recent days, Kyojuro knew something was horribly awry in his district. Forty passengers and a small platoon of demon slayers did not simply vanish from their seats halfway through a train ride. And just as that same “man-eating train” was to return to the rails, a demon dubbed “The Slasher” doing absolutely nothing to conceal itself, suddenly begins wreaking havoc? A distraction, no doubt.

There was a foreboding bitterness in the air of something horrific to come, a phase two of this calculated plot. A twelve kizuki, perhaps even an upper rank, was lying in wait. Reporting his findings to the Master, Kyojuro was officially dispatched, and to board the Mugen Train at dusk in two days time.

It was standard procedure for the pillars to have a short period to arrange preparations and fully rest before the ordeal to come when assigned a mission from the Master himself; he had not been personally sent by the Master on a mission more than but a few times in his career.

When a hashira was sent at all, it was a signifier as to the direness and expected peril of the situation. A code red emergency. It was a necessity for anyone attending such a high stakes operation to be both mentally and physically at their pinnacle, a few nights of leaving patrol to the sector’s subordinate kinoe and kinoto battalions was in the best interests of all. Even a pillar is only human after all.

He was no stranger to any of this, he had been on countless missions, even eliminating the twelve kizuki was something he knew he was capable of doing. He usually did follow the expectation of a brief rest period, but he was under no real obligation to. No one, not even the wise Master, would try to convince a pillar of their own physical threshold if one continued duties anyway.

Images of ruby droplets dripping down your lip played in his mind on loop. It stirred something fierce in him, something that made any prospect of fatigue irrelevant. You had been so close to becoming another victim, another statistic of demonic cruelty. His jaw tightened at such a thought. Was respite a luxury he could afford?

The Slasher was known for its speed; just last night, several crows reported sightings from different towns in a span of a few minutes. He could not let the beast stay on the prowl another night. He would eliminate it now if he could. He could not entrust its defeat to another slayer, or even another pillar.

The sightings had been too close to the estate; he wanted to track and dispose of it himself. He would never forgive himself if he stood idly by waiting for the Master’s order to board the Mugen Train, and something happened to someone he cared about again. Every fiber of his being screamed to act, to protect, unwilling to afford to think of anything else right now—not even the impending mission.

All his pursuits of strength, in an attempt to fulfill his promise, no, his duty not just to Mother, but to everyone he was capable of defending. Was it all for naught? He could not succumb to the trap of self satisfaction. Continue. Onward. There had to be more he could do, more who he could protect. A pillar is an immovable object to support all that rests upon it, and he would be the same. Solidified with an overwhelming passion. A couple of sleepless nights should be nothing to inhibit a hashira, right? He just needed to push himself harder.

“Please take care of yourself, unless you want me to worry”

A softer image of you enters his mind. Warm lantern light reflecting from your face, cheeks dusted with a rosy hue, and a wistful smile. Your echoes in his mind, almost hauntingly so. Your voice is saccharine like honey, and your words even more so.

He began slipping into his usual uniform attire, each button latched a manifestation of his ironclad resolve. He would investigate the Slasher incidents even if it took the next two day, and dispose of it. He would try to stop home for a quick goodbye, then straight away mount the Mugen Train next.

You would have to find it in your heart to excuse what he was planning to do. He slid the shoji open a crack large enough to peer inside. He looked in on you, peacefully asleep. The sunlight, a golden cascade against your skin. It may have well cast a halo upon you, the way you look positively ethereal. Whispering in a voice uncharacteristically low as to not cut through the tranquil, he uttered solemnly:

“Please, forgive me…”

—————————————

The cicadas chirped with the evening upon them, the warm air sat like a blanket over the Earth, with barely any breeze. With the company of the youngest Rengoku, you sat on the back porch of the house. Time moved slow, seemingly not even at all, like they were suspended in placidity, or maybe even monotony.

“Is it normal for pillars to be sent out for over two days straight?” You ask the young boy next to you.

“No,” he replied with certainty “They are the most valuable assets of the entire corps. Only to be dispatched when all logistics and reconnaissance is done, and they need someone to finish off the threat itself. Or perhaps if there is a devastating emergency or something, but even then.”

You nod, expressing understanding. “Brother likes to be involved every step of the way though, he likes enforcing that every position in the corps is equally essential, including hashira” Senjuro can’t hide his starry-eyed look at the mere mention of his idol.

You hum amusedly, how had you forgotten? You can picture him now, tirelessly ensuring that every corps member feels valued, regardless of rank or whether they wield a sword or simply provide support.

You can’t help but acknowledge how characteristic that kind of mindset was. That man really takes every opportunity to work as hard as humanly possible to set an example for others.

“You think he will send a crow soon?” Despite Senjuro’s steady tone and demeanor, you see his lip quivering.

“He always comes straight here as soon as he can, I’m sure he will be back by tomorrow morning at the latest.” You steel yourself, speaking confidently and self assured, smiling back at Senjuro.

“That’s what Kyojuro would do.” You think to yourself.

“W-would you come with me to our Mother’s altar?” Senjuro looked at you, concern still wrought into his features.

“Oh, uh sure.” You had yet to see where the late lady of the house was laid to rest, or the shrine that served as a physical memory of her within the home. The right occasion just hadn’t come up.

Maybe you remembered seeing her when you were a child the day you were promised to the Rengoku family? You can vaguely recall a beautiful measured woman with long, dark hair, in every manner down to how she breathed she exuded elegance and poise. Judging by how many years ago that was, Senjuro probably remembers her about as much as you do.

Regardless of that, her spirit was likened to that of an angelic being. Either serving as a fond memory of simpler times, or a bitter reminder of when life was worth living for all those who once loved her.

The boy rose to his feet beckoning you to follow him, taking a stick of incense before leading you into a small room.

Adorning the tiered altar were chrysanthemums and fine silks, leading to a portrait with an inscription beneath reading “Rengoku Ruka: Beloved Wife and Mother.” Her deep crimson eyes reflected a patience extending infinitely, steadily taking in all they surveyed.

“Someone already lit incense?” You say gesturing to the aromatic as it sat already burning, concentrated sake poured into an ornate ceremonial ochoko beside it. It looked as if the offering had been left earlier that same day.

“There’s never any incense here when my brother is gone.” Senjuro frowned at the untouched stick in his own hand. “There’s a bit of an old school tradition he told me about from The Flame Hashira Chronicles talking about pillars lighting incense for each other when they are sent into the field for an extended period, kind of as a way of praying for their safety. I’m not sure if the current pillars still believe in it, but my brother definitely does. He really tries his best to follow the ways of previous generations of hashira.”

You wondered why such a ritual was getting phased out, perhaps it was just considered archaic? You were no elite swordsman yourself, but it only made sense in your mind. The longer they are forced to continue fighting, the more difficult the mission becomes as they slowly fatigue. They deserve all the support from their fellow pillars in that case.

Senjuro sighed, “I figured he would like it if we followed that custom and lit some for his protection, just in case none of his comrades did it for him.”

As much as you were sure Kyojuro would be touched by you and Senjuro wanting to burn incense for him, your heart bled at the thought of being the only ones to do so. However, clearly there was someone else in the house who showed concern and solidarity for his endeavor…

“Well, I guess we won’t have to.” You assure Senjuro in an attempt to ease his disappointment. You could tell he wanted to be the one to ask Ruka’s spirit for guardianship and watchfulness over his brother. Nevertheless, you both kneeled on the zabuton cushion before the altar, your hands both folded reverently.

“Please Mother, keep brother from harm. Please guide him home when he is victorious over the demons.”

You shut your eyes while listening to Senjuro’s plea, feeling your breath shallow with worry hearing his words. You hadn’t said it to each other yet, but there it was. You and Senjuro both had considered the possibility of something dreadful, even as hard as you tried not to. You found yourself imploring as well.

“Please Ruka-san… watch over him.”

—————————————

He looked over his shoulder at the younger slayer incapacitated on the ground, and the civilians of the Mugen Train as they attempted to recover from the aftermath of the locomotive going off the rails.

The tattooed demon seemed in a state of bliss at the sensation of his blade slicing its body, as if it was in a state of bliss from the adrenaline of battle. The slashes closed as quickly as he created them, his enemy standing unharmed. “You still don’t get it? That if you continue attacking, you’re just getting closer to death, Kyojuro?”

Blood obscured his left eye to the point he couldn’t even see out of it. He felt sharp splinters of rib bone against his side, nearly making him dizzy from the pain. He tightened his core to do whatever he could to prevent the fragments from puncturing his vitals from within. He could not falter now. Not when over 200 lives hung in the balance. Firming his resolve, he gripped his blade with a vice.

The final and most powerful form of Flame Breathing was a Rengoku family secret technique. A mystery to demons and swordsmen alike. There were no records of an enemy living to tell the tale once it was wielded, even tsuguko hailing from outside the family were only told of eight forms in existence.

No matter how many centuries the monster known as Upper Moon 3 had lived, he could not possibly know of this move if he had never encountered a Flame Hashira before, as he had previously boasted.

This creature was not a demon, he was a calamity. A being only devoted to destruction. One that needed to be taken down here and now. This was his last chance, even if all he could do was trap the demon in place until dawn. He had to use it, the penultimate stance of Flame Breathing. A form that could only be described as using mind, body, very soul as kerosene and setting one alight to burn, burn!

“Flame Breathing Esoteric Art, Ninth Form: Rengoku!”

Taking off full speed, the rest of the world fragmenting into oblivion as his vision darkened at the edges. His only focus was striking with as much speed and power as he possibly could. A burning ferocity went ripping through every nerve ending, focusing every ounce of strength from everything down to each individual cell, to a single objective.

His opponent’s face lit up with ecstasy, cackling in a fit of twisted delight. “Now you must become a demon! We could continue to duel each other for the rest of eternity!”

The ground shook at both forces of nature colliding, all the pain reaching a threshold in his body that it became numb at once. He entered a dreamlike state. As if he was no longer in control of his own body, the righteous fury from within was overflowing to move him without thinking. It was only when the beast launched himself into the air, both arms ripped that he understood what had happened as they stood in a deadlock. Feeling his muscles finally give, he fell to his knees. Everything went white, the overwhelming silence gripping him in place. It was as if he was suspended in the crossroads of reality and time.

He sat kneeling in a maroon yukata. The familiar tatami floors he had known all his life beneath him. He was home? He looked down his lap to see the calloused, hardened palms he had acquired over years of combat were replaced with small, soft hands of a child.

Lifting his head from the ground, his breath caught in his throat at the sight before him. Serene ruby eyes met his gaze, complemented by the same sage countenance he had once known.

“Mother? Did I… did I do right by you? My duty… being strong... Did I fail?”

Her expression remained calm, the picture of composure, even now, embodying the quiet strength that had always defined her. “Kyojuro,” she spoke, her voice flowing like a babbling brook, soothing and reassuring. “You have never failed.”

“Why… Why can’t I embrace you Mother?” He was moving in slow motion, the harder he strained to reach her, the more resistance he felt on his body. What was this place?

“That is because it's not time. You are not finished yet. You promised to see your duty fulfilled, so fulfill it.” She continued, her eternally stoic gaze softened. “I’m so proud of you, my son.”

part two here

#rengoku kyojuro #kyojuro rengoku #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #rengoku kyoujurou #rengoku x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #rengoku kyoujurou x reader #kyojuro x reader #rengoku x you #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader

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kingkatsuki · 1 year ago

Text

I started this in March and I finally managed to finish it. It was only supposed to be a short thirst post but yet here we are. Thank you if you decide to give it a go💕

Summary: Tengen thinks Sanemi is wound far too tight, and of course he knows just the way to fix it— by taking him to his favourite brothel.

Pairing: Shinazugawa Sanemi x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, reader is a courtesan, implied!Tengen using their services, virgin!Sanemi, sex as a transaction, slight degradation, praise, blowjobs, cum swallowing, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, Sanemi is way too obsessed with reader way too fast (but she likes it!!)

Word Count: 9.4k.

“Allow yourself to indulge a little, my friend,” Tengen clapped his shoulder with a grin, “After all that’s what this district is for.”

“I have no time for indulgence.” Sanemi scoffed, ripping his shoulder out of Tengen’s grip as he bared his front incisors.

It was already insufferable enough that he’d had to spend the last few nights with the Sound Pillar, but it was made worse by the grand spectacle he’d made when they’d both entered the entertainment district for the first time. The bright lights paired with the bustling crowds seemed to evoke even more intolerable actions from Uzui and Sanemi couldn’t wait to get home.

“There’s always time for indulgence, my friend,” He persisted, not taking his answer for gospel as he continued down the brightly illuminated street, “And don’t you want to experience the soft touch of a woman?”

“Why would I want to do that?” Sanemi sneered, rolling his eyes as Tengen waved over at a group of women who were standing at the entrance to an establishment trying to coax him over.

All Sanemi wanted to do was find a bed at the local inn and rest his head for a few hours so he could be alert when searching for the demon that was rumoured to be sighted in the area. It disgusted him that people were seemingly still out satiating themselves with cheap frivolity when lives were at risk.

“You can’t die a virgin,” He continued, mid-wave, “How embarrassing.”

“You need to assess your priorities if that is what you assume to be an embarrassment.” He snapped, “Not when there are still demons alive—”

“Ah, I worry as much as you,” Sanemi highly doubted it, “But You never know you might find yourself relaxing a bit.” Tengen persisted, “Might find yourself less angry.”

Sanemi sneered as he balled his hands into a fist, preparing to land a strike against his cocky fellow hashira before Tengen pulled back the purple fabric to a building at the side of them, stepping inside the brothel.

“You can wait outside if you want, I’m sure you’ll find the street performers more than entertaining.”

Sanemi glanced towards the rowdy men who were currently playing instruments in the middle of the street, the loud noise irksome as people stopped to dance with them. Scrunching his nose in irritation as he turned to face the Sound Pillar.

“Fine,” His lips smoothed into a thin line, “But you’re fuckin’ paying.”

Sanemi lingered outside as he stared at the wisteria pattern against the curtain. His heart pounded in his chest at the thought before he took a deep breath and followed inside.

“Ah, Mr Uzui, your usual?”

“Not today,” He clapped a hand on Sanemi’s shoulder, “I’ve brought a friend.”

Sanemi could see the girls in the background begin to cower away, even though they tried to hide it. Shrugging Uzui’s hand off his shoulder with a growl of irritation as he tried to avoid the pairs of eyes watching him intently, jaw locked as he sucked in a breath of air.

“How wonderful, Uzui-sama.” The lady bowed as she motioned to a young girl, “Our Oiran is unavailable now, but I’m certain she will more than suffice.”

The girl cowered in fear as she was given a push in her lower back in an attempt to get her feet to start working, the poor thing. She’d barely been here a week and she’d already had a difficult afternoon with a travelling samurai who’d assumed being rough was included with the price.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Shinazugawa.” Uzui called out from behind him as Sanemi glared in irritation. There was certainly no chance of that happening, especially at the sight of the young girl that looked close to tears.

“It would be my honor to serve you tonight, my Lord.” You chanced stepping forward, feeling your Madame turn to glare at you.

“Remember your place,” She jeered, the same sickly sweet smile on her face to mask her indignation before turning back to the hashira, “I’m sorry, Shinazugawa-sama. Please let us show you to your room—”

“I want her.” He cut her off coldly, tired eyes matching your gaze as an unfamiliar heat lingered in your chest.

“Not to question your choice, my Lord. But we have many excellent options here—”

“Keep them.” He stepped towards you as you took this as your moment to turn around. Ignoring your Madame’s calls for him to enjoy his night, and request a change at any time if he so desired. It was no wonder she was worried about you tarnishing her reputation, trying to palm to hashira off on someone far more weak willed. But you were intrigued by the man from the moment he stepped through the door, and the poor girl needed a chance to recover from her ordeal.

You could practically feel his eyes on you as you led him down the wooden hallway towards your room, keeping enough of a distance as you slid the screen door open gently. Stepping to the side to invite him in with a slight bow of your head as the white-haired man followed into the room, scrunching his nose at the potent smell of flowers that permeated the air as you closed the door behind you. It was sickly sweet, worse than the ohagi he’d cook at home; invading his senses as he tried to ignore the scent throbbing at the back of his skull.

You could feel how awkward he was, lingering by the doorway as you could cut the tension in the air with a blade. Smoothing down the front of your kimono as you stood in front of him, noticing the way his lavender eyes took note of the futon in the corner of the room.

So this was the seedy shit that Uzui got up to in his free time? Sanemi scoffed.

An impertinent man with three wives who still managed to find the time to spend in the arms of another. Having one woman would be enough of a nuisance, he thinks. But juggling four sounded like pure greed.

“Can I get you anything Shinazugawa-sama?” You smiled, “Tea? Sake? We also have fresh onigiri—”

Sanemi wished you’d stop calling him that. He usually delighted in the honorific when he was called it by others, but the saccharine lilt to your voice as you danced along his name had his cock pulsing between his thighs uncomfortably.

“No.” He bit back the insult that threatened to follow as you nodded in affirmation.

“Well, you’re welcome to make yourself comfortable for your time here,” You continued, “Our services are open to the Hashira for as long as they see fit.”

He scoffed at that, knowing that a Hashira’s pocket was rarely empty so it made sense they’d want to make as much money from them as possible.

“We don’t have to do anything,” You smiled softly, noticing he was silent as he remained still. The cogs in his head slowly turned as he wondered why he’d even agreed to this in the first place, how he’d even made it this far.

“You think I’m scared or somethin’?” Sanemi gibed, maybe a little harsher than intended, but it felt warranted. Your words made it seem as though you were questioning his valour. And Shinazugawa Sanemi never backed down in fear, especially not like this.

“No,” You tilted your head to the side and Sanemi felt his heart rattle at his cages with how cute you looked. Trying to fight the heat that was slowly rising through his body and tickling the tips of his ears.

He felt hot. If he’d have known this was how easily it was to increase his body temperature warm enough to potentially receive a mark, he would’ve demanded that Uzui bring him here a long, long time ago—

“I can just tell you’ve never been here before,” You hummed, “It’s probably unfamiliar to what you’re used to.”

You were right. Sanemi felt completely out of his depth.

“I have no desire to frequent a whorehouse.” He spat, masking his vulnerability. And yet he was acutely aware of the way you didn’t flinch like many would, cowering away from him in fear as though he were a coiled snake ready to attack.

It was at that moment your eyes met his across the room, and for the first time, he recognised the desolate emptiness in your eyes. He recognised it because it was the same one he held whenever he glanced at his reflection. So much time spent wallowing in self-loathing and pity, forcing himself to submerge himself in sheer hatred instead of looking at the ones around him. Sanemi could tell you’d been through a lot too, suffering at the hands of many while being forced into a life you’d never wanted for yourself. Much like him.

“But you’re here anyway, so you might as well relax for the time,” You smiled back, and it only pained him more that he’d spoken to you with such callousness, “And at least you can avoid your friend for a few hours.”

“Is that what all your visitors come here to do?” He sneered but did not attempt to move.

“To linger in the doorway?” You raised a brow, “No, you would be the first.”

Sanemi felt a heat rise all the way to the tips of his ears at this, noticing he’d barely stepped inside the room since you’d brought him this far.

“I don’t bite, you know.” You laughed as you watched him frozen in place.

Could you tell he was a virgin? He wondered if it was obvious from the way he lingered as his body became engulfed in flames. Willing the ground to swallow him whole at the prospect of appearing so inexperienced, and he was surprised at how much he cared.

“We have many people that come here just to talk,” You smiled, settling down into a kneel, “But you don’t seem like much of a talker.”

But that’s not why he was here, he thinks. The proposition had been offered to him, and Uzui had certainly never mentioned talking. “The perfect medicine!” He’d clapped him on the back as he’d led him towards the establishment, a haughty smile on his face. Sanemi was here to try and settle his temper, to blow off some steam. And yet here he still stood stoic in the doorway, silence hanging in the air.

“Well, if you don’t like to talk. Maybe you’d like to watch?” You offered up the option, as Sanemi froze.

What?

He was certain he wouldn’t make it from this room alive, spending years fighting demons only to be scuppered by a beguiling temptress like you. Positive Uzui had fed him to the wolves the moment he stepped through the doors to this establishment and pulled back the curtain.

Sanemi’s tongue slipped out to wet his lips, a futile action when his throat was this dry, as he played back your offer in his head. The words echoed in his ear as he wondered how he was supposed to receive them, whether he needed to say yes or if you would be so kind as to show him exactly what you meant.

He’d never thought much of laying with a woman before. His line of work failed to offer much chance of finding a suitable wife and settling down, even though Uzui had managed to find three. More interested in ridding the world of the scourge of demons instead of cheap frills and frivolity. Sanemi’s only glimpses of breasts had been in onsens or walking through the Red light district. Enough to have his cock pulsing between his thighs as he fought the temptation, but nothing like how you made him feel standing in front of him right now.

“Uzui-sama had said to show you—”

“Can’t you just get on with it?” He cut you off, definitely a little harsher than intended. But it’s to be expected when he’s like a wild deer backed into a corner, as you mentioned the shepherd that had dragged him to the slaughter.

He was going to kill Uzui-sama when he got out of this, he scoffed, the man probably only attended the house to hear that honorific.

“Of course, Shinazugawa-sama.” You smiled, as Sanemi’s eyes now focused on your smaller hands teasing the opening of your kimono, his cock bucking under his pants at the same honorific, “So you can learn how to please a woman.”

Sanemi didn’t want a woman, he had no intention of pleasing anyone. And yet he found himself wondering on what it would be like to please you. Whether your eyes would roll, or your toes would curl. Thinking about the saccharine sigh of his name tumbling from your lips when he had you on the crux of your bliss. And then he began to wonder whether any man had ever pleased a woman inside these four walls, whether a man had ever pleased you—

“Is that even important?” He scoffed, lips coiled into a sneer as you sat back on your haunches.

“Well, it depends. I’m sure as long as you have a woman to lay with you’ll find your pleasure,” You smiled, finding no offence in his question, “But if you help her find her pleasure you’ll be far more satisfied.”

Sanemi felt the heat inside him start to burn as you pressed him to stay. Telling himself it was out of pure intrigue as he lowered his sword to the floor, his palm still clasped over it as he made his decision to stay.

You managed to get him to kneel, although he positioned himself with one foot on the ground. Knee bent as though he was preparing to flee the scene the moment this became too much.

“So you’re only here because of your friend?” You posed the question to him in an attempt to break the ice, though it was more than obvious to be true.

The hunched shoulders and flushed cheeks made it wholly apparent that this wasn’t one of his usual haunts. And that the Hashira felt extremely out of place—

Awkward.

“He seems to think I’m wound too tight,” Sanemi grunted, eyes focused on the way you languidly disrobed.

If he had the confidence he’d reach across the room and pull the haori down your shoulders himself, telling you to hurry up. He’d never witnessed someone take so long to disrobe, although he supposed this was some sort of show you were supposed to put on for the drunken men who frequented the establishment. So he held back, watching as the fabric finally pooled around you.

“So he brought you here to let off some steam.” You smile, beginning to work on the buttons at the front of your kimono.

“And what say you?” He sneered, “What do you think?”

“I’d say your job is difficult,” You whispered, slowly pulling back the front of your kimono to expose your naked breasts to his prying gaze.

Sanemi didn’t say anything, but you noticed his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed thickly. Nostrils flaring as he exhaled softly as the fabric fell around you to join your haori.

“It’s no wonder you have so much rage inside.” You continue, hands delicate in your lap as you allow him to look at you, “It’s okay to let it out. To release some tension—”

You were right, Sanemi supposed. Although since being inside this building he somehow felt worse— the tension continuing to build inside his abdomen as his pelvis tightened uncomfortably, his heavy cock throbbing with desire as it pressed against the front of his uniform. Shifting his thighs as he tried to give himself some slight relief from the incessant throb, as you did little to satiate it when you began to tease your naked breasts.

“Are you a virgin, Shinazugawa-sama?” You asked, although you were certain you already knew the answer.

“What’s it to you?” He mocked, “You’re just a common whore ready to spread her legs. It’s your job—”

“I’m sorry, my Lord.” You smile softly, finding no malice in his words. It was clear he was trying to deflect your question, as though the answer burned him to say, “I was certain you wanted to talk.”

You were worried you may have pushed him too much, that he would turn and flee the room and leave you naked and alone. Or worse— attack.

You’d had it happen before. Men who would enter the building of their own free will, before turning on you at the last moment. Hands wound tight around your neck as they blamed you for cheating on their wives, for making them do this. And it wasn’t just the men who had nothing else to lose; the ones that would spend their final gold on a night with a woman. These were respected members of society— samurai, business owners, and demon slayers. And perhaps that’s why every other woman had cowered in fear when the Wind Pillar had stepped through the door, because they expected nothing less from the ruthless Hashira.

But he looked vulnerable.

“If you don’t want to talk,” You continued to pull back the fabric of your kimono to expose your naked frame to his lilac eyes, the material cascaded down your body and onto the floor as you allowed him to drink in the sight of you. His eyes roamed your naked skin as they followed a path along your sternum, between the valley of your breasts until they settled on your chubby mound, “I’m certain there are other things we could do that would please you.”

Sanemi’s throat seized as he watched your hands reach up to mould against your round breasts, the skin dipping beneath your touch as you let out a soft, satisfied gasp. A sound that sent jolts of electricity surging through his veins. Enough to have his hands balling into tight fists that settled on top of his thighs as blunt nails dug into his palms, focused on the way your nipples hardened as you pinched and rolled them between your thumb and forefinger.

“You can touch me, you know,” You murmured, “I don’t mind.”

Sanemi swallowed thickly at the invitation. It was why he was here, after all. But somehow it felt daunting to reach out and close the gap, unsure where he should even start with you as he stayed stoic across the room.

You chanced scooting towards him across the wooden floor, settling yourself in front of him as you reached out to grasp one of his tightly closed fists. Gently prying his fingers open as he allowed you to contort his hand, splaying his fingers as you laced your fingers through his own, threading them together as your warmth engulfed him.

The action felt too intimate, which felt peculiar to say when he was sat opposite a half-naked stranger. And yet, he found himself not wanting to pull away. He leaned into your touch, his palm squeezing yours as you took it for reassurance, a soft smile on your face as he found himself beginning to relax.

“It’s okay,” You cooed, “We can just sit like this if you’d prefer.”

You were delighted when you felt the tense muscles in his hand begin to relax as his clenched jaw softened.

“Or we can tell your friend we did everything you wanted,” You continue with a laugh, “And that way it wouldn’t be a lie.”

And Sanemi wished he could put all his wants into words. The thoughts that now ran rampant through his mind as he breathed in the candied scent of you, feeling you lean closer to pepper gentle kisses to the side of his jaw. Tickling his skin against the growing stubble that left a shadow as you moved forward to place your hand flat against his muscular thigh.

“There wouldn’t be a need to lie.” Sanemi’s voice was rough like gravel as he tried desperately to wet his tongue, the roof of his mouth giving no appeasement as his Adam’s apple bobbed thickly.

“Oh?” You murmured, feeling no hint of him pulling away as you leaned back to face him. Your breath fanning his skin as you looked at him through thick, long lashes. Sultry eyes flickering towards his chapped lips before returning his gaze, “So what would you like us to tell him?”

“W-what?” Sanemi stuttered, cursing himself for sounding so pathetic.

“What is it you’d like to tell him?” You smiled softly, your hand slipping higher along his thigh, “What stories do you want to return with?”

And now Sanemi was certain this was the closest he’d come to death.

“Maybe I can suck your cock?” The words almost had him falling apart as he focused on every syllable, unused to someone speaking to him with such candour.

“Uh- yeah.” He felt the embarrassment begin to bloom inside him at his pathetic response as his eyes bore into your own.

You managed to get him on his back, chest heaving as you began to unfasten the belt around his hips. Watching the way his gut clenched in anticipation as you palmed him softly through the rough fabric, causing his hips to buck as he cursed beneath his breath.

“You feel big, Shinazugawa-sama.”

“Call me Sanemi.” He barked back gruffly, wanting to hear the sweet sound of his name leave your lips instead.

“Of course, Sanemi.” You cooed. Never making it to the futon as you straddled his thighs where he lay on the hardwood floor. Shrugging off the rest of your kimono to leave your body completely bare above him as he had to try to remember to breathe.

It was difficult to think when he noticed just how close your bare cunt was to his crotch, certain he could feel the warmth radiating from it against his thigh as you began to tug his pants down. Enough to free his aching cock as it drooped hard and heavy against his pelvis, long enough to follow the curve of his hip as the uncut tip leaked pearlescent beads of pre. Your stomach swirled at the sight of him, what he lacked in size he made up for in sheer girth. Thick, bulging veins forking along his girth as you imagined how he would feel buried inside you, the stretch as he fucked to into the shape of him. The thoughts had your neglected cunt throbbing around nothing as you felt warm slick begin to pool between your thighs.

“I was right— you are big.” You noted, wrapping a slender hand around him at the base as his hips jerked in surprise. Biting back a sharp hiss from between clenched teeth at the sensation as his palms instantly balled into fists at his sides.

“Is that what you say to every man that passes through here?” Sanemi spat, but he secretly hoped this wasn’t the case. He was filled with the incessant desire to impress you, to have you fawning over him. Even though none of this was real.

“No, actually,” You smiled, “I think it might actually hurt if you fuck me.”

Sanemi’s cock kicked with your blase tone, certain he was about to come undone from your words alone. But as if that weren’t enough, he felt himself choking back a grunt when you leaned down to press a lingering kiss to his leaking tip. Licking your lips to taste his pre as you stared up at him from under thick lashes, “If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop.”

Sanemi almost snorted at this. As though he wouldn’t be able to overpower you and push you off in an instant, you wouldn’t stand a chance—

“Oh, fuckin’ shit—” All conscious thoughts were ripped away from him the moment you wrapped your lips around his cock. Catching you by surprise as his hips jerked roughly, forcing more of his length inside your wet mouth as the heady tip of his cock pressed against the back of your throat. The sudden motion caused you to gag as you pulled back to cough and splutter, and Sanemi felt downright depraved when he throbbed at the sight of you. Strings of spit mixed with his pre connected him to your mouth as he groaned, noticing the fat tears that now clumped in your lashes as he tried to remember to breathe, “I’m sorry, I’m—”

“It’s okay,” You brushed him off with a smile, your warm palms stroked softly against his hairy thighs as he tried to calm his body down, “I actually liked it.”

You liked it? Gods, you were certain to be the death of him.

You took him into your mouth again as he fought back the urge to cant his hips forward, growling when your tongue began to trace the bulging veins along his length. Hollowing your cheeks as you began to gently bob your head along him as the hand wrapped around his base began to massage his heavy balls.

It was no wonder Uzui always seemed particularly cheery if this was what he got to experience at home. Sanemi’s eyes rolled back into his skull as he clenched them shut, positive that one look at you with your lips wrapped around him would have him coming undone in an instant.

“You can hold my head, show me what you like.” You murmured against the tip of his cock as you pulled back for air before swallowing him again. Coaxing him to touch you, to move you how he’d like to be treated, and Sanmei wondered why he should even bother when this already felt like heaven.

The whiny, desperate whine that vibrated around his cock the moment he held the back of your head in a large palm was his answer. Your throat instantly tightened around him as he swallowed back another debauched moan, tightening his grip as he began to help you bob your head along his cock. Careful not to hurt you as he pushed you down so the tip of his cock nudged the back of your throat with each downward motion, something that had him leaking even more pre as the salty taste dampened your tongue.

Sanemi could already feel his balls tightening in anticipation, your movements sending him closer to bliss as he used your mouth for his own pleasure.

There’s something about being the only person to see Shinazugawa Sanemi like this. A strong, powerful man who strikes fear into the hearts of many brought to his knees as you tower over him.

His cheeks blaze fiery red as the bloom spreads to the tips of his ears as you wrap his cock into a gentle fist, squeezing the base as he tries to stop his hips from canting forward pathetically. The noise that spills from his lips is more akin to an injured animal as he tries to stop himself from spilling his release so easily. But this is exactly what you do to him, the only person that can make him feel this way.

“Do something.” His tone is cold and brash, but there’s no real malice behind it as you have him as close to begging as you can.

Your fingers slip lower from his balls as you run your thumb along his taint, dipping into the sensitive skin as you have Sanemi’s hips bucking wildly as he catches you completely off guard as he cums with a depraved snarl. Hot, sticky ropes of cum spurt from his pulsing cock as you catch them in your mouth, coating your throat in his potent seed as his chest heaves from the intensity. His hand remains rough at the back of your head as he forgets his hold on you, keeping you pinned on his cock as he fills you with his release.

It’s only when you splutter that Sanemi realises his hold on you, pulling away as though he’s been burned as his lilac eyes stare down at you with worry. Watching you quiver as you cough and splutter again, as he sits up in an instant to cup your neck and assess if you’re okay.

“Shit, I’m sorry—” He rasps, his cock still half-hard and doused in your spit as it hangs between you. “I didn’t mean to— are you okay?”

And for the first time, it feels as though he’s let his walls down. The worry in his tone, paired with his wide eyes show you the concern that you hadn’t expected from the harsh Wind Pillar when he’d first entered the room, and yet here he was offering you more kindness and compassion than a lot of your previous visitors.

Your throat burns, but you answer him by parting your lips and lolling your tongue out so he can see that you’ve swallowed every drop of cum he’d given you. An action that already has his cock stirring for more attention as Sanemi bites back the harsh groan that threatens to rumble deep in his chest at the sight of you.

You really had no idea that you’d be the complete undoing of him, he supposed as he allowed his thumb to brush against your soft cheek. Smiling when you leaned into his touch, still settled between his thighs.

He decided at that moment he’d quite like to kiss you. Uncertain if that was even something people did in these establishments, whether you’d even allow him to. Wondering if you’d ever wanted to kiss any of the men you’d spent time with working here, whether you’d even want to kiss him. Remembering that this was probably nothing more than a job to you, another way to pay off your debts and get yourself out.

He’d get you out if he could. Spare you from all the disgusting, rowdy creeps that you have to deal with daily and protect you from the horrors of this world.

“Are you okay?” You tilted your head to the side as Sanemi was brought back from his thoughts.

“Weren’t you gonna show me how to please a woman?” He ignored your question as his chapped lips brushed against the curve of your jaw.

“Oh,” Your cheeks flushed with a delicate flourish as warmth bloomed across your skin, “Oh, yeah.”

You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you’d even be able to handle his touch on your skin. Your cunt already throbbing wanton and desperate with need as your slick began to soak your inner thighs, positive no one else had made you feel like this before.

Reaching out to wrap your smaller palm around his wrist as he allowed you to move it how you pleased, lifting it to move it to settle against one of your soft breasts.

“Oh,” You heaved a sigh as your fingers stayed wrapped around his wrist as Sanemi began to clench his fingers, barely a squeeze as though he was worried about hurting you as you coaxed him for more, “That feels good.”

The words seemed to encourage him as he began to massage the soft skin, calloused fingers grazing against your sensitive nipples that had you crying out for him. Pleased when he took the initiative to give your other breast the same attention, your cheeks flushed as he stared shamelessly at your exposed skin.

Reaching down you circled a hand around his thick wrist, raising his hand as you placed his calloused palm against your warm breast. Thick lashes fluttered on impact as you looked down at the way he encompassed it, fingers barely flexing as he noticed the way his hand circled it. You ground your hips against him, his semi-hard cock poking into the swell of your ass as you remained seated on his abdomen. The motion pressed you harder against his hand as he began to clench his fingers, squeezing the supple skin as a breathy whine escaped your lips.

Sanemi hadn’t seen many breasts, but he was certain that you were the prettiest by far. Gaining more confidence as he started to squeeze at the soft skin, his thumb grazing over one of your hardening nipples as it stiffened to a taut peak. Biting down on glossy lips you watched him focused and intent, giving the same attention to the other side as he began to palm them both.

Sanemi inhaled softly when your fingers began to busy themselves with the fastenings of his shirt, spreading what little was left to push it off his shoulders along with his haori. Your eyes trailed over each raised scar that marred his perfect skin, fingertips delicately brushing over each line of rough skin and puckered flesh. Giving the same amount of attention to each one, knowing that they all held their own story. Spending slightly longer on the long ones that crossed against the front of his chest, dangerously close to his heart as your palm stopped against his sternum to feel his heart hammering against his chest.

Sanemi had never found his scars repulsive, but for some reason beneath your gaze, he felt self-conscious. Worried that you may find him hideous and cower away from him like most others did. Others, whose opinions he didn’t care about, but yours?

“I know they appear ugly.”

“They’re not ugly,” You hum softly, “I’m just sorry you had to go through the pain to receive them.”

Some scars run deeper, ones that don’t mark and marr his skin. The ones that permeate through to his heart, twisting and contorting as they sear into him hotter than any flame. Demons that keep him awake at night as he’s forced to relive the moments he’s received them, times that he’s faced certain death— and perhaps he deserved it. The pain of receiving them was often forgotten by Sanemi. The hurt and damage from each scar would never equate to the feeling of seeing his loved ones slain, from losing his family.

“But each one tells a story,” You continued, smiling softly. Fingertips stroking over the raised scars there, following the damaged skin as you mapped out every curve and ridge. “Each one holds a reason as to why you’re still here.”

Sanemi had never had someone touch him like this before, he’d never been handled with such care. It was at that moment that Sanemi decided he didn’t want you with anyone else, that you were his and only his.

“We all have scars, but some we try to hide more than others.” You hummed.

Fuck it. He thought as he reached around your neck to pull you into a fierce kiss, catching you off guard. His teeth clashed against your soft lips as he fought to deepen in, inexperience shining through his actions as his nose bumped yours roughly. His movements were sloppy and unpractised as he was far too chaste; too eager. Your lips follow along with his to try and guide him, your tongue teasingly laps at the corner of his lips and he does little to stop you. Trying to anticipate your movements as his lips fall open, granting you entrance as you smile against him.

Your fingers splay against his jaw, holding him steady to help slow him down. Moving your lips with purpose as your tongue brushed past his parted ones, delving into his mouth as you swallowed the moans that vibrated at the back of Sanemi’s throat. Tilting your head to deepen the kiss as you felt his arms encircle you to pull you closer, tightening his grip on you as if no matter how close you were it would never be enough.

His still half-hard cock is trapped between your bodies as you shamelessly roll your hips, pressing your lower half against it for some sweet relief as your cunt virtually burned with neglect. You’d never felt so on edge as you were tempted to reach down and press two fingers to your puffy clit to give yourself some respite. An action that didn’t go unnoticed by the perceptive Hashira who broke the kiss to stare between your bodies.

Sanemi’s fingers were warm as they brushed through your messy folds, hiding your face in his neck as you felt his knuckle graze your clit. A whiny, breathless sigh warmed his skin when he felt your tight hole begin to catch against the calloused pad of his finger.

How were you this fucking wet already and he’d barely touched you? Was this all for him?

“Please,” You murmured. Sanemi felt you roll your hips against his hand, as though you were trying to drop yourself down on his finger, eager for stimulation. Granting your wish as he slipped a solo finger inside you, baulking when he felt how warm, wet and tight you were.

Sanemi wasn’t foolish, he knew about sex. But he just had no idea that this is what you looked like down there, what you felt like. How was he supposed to fit his cock inside here when you were this tight? Surely he’d split you in two.

The moan that left your lips was debauched, and the sound surged directly to his cock. Swallowing thickly as he pressed forward again, letting the calloused pad of his finger press against your velvety walls. Trying to draw another noise like that from your throat.

Sanemi was gentle and precise compared to the other men that frequented the establishment, so used to your pleasure being unimportant as they were quick to push into you with little care or decency. Fulfilling their own needs and leaving you a crumpled, fragile mess after with comments on how thankful you should be that they were helping to pay off your debt. Glad that most men that you encountered seemed to only want comfort, a warm body to lay beside so they could fool themselves for a moment that they mattered to someone.

“Is this okay?” His voice was laced with uncertainty, his finger plunging into your tight sex as he grazed your ridged walls.

“Curl it,” You murmured, breaking off into a high-pitched gasp when he brushed against the sensitive spot inside you. Your reaction was an indication he’d found what he’d been searching for as he focused his movements against it. Deft and precise as Sanemi began to pump the lone finger in and out of you, lilac eyes focused on the way your face contorted in pleasure.

“Yeah?” He hummed in satisfaction, “You like that?”

Your cunt clenched around him in response, biting down on your bottom lip as you found yourself rolling your hips in tandem with him, moving one of your hands from his shoulders to slip between your bodies to join his as you pressed slow, precise circles against your needy clit.

“What are you doing?” His voice turned to a deep snarl, brows furrowed as he watched you touch yourself in front of him.

“Touching my clit.” You gasped as he knocked your hand away roughly, moving his thumb to press blindly against your slit to replace it.

“I’ll do it,” He growled, the authoritative lilt to his tone had you trembling as he made rough strokes in an attempt to find your sensitive nub, “There?”

He questioned as he rubbed the junction of your labia, pressing against your folds as you tried to lift your hips to position his hand.

“No,” You murmured, holding his wrist before moving your slender fingers towards his thumb to press the pad of it flat against your clit. Whining on contact as his touch felt instantly better than your own, “Here— can you feel it?”

“Yeah,” Sanemi released the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding in as he began to press tough, persistent circles against it while curling his finger inside you.

“Add another finger, please?” You begged, moving your hands back to his broad shoulders to support yourself as you continued to match his movements.

“Yeah?” He murmured, pressing both fingers against the spongy spot inside you as he began to thrust them languidly, tilting his head back to stop you from shying away from his gaze as he watched your face morph into pleasure, “You like that?”

“So good,” You affirmed, feeling the coil inside you start to wind and tighten as Sanemi focused on your pleasure. Certain your cunt was drooling into his open palm as he followed your movements, pressing deeper each time you tried to roll your hips, “I’m close.”

“Then cum.” His voice commanded, his tone curt and domineering as you found yourself succumbing to the pleasure that threatened to spill over. Your cunt clenched desperately around his digits as you came with a choked gargle of his name, white spots blanking your vision as your entire body convulsed. Sanemi’s other hand splayed flat at the arch of your back to stop you from toppling backwards as he continued to press messy circles into your throbbing clit, prolonging the sensation, “Good girl.” The words had you throbbing as he helped you ride out your bliss.

“I—” You panted, at a loss for words as your nails dug into the delicate skin on his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped moons in their wake that Sanemi hoped would scar.

“God, you’re so fucking pretty when you cum.” Sanemi grunted, and you had to rip his hand away from your poor sex when the sensation became too much. Already feeling him forcing you towards another—

“You shouldn’t be so good at that, Shinazugawa-sama.” You groaned in satisfaction, pulling back as you noticed his cock practically leaking against his chest from the sight of you. Leaving silvery lines of pre against his skin as he sat hard and ready for you.

“What did I say to call me?” He rasped.

“Sanemi,” You breathed, and the Wind Pillar was certain he would never tire of hearing his name flow from your lips.

Was it normal to fall in love the first night with someone? With a courtesan no less. Sanemi wondered how many men had stepped through the doors of this house with the same question, returning to spend the night with a woman who was only interested in how deep their pockets were. But it somehow felt different with you— the look in your eyes made it feel like it was something more than just a transaction. And well, if it wasn’t Sanemi was positive he’d give every last penny he owned for one more night with you.

“It’s okay if you want to stop,” You smiled gently, hoping that he wouldn’t. Your cunt clenched desperately around nothing as you yearned for him, wanting to feel him stretch you out in the most intoxicating way.

You were certain it was going to hurt judging from the sheer mass that was now resting between your thighs, thick and heady. Feeling the tip almost graze your belly button as you imagined just how deep he would be inside of you. Your cunt fluttered in anticipation as he began to stroke the fat tip of his cock between your messy folds. Feeling them part for him as he nudged against your sensitive clit, making you cry out for him as he repeated the motion.

“Why would I stop?” He bit back, “You’re getting paid aren’t you?”

He hated himself for the words that left his lips, the regret evident on his features the moment he’d uttered them. But it was what he did. Pushing people away before they got too close, before he let them in—

“I’m sorry,” He murmured apologetically, “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” You cut him off with a small smile, used to hearing far worse as you smoothed a hand through the light hairs that scarred against his chest, “Are you ready?”

And Sanemi was certain he’d never been more prepared for anything in his life, his palms still planted firmly against your hips as he watched you reach down to wrap your palm around his drooling cock.

Holding it upright as you leaned forward to adjust yourself so the building tip was pressed against your right entrance. His fingers were no match for the stretch of the engorged tip as you slowly began to coax him inside. The first inch was painful, a delicious ache swirling in your abdomen as you tried to relax. Inhaling deeply as you gave an experimental roll of your hips, forcing another inch inside as you began to feel the stretch. The protruding veins that forked along his girth did nothing to ease the tension as you could practically feel them throb against your inner walls as you sank lower onto him.

Sanemi wasn’t fairing much better, his pupils blown as he was certain he could see every shade of colour. His grip against your hips bruising now as he tried to think of anything but the sensation of your cunt wrapped around him for the first time. He was barely halfway inside, and now he was positive he wouldn’t last by the time you made it to the base— his balls already drawn up and heavy as he imagined emptying his seed into your ripe cunt.

You were so fucking warm, and drenched. It was making it difficult to think as your slick left creamy rings around the girth of his cock, drooling down to his balls as you soaked his skin. Sanemi found himself becoming lightheaded, blindly pawing for your waist to centre himself. The back of his head knocked against the wooden floor as he readjusted his hips, giving you a few more inches as you moaned at the sensation. Catching yourself with soft palms against his chest as you rolled down into his touch, his stiff cock almost wholly inside you as you felt the messy hairs that sat at his base tickle your clit.

You still for a moment, allowing you both to adjust to the sensation. But it feels like a moment too long for Sanemi, a moment that drives him closer to the desperate release his body already craves. His hefty balls are already tight and pulsing as they threaten to spill into your eager hole.

It’s as though you notice when you start to roll your hips above him. But Sanemi reckons this is worse— your tits sway with your alluring movement, the cool air in the room hits his cock when you rise your hips to pull off him before seating yourself back down and he’s certain you’ll be the death of him. That Uzui will find the shattered remains of his body in this very room as he dies buried deep inside your molten cunt. How had he managed to continue life for so long without feeling this? It’s now the only pleasure he ever wants to indulge in as he watches you intently through blown eyes.

“Are you okay?” You hum with a teasing swirl of your hips and Sanemi has to wet his lips to reply. His tongue rolls over white teeth before clearing his throat, a heavy rumble in his chest as calloused fingers dip into the fat at your hips.

“‘m fine,” It’s all he can muster. Certain if he says more it’ll be over, and Sanemi doesn’t want this to be over, “Fuckin’ tight.”

“You feel so good,” You offer in return, “Stretching me so much—”

And Sanemi isn’t sure he even wants to hear it. Uncertain whether it’s because you have his cock pulsing from your sultry tone that leaves him shaking on the crux of his climax, or that he thinks you’re lying. Another deceitful line you give to all your paying customers.

“Shinazugawa-sama.” You breathe and Sanemi feels his Adam’s apple throb in his throat.

“Sanemi,” He growls, low and domineering, “I said call me Sanemi.”

“Sanemi.” You parrot, and the sound of it has his hips jerking sloppily as he fucks up into you, his name now sounded from your lips like a dull mantra, “Sanemi.”

Your hands are splayed across his chest as you try to keep your movements consistent, hips rolling against him as you ride his cock. Trying to commit the sight to memory as your eyes follow every line and scar that settles across his skin, soft fingertips following them as you ride him. An indication of just how powerful the man beneath you is, the man you’ve brought to his knees.

“Oh, fuck.” You sound out, and Sanemi thinks it’s cute the sound of such a vulgar word spilling from your sweet lips.

And Sanemi wants to make you make more sounds like that, to pull every one from your pretty throat and commit each one to memory. Remembering every saccharine lilt and coo as though he’s conducting his own debauched symphony. Sounds that will comfort him when he thinks of you, of this. He moves his hand from your hip, pressing a thumb against your pelvis before dipping lower. Stroking his digits through your messy slit, and when he touches your clit your body convulses. Hips bucking so wildly on contact his eyes are wide as though he’s done something wrong. Taking his hand to press his fingers back against it as you coax him into touching you there again.

Hunching over him as you try to keep your pace, your movements borderline pathetic as you chase the pleasure of his calloused thumb against your sensitive bud. His eyes watch you curiously as he speeds up the sloppy figure of eights he presses into it, feeling the way your cunt clenches around him in response.

“This is supposed to be for you.” You choke out, unused to your clients even thinking about your pleasure.

“Who says it’s not?” Sanemi scoffs; the sight of you like this is worth every damn penny Uzui is paying, “I want you to come undone for me.”

The dominant, commanding husk to his voice has your pelvis contorting as your body wills itself to unravel on command. Barely able to cry out his name as you find your release, your silky walls clamp down around his cock as they desperately try to milk him of his release. Your nails dig into muscular pectorals as you try to keep yourself upright, to hold onto the single thread of sanity you have left.

But Sanemi’s thumb doesn’t stop against your clit, following your jerky movements as your hips coil and spasm. Keeping his touch firm and persistent as he helps you ride out one climax to have you soaring towards another.

It’s too much, and you’re not sure you can handle it as your hands slip down to wrap around his wrist. Feebly trying to pull his grip away from your sloppy cunt as you watch the muscles in his arm tighten, veins popping out proudly as they fork towards his wrist. Practically snarling as he easily fights your weaker grip, “Don’t.”

And once again he throws you into ecstasy, your body trembling as another intense orgasm surges through your veins. Soaking his cock with your essence as you feel how wet and sloppy you are between your thighs, any friction dissipating as it’s all you can do but pathetically grind yourself against his finger while you ride out your bliss.

“Sanemi,” You whine, unable to hold yourself upright as you feel yourself falling forward onto his chest. Your face nuzzled into the junction of his neck as you trap his muscular arm between your bodies, his thumb still at your overstimulated clit as he gives it a few more lingering swipes, “S’too much.”

And Sanemi has to agree. It’s far too much, but also not enough at the same time. His cock throbs at the feeling of your drenched walls soaking him, fluttering in the aftershocks of your release as he’s certain he’s on the cusp of his own end. Slipping his arm from between your bodies in ease in favour of wrapping both arms around you, pinning you against his chest as he bends both his legs at the knee. Planting his feet on the hardwood floor for stability as he holds you against him.

He catches you by surprise as he begins to thrust up into you. His movements are chaotic and messy, with a deep-set sense of urgency as he chases his release. The sound of skin slapping against skin mixes with the syrupy wetness of your cunt that has your cheeks burning fiery red as you pant and whine against his neck. Mouthing at the thin layer of sweat that sticks to his skin, the salty taste of it mitigating on your tongue as you let him use you for his pleasure.

“Fuck, Sanemi.” Your voice sings out against the column of his throat and his hips give one more rugged jolt as he buries himself inside you to the hilt and coats your inner walls with balmy spurts of cum. The sensation causes heat to plume inside you as you indulge in the sensation as he gives a few more careless thrusts like he’s unable to stop his hips from jerking as he gives you everything he’s got left to give.

Sanemi’s eyes are blown wide, staring up at the ceiling as you move with the rise and fall of his chest. His arms still wound so tightly around you that you’re unable to move, left to bask in the warm afterglow as you cling to him. One of your hands braced against his sternum, feeling for the cadence of his racing heart.

“Are you okay?” You murmur softly when he hasn’t spoken for a while, and you’re met with a delicate kiss to your temple as he tightens his grip.

You’re certain you lay there for hours after, his warmth engulfing you as he traces gentle patterns against the expanse of your back while your fingers cord through his messy hair. Nails grazing against his skin while you feel the pleasure rumble deep in his chest, eyes heavy as sleep threatens to consume you. You shift above him slightly and whine pathetically as you feel his soft cock finally slip from your sloppy hole, the wetness unable to maintain a grip on him as you shudder at the cold air in the room cooling your molten cunt. His thick, potent seed begins to drip from your cunt into thick puddles on his pelvis and onto the floor as his arms tighten possessively around you for the smallest hint of a moment. As though he’d tricked himself into thinking that you were actually his, before realising his foolish mistake.

“I should go.” His voice rumbles, firm and authoritative. A sound that has you moving off him, despite your body’s plea to stay like this just a while longer.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself, Shinazugawa-sama.” You respond, watching as he begins to redress himself. Tucking his cock, still glazed with your drying slick, back into his pants.

You’d hoped he would correct you a final time. Telling you to call him by name as he buttoned the first few buttons of his shirt before tugging his haori back on, but the words don’t come.

You wonder whether it’s because he’s unsure what to say, lingering by the door as though he wants to turn back to give you a proper goodbye. Reaching down to grab your kimono to pull it back over your shoulders.

“Thank you.” He whispers before tugging at the door.

You were hoping it would feel a little less transactional, even though you were certain that this was all it was to him. A coldness now resides in the room that you’re certain you’d never felt before, an uncertain frost that bites away at the fierce burn of your heart. You have to remind yourself of the reason why you’re here, the reason why the Wind Hashira had chosen to lay with you.

The next morning you were surprised to find out just how much Sanemi had left behind that evening. Certain the payment was more than enough to settle your debts and free you from this existence, as you felt the fog of uncertainty that shrouded your time here begin to clear.

You’d hoped that he would’ve left some way to thank him, a forwarding address or at least a note to accompany the payment. But what you didn’t expect was for the Wind Pillar to be waiting at the dark purple curtains for you as you came down the stairs.

#sanemi smut #sanemi x reader #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #sanemi shinazugawa smut #kny x reader #kny smut #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer smut

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cursingtoji · 2 years ago

Text

as requested, a longer version of this drabble

synopsis: geto spared one woman from the village he exterminated due to the pleading of mimiko and nanako, now he has to live in between preaching a world without non-sorcerers during the day and sleeping with one during the night; a dive into the mind of a conflicted man.

cw: canon events (no major spoilers), death topics, fem submissive reader x cult leader geto, smut, oral (m -> f), 1.6k words.

part 2

The day was horribly busy, on days like these, where he had to talk in front of a crowd for such a long time, then entertain donors, then eat curses, Geto can’t sleep due to the loud noise of his mind, he would probably sleep if he was in a equally loud environment, but, except for the sound of your soft breathing, the room has dead quiet.

Dead quiet.

Geto sits up, the cold air hitting his bare chest as he takes in the sight of the red temple across the open window, a ruffling makes him draw and narrow his eyes to the figure in his bed.

He remembers the day he first saw you, trying to sneak in the room where Mimiko and Nanako were locked in, he was in the process of exterminating the people in that village so he didn’t think twice when he grabbed you by your hair ready to let a curse rip you apart but the deafening sound of the girl’s scream stopped him, only then he noticed a bag with food that fell of your hands.

He could see from a distance, you were like the rest of them, a regular non-sorcerer and a few minutes ago he decided what he wanted.

A world free of non-sorcerers.

He can’t make an exception. He shouldn’t.

The twins had tears in their eyes. They’re young and his responsibility now, so a helping hand couldn’t be a sin. He could leave you for last.

Somehow he finds in his heart to spare you, and once he consolidated his power as a leader, he took the three of you in, the girls only leave your side when he’s around, they don’t approach anyone else except the two of you.

The first week you were around sorcerers he could see the fear and confusion in your face. Nanako tugged his clothing and he squatted to listen as she whispered to him “She cannot see them”.

So he provided special glasses for you, one with cursed energy so you could see what people like you shouldn’t, and he made Nanako hand it to you as you slowly began to comprehend what the weird events around you actually were.

She should be thankful, she’s only alive because of me.

He thought about that constantly, especially when watching you smiling and minding your own business.

And you are grateful and respectful towards him, almost never making eye contact, just keeping your head down and only calling him “Geto-sama”, he appreciated that, you should know your place.

It’s only a matter of time before he grows fond of you too, with his influence and your submission, it didn’t take long before you were in his bed, being happy to serve him in any ways.

It’s a contradiction having you around, he knows it. A monkey.

You sleep so peacefully, he wonders if you understand how lucky you are to make it this far.

Tonight could be your last night on earth, how deserving are you to live in his ideal world? You have two little girls that adore you, is that enough? He could just tell them something awful happened.

His cold fingers trace the back of your neck, ghosting your cervical spine.

You fell off the stairs and broke your neck, so sad.

That’s believable, the temple has many stairs.

His index finds your pulsing point.

A man attacked you, another monkey, and cut your throat, how horrible.

His eyes drop to your rising chest.

You fell on the lake and drowned, a terrible accident.

There’s so many possibilities to get rid of you without them blaming Geto.

Warm fingers unexpectedly find his hand, your small hand covers his. Suguru feels his human side returning to him, the dark cloud over his head slowly fading away as you take his wrist and you turn your head to kiss his palm.

He feels like crying, confused and guilty.

The bedroom is dark enough for you to miss the look of despair in his eyes, he allows you to caress the veins in his forearms, tracing it all the way to his biceps until you find his neck with your arm completely extended. Suguru gives in to the light pressure you make, bringing him to lay back down with you. You kiss his shoulders, his chest, his neck.

He doesn’t feel worth your kisses.

Again the contradiction.

You kiss his jawline and he stops you with a hand over your lips, he doesn’t want you to feel the way his lips quiver, you don’t ask questions, just accept and kiss his palm again, holding it against your cheek.

Geto is hard on you sometimes, giving humiliating tasks such as cleaning up the remains of someone who wronged him or capturing a curse that will for sure attack you. As much as he sometimes thinks of creating a space between the girls and you, the little ones always find a way back, helping you clean while keeping a non-morbid conversation topic or helping bandage the scratches you got from the small but feisty cursed spirited you were assigned to.

Yet you never once complained, always bowing in obedience with a soft “Yes, Geto-sama” coming out of your lips.

He knows when to treat you well too, sometimes he knocks on your room at night, sometimes he sends someone to call you over to his. When his whole cult speech was over he would dismiss everyone except you, to be alone in the giant spacious room with him, he likes to take you there, where your quiet sounds of pleasure bounce through the walls and create an echo.

You’re good to him, not to his cause, to Geto-sama you’re useless, but to Suguru Geto you’re an anchor.

He returns your kisses, sucking on your clavicle then down the soft skin of your breasts, where he takes in one nipple and licks until it gets hard enough for him to gently bite on and make you gasp.

Your hands find his hair, his long soft locks, the same ones you brush ever so patiently when Mimiko and Nanako turn it into a mess of knots from braiding and tying tiny silicone elastics on, you don’t scold them, even if it means to stay hours with Geto trying to undo it afterwards.

They will grow up to be spoiled.

But he also could never scold them like a father is supposed to, deep down he knows he won’t need to, they adore him, anything he’ll say they’ll do.

They’re good kids, he supposes he owns it to you too.

Suguru leaves a wet trail of kisses down your body until he’s between your legs, he first starts by licking the surrounds of your clit teasing patiently as you get wetter, the sleepiness doesn’t allow you to protest or whine, only to close your eyes and take whatever he’s willing to give you while tangling your fingers in his hair.

When he finally gives your nub some attention in the form of sucking, your leg twitches, he squeezes it and places it over his shoulder, at this point he’s laying on his stomach vaguely thrusting his pelvis onto the mattress to relieve a bit of the aching in his cock he gets when eating you out.

He adds more tongue as he moves down your needy hole, which pulsates around nothing, Suguru hums nuzzling your glossy folds, the vibration goes straight to your hardened nub.

“Geto-sama” you moan when he fucks you with his tongue, the tip of his nose hits your clit perfectly, once he looks up to see you falling apart on him you shiver, his eyes are predatory, you wonder if you should retrieve your hand from his head, but he quickly closes them again, losing himself in the taste of you. God, you taste so good. What makes him get through the day when he has to absorb those disgusting curses is the thought of getting lost between your legs, sucking your nipples, eating his own cum off you, sucking your tongue…

He feels your orgasm approaching as you tug his locks harder, whimpering softly. Usually he would make you beg, stopping his ministrations just before you get there and delaying it until there are tears in your eyes. Tonight he’s enjoying the silence, he might just let you go ahead, but there’s something he wants to hear.

“Say my name” he orders with a raspy voice.

“Get—“

“No” he bites your inner thigh, “My actual name.”

“Suguru” you roll his name so beautifully on your tongue.

“Keep saying it” he dives back, making out with your pussy and paying extra attention to your puffy clit as you call his name in a prayer.

He misses it, the way his first name used to be used, nowadays is just “Geto-sama this, Geto-sama that, master, sir”. It would inflate his ego if it didn’t come out of monkeys' mouths.

But Suguru? He left that for you only, even the other sorcerers he considers family just call him Geto.

Before he realizes you’re already cumming, hole pulsating around his tongue and heels digging on his back. He slows down his pace, nibbling on your glossy lips then taking your hand out of his hair to kiss it like you did earlier, the act makes your heart swell, you caress his face, thumb rubbing the dark circles under his eyes.

“Suguru” you call his name again, this time looking straight in his eyes, they don’t seem predatory anymore as he moves up finding a safe spot on your chest, where he lays down listening to your heartbeat as your fingers work through the knots in his hair, this time caused by yourself. Your other hand caresses his back and shoulders, whatever skin you can find to soothe him. Now he doesn’t have the loud voices in his head and bitter taste in his mouth and manages to fall asleep again.

part 2 ->

#geto x reader #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto x you

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neiptune · 2 months ago

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so long as you're still you and i'm still me

cw: 5k wc, female hashira reader, mention of wounds, scars, trauma, in my heart of hearts this is a continuation of rain is back luck but you can also read it separately. you and sanemi are not exactly friends and not exactly lovers but when you disappear completely after a mission gone particularly wrong he finally musters the courage to pay you a visit

Sanemi sits on his knees, sharp eyes focused on his master as he details the latest missions every hashira is to be dispatched on. The tatami feels oddly soft under his legs, unstable and undulating like a boat lost at sea. Almost pulpy. Is the floor about to swallow him?

He blinks, sternly ordering himself to snap out of it. Ubuyashiki is talking but he can’t quite hear what he’s saying, the one sound drowning out every other noise a low buzz that fills his ears as his lavender gaze slips to his left again.

Empty. No one’s been sitting between him and Shinobu for the past two months.

His fingers twitch in his lap, Kanroji’s melodious pitch somehow cutting through the vacuum of muffled sounds of a world he can’t perceive right.

And then, suddenly, Ubuyashiki says your name. Sanemi blinks, certain his mind is playing tricks on him, but his master is truly describing… a mission?

“What?”, it’s not something he does, interrupt Oyakata-sama. It’s not something anyone does.

“Yes, Sanemi?”, yet, he turns to him with a gentle smile.

“I apologize, master. Did you just say… she’s been on a mission?”.

“Several missions, in fact”, Ubuyashiki nods, “as soon as she could stand, hold her blade again. I insisted she’d take more time to recover, Shinobu did too, but you know how she is”.

“Stubborn”, Kocho murmurs. It sounds like an apology but, as he fists the fabric of his pants until his knuckles turn white, Sanemi can’t bring himself to care.

When the meeting ends, a few pillars decide to stay at the estate for a while longer, to indulge in the warm tea Amane-sama serves. He’s always, without fail, among the first ones to leave but this particular afternoon he believes a cup of tea might help him clear his mind. If the hands holding the yunomi will stop shaking, that is.

“Wanna share your burdens, Shinazugawa?”, Tengen’s sarcastic pitch makes a vein on his temple throb.

“Fuck off”.

“Uzui”, Rengoku’s admonishment is affable but firm.

“I think we should just talk about it, since he clearly won’t”, the giant idiot sitting across from him shrugs, “did anyone besides Shinobu go on a mission with her?”.

“I did not go on a mission with her”, Kocho corrects him, patient, “I just know she didn’t want to stay in bed any longer. She let me treat her wounds but only right after it happened, I haven’t seen her in almost two months”, she catches Sanemi’s gaze as she speaks and he holds hers. Rage dissolves, it stops gripping the tissue that attaches muscle to bone and he finally feels like he can move his limbs again.

“’Kay”, Tengen clicks his tongue, “well, I tried visiting”.

“We all did”, Obanai, the only one staying despite not drinking tea, speaks quietly.

“She never comes out. Only speaks behind closed doors and it’s mostly to tell us to leave��, Mitsuri’s voice trembles.

“Tokito was the only one she came out for”, Iguro pushes, “but he doesn’t remember”.

“Shinazugawa-san”, Shinobu tilts her head to the side, “you stayed at my estate day and night, for over a week. But then… did you ever try?”.

Sanemi exhales but it comes out like a hiss.

“Why the hell would you think I didn’t-”

“When was the last time you went?”.

“Shortly after she left the butterfly estate”.

Mitsuri’s shocked gasp echoes across the quiet room.

“Two months ago?”.

Sanemi glares at her.

“Yes. I gave her space, you don’t really want someone at your door every day after shit like that happens”.

“Two months? What the fuck kinda space is that? I bet she thinks you forgot about her”, Uzui speaks with the cup pressed to his lips. Convenient, since Sanemi is getting closer and closer to knocking his teeth out.

“Shut the fuck up, Tengen”, the stern warning only makes the sound hashira grin.

“Think about it, she may be believing all she was to you was an easy relief provider…”.

“I’m fucking warning you”, Sanemi’s hand closes around the hilt of his nichirin, “another goddamn word and I’ll slit your throat open”.

Uzui’s sarcastic expression morphs into something real, something serious.

“Good. So you can still man up, after all. Fucking go talk to her”.

“That’s not your decision to make, you assho-”

“Enough”, Rengoku heaves a deep sigh as he glares at both parties, “the point is, we’re all worried. And we all care. If despite what she went through she can still honor her oath as a pillar, I believe we owe it to her to keep trying. She’s my comrade and my friend, I won’t leave her alone”.

Sanemi deflates in his seat, the hand clutching his blade relaxes. Kyojuro’s fiery, determined gaze makes him feel so insignificant.

“Shinazugawa-san”, when Rengoku speaks again, his tone is gentle, “please help us remind her she’s not alone. She holds deep affection for you”.

Deep affection. Well, that’s a way to describe it, he thinks.

Truth is, Sanemi doesn’t know what you actually feel for him. Hell, he doesn’t know what he feels half of the time. When he refused to leave the butterly estate as long as you lied there unconscius and bloodied, he remembers feeling dread. When was the last time he got scared, felt actual fear? He’s afraid every time Genya leaves for a mission, holds his breath and refuses to release it until his brother is back. But you? You’re a pillar. He can’t be scared for you or it’ll mess with his head, it’ll remind him that their talent and power can both succumb to destiny far too easily. Their lives are always tied to the fragile thread of luck and yours almost, almost got severed.

He wonders if you felt the same panic when he was the one injured, that time he almost didn’t make it. Sanemi remembers the way you failed to control your breathing, the tenderness enveloping his heart at the sight of your shaky hands and rain-soaked hair. Through gritted teeth you admitted how scared you got, how worried. You’re brave. He isn’t. Once he knew you’d make it, Sanemi left. He paid you one visit, then disappeared with the excuse of wanting to give you time to recover.

He couldn’t have anticipated this, your stubborn disappearance. Time went on and despite the anxiety gripping his heart day and night, he convinced himself you were fine. He told himself you didn’t need him. He waited for your friends to make you better, to help you bring your usual self back. But you just resisted and pushed everyone away and Sanemi doesn’t think he’d make a difference anymore because why would he? You spent a few nights in his futon and that was it. Why would you need him of all people to talk some sense into that obstinate head of yours?

Dwelling on all this, using the excuse of being annoyed at how infuriating you’re being, is far easier than admitting the truth. Concern is eating away at his sanity and, hell, he misses you. He’s scared to face what that fight did to you, how different you are now. Gods know how his trauma changed him.

“Sanemi”, Iguro gently bumps his shoulder against his, “let’s go together”.

“No”, he gets up, tea left unfinished and cold in his cup, “I’ll go alone”.

It only starts raining once he arrives at your estate but he still finds it ironic.

There’s no one around and the place looks barely inhabited: he has faint memories of your lively messiness, teacups and books and snacks everywhere, especially when you had guests. You liked having guests. Mostly from the corps but also Shinobu’s girls, villagers, other pillars. Genya. You’d ask them to come over and you’d make tea for them, cook, sometimes a bottle of sake would be passed around (especially if Tengen or his wives were present).

Sanemi never came by a lot, he’d pay brief visits from time to time, mainly to check on his brother or take a tipsy Obanai home. You were the one always passing by his estate. You’d ask him to be your sparring partner, you’d drop by to leave some homemade ohagi, you’d let him undress you at night. You liked when he was gentle and he liked when you were vulnerable, none of the usual burning quips you’d exchange once the moon would go down. You’d find release in something other than banter and then wake up to a new day of pretending neither of you cared about the other enough to address whatever feelings were tied to something that was supposed to be easy. Uncomplicated.

Something that wasn’t supposed to make Sanemi think of you at night, itch to kiss you, have your fingers gently run through his hair. He wasn’t supposed to be wondering where you were, how you were, when on a mission. He definitely wasn’t supposed to ask his master to pair him up with you, not while being fully aware of how willing he’d be to sacrifice his life to keep you out of harm’s way.

You’d look at him in a way that made dangerous thoughts take shape in his mind, you’d make him feel like more than what he was willing to be. Thoughtful, tender, hopeful. You’d articulate his name like no one else, make it sound special, like a melody.

Oh, Sanemi.

Sanemi, promise me you’ll be careful.

Sanemi!

Sa-ne-mi.

Shinazugawa is your usual go to but if you’re worried, if you’re scared, if he makes you exceptionally mad or provides the pleasure you’re seeking, it’s always Sanemi.

You make him want to give you everything, more than relief, more than a life where each day of being alive feels like a luxury.

“It’s me”, he gruffly announces himself, listens to the way his voice echoes across the empty entrance.

Sanemi gingerly shuffles to the shoji doors of your bedroom and sits on his heels once more, hands closed on his knees. He knows you’re there, he knows you can hear him. He hopes his absence didn’t weigh too heavy, although with all the shit you’re going through he sincerely doubts you spared him a single thought.

“We had a meeting today. I guess you already know, your crow was there”, Sanemi takes a deep breath, “you’ve been going on missions. Yet you refuse to be seen”.

A statement. Where is he even going with that? He doesn’t have a speech ready, words never come easily to him and anxiety makes his rough edges even sharper.

“Everyone’s worried about you, even that asshole Tengen lectured me. So I’m here. You can’t live in that room forever, come out”.

He could very well open the doors himself, barge in, but he wouldn’t dare. He may be crass with words but he’s still respectful of your boundaries.

“Oi, did you hear me? I said, come out. Hiding won’t solve shit, you should know better”.

Sanemi waits for a few seconds. Nothing, besides the drumming of the torrential rain against your roof. He groans.

“Can you fucking at least say something? Tap on the goddamn floor, one tap yes, two taps no?”, he raises his voice, “are you even listening to me?”.

He pauses again, muscles tense. Right as he begins to ponder about whether he should break through the stupid doors after all, he hears a faint thump. And then two more.

The sudden uptick in his heartbeat is nothing short of pathetic.

“Three…? What does that mean?”.

“Go away”.

It fills his lungs with relief, the way your voice sounds the same. He hasn’t heard it in two months, it’s a little hoarse, but it’s you.

“I’m not going anywhere. Come out”.

“Fuck off”.

The corners of his mouth relax into a soft smile.

“Tell that to my face, coward”.

“You can tell Tengen you fulfilled your bothersome duty. Now leave”.

Sanemi sharply inhales through his nose. Yeah, he should’ve guessed that’d be the one thing you’d fixate on.

“Don’t be a fucking idiot”.

And by the way, when did you even start addressing that dumbass so casually?

It’s silent again, which makes one of his brows twitch.

“Oi. Stop being stupid, I’m serious”.

No sign of life. Fucking hell.

Sanemi shuts his eyes, relaxes his shoulders. He thinks of what it must’ve been like for the past months, being so lonely. You never enjoyed being on your own, one time you confessed that being with other people helped keep your fears at bay. He remembers your hushed voice, tender, vulnerable, and how he pulled you closer in the darkness of his bedroom.

You must’ve hurt a lot. Clumsily treated wounds that only a professional like Shinobu should’ve checked, probably spent entire nights wide awake, nightmares chasing you whenever your body would give out to exhaustion. A self-imposed seclusion that added on to your physical pain and yet you still refused to abandon your duty as a pillar.

“I should’ve been here”, he says, voice low, barely a murmur, “I should’ve checked on you every day. I told myself I was giving you space but it was a bunch of bullshit. I just wasn’t brave enough to come”, he pauses to clear his throat. “I’m sorry. I don’t think you needed me, or maybe you did, either way I need to know you’re okay. Whether you come out or not, I’ll be here. I’ll come every chance I get, hell, maybe I won’t leave until my next mission. Just talk to me, from time to time. Or tap on the floor again. Whatever you want”.

Sanemi attempts to swallow the lump in his throat before speaking again.

“Who gives a shit about Uzui? I’m not here for him. You know why I’m here, despite how bad I am at showing it”.

He listens to his own breathing in the quiet of your house, relaxes the fingers that were once again gripping the fabric of his pants. Part of him is comforted by the fact that you’re fine enough to go on missions but it’s a comfort that pales before the sense of guilt he feels for having lost so much time. Perhaps it’s presumptuous to believe you needed him in the first place but he realizes it hardly matters now. He failed to remind you he’d be there for you, whether you wanted someone to be there for you or not. All he had to do was show up and he refused to do that. His life is such a broken record of wrong choices, it makes him sick.

And then, suddenly, incredibly, the shoji doors of your bedroom slide open. He looks up but doesn’t get the chance to meet your gaze because you don’t linger there, but instead walk to the low table you always enjoyed having so many people sitting around. Sanemi observes the way you carefully sit on your heels and, even if you never turn to look at him, he understands it’s a quiet invitation. His heart is beating loud in his ears when he rises from the tatami floor, legs once again unstable as he shuffles to where you’re sitting. He doesn’t sit across from you, as he usually would. Instead, he stays close enough for his thigh to be almost pressed against yours.

“Hi”, you say, and it sounds so delicate, so frail, it breaks his heart.

“Hi”, he says back, quiet and hopeful. Sanemi meets your gaze, through the one eye that is not covered in bandages the way your neck, half your face, arms are. Your yukata is loose enough for him to see that your chest is wrapped in bandages as well.

“Are those still necessary?”, he asks, well aware of what the real answer is.

You shake your head no.

“Can I see?”, Sanemi’s voice isn’t but a murmur, “don’t hide from me”.

“There’s nothing to see. I look hideous”, you’re quiet too, left eye uncharacteristically dull.

“Don’t say that”.

“It’s true. I can’t look at myself anymore”.

His chest aches. It’s a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time but he remembers it with shattering clarity. Events taking his sense of self away from him, the inability to recognize his reflection in the mirror. A Sanemi Shinazugawa that belonged to the past and couldn’t be brought back no matter how hard he tried.

“Let me?”, he lightly grazes one of the bandages covering your wrist. It’s a plea, more than a request.

Your gaze shifts to him and somehow softens. You wish to extend the moment in time in which Sanemi is looking at you like this because it will hardly ever happen again.

With a small nod, you give him permission and his heart swells. This isn’t something you’d trust just anyone with, the fact that you’re willing to let him of all people see you, actually see you, carries the most special meaning in the world. His world, at least.

He’s the most gentle he’s ever been as he carefully unwraps the bandages. Sanemi can’t help the way his jaw tenses at every scar he uncovers: they’re everywhere. You’re covered in them. Some are part of the natural healing process after your skin was cut so deeply, so many times, others are the result of poorly stitched wounds you certainly handled yourself.

You tremble underneath his touch and he so badly wants to take your hand, kiss each knuckle to calm you. To ground you. To promise that it’s okay, it really is.

Still, Sanemi is not prepared for the sight of your lost right eye. It’s still open but with an unnatural, opaque milkiness to the pupil and iris. This side of your face has been clearly lacerated as well, one particular scar turning the corner of your lips slightly downwards.

You’re looking at him with a gaze that is daring, incandescent with quivering dignity. He knows what you’re thinking: I told you, happy now? I was right. Hideous. Now you can see it too.

“Can I touch you?”.

“No”, you whisper.

Sanemi exhales slowly when you start crying. You never allowed him to see you cry, he’d sometimes hear faint sobs when you’d hide at the butterfly estate, after a mission or before a meeting, but this is the first time he’s witnessing your pain in such a raw way.

“I’m so ashamed”, you hiccup, take your face in your shaky hands, “so many of our comrades are dead, innocent people are killed every day. Fuck, maybe soon I’ll be dead too. And this is what I’m upset about, my appearance. But I can’t help it, you know? I tried. I really tried. It’s just so hard, I look like a monster”.

“Is that what you see when you look at me?”.

Your head snaps up and the sight of your cheeks, wet with fresh tears, makes his stomach clench.

“Of course not. It’s different!”.

“How is it different?”.

You sniffle, then gesture vaguely with one hand.

“You’re a man. Your scars are proof of how strong you are, how valiant. On me? They’re just a reminder of my weakness. They’re ugly, I’m ugly. Something ruined. I wish they could’ve just killed me that day, I wish Gyomei didn’t-”

“Don’t fucking say that”, Sanemi hears his own voice vibrate with rage, “you’re not weak and if anyone ever dares imply that I’ll stick my blade through their neck. You’re strong and brave and a survivor. We all are. I’m looking at you right now and I just see you. I’m so fucking relieved, actually, because I still get to see you. Not a thing and definitely not a ruined thing. You’re still you and you’re still here and you’re allowed to feel shitty about it but what the hell. I’m here too and I won’t let you face this alone”.

He leans in closer when you don’t reply and refuse to meet his eyes, shoulders rising and falling rhythmically as you keep crying.

“Can I touch you?”, Sanemi asks again, slowly, carefully, but more determined.

Instead of replying, you place you head on his shoulder and nuzzle further into his neck when he wraps his arms around you with a relieved sigh.

Sanemi lets you shake, lets you wet his haori and grip it like your life depends on it. He whispers sweet reassurances in your ear, kisses the crown of your head, does everything in his power to stop himself from crying with you. It’s surprisingly hard, witnessing one of the most resilient fighters he’s ever met, crumble in his arms. While his inability to do anything to make it better is what makes it so difficult, what really surprises him to the point of almost choking on his own tears is the fondness he’s able to hold you, reassure you with.

Sanemi can’t remember the last time he allowed himself to be the old version of him so openly, the one he thought he had successfully buried with his mother and siblings so long ago. He didn’t know it still existed fiercely enough to manifest in broad, knowing daylight but of course you’d be the one he’d be willing to lay it bare for. He’d give you every part of himself, so long as you asked.

The pads of his fingers delicately skim across your arm under the sleeve of your yukata, then caress your wrist, rise to the side of your neck. The fibrous tissue feels familiar and foreign under his touch, it’s different than his own, more painful.

The agony etched across your beautiful features doesn’t subside, not even when he carefully traces your jaw with his thumb as he delicately holds you. He hates that this happened to you. Selfishly, he hates it. Even if he knows slayers, pillars, masters, aren’t above suffering or grief. Why would they be? They’re not special. They’re not better than any civilian. And yet, Sanemi’s rage for what happened to you could burn down villages.

“I wish it was me”, he says and he means it. He doesn’t say the worse thing, doesn’t voice the terrible thought actually swirling in his furious mind.

I wish it was someone else. Anyone but you.

You lean into his touch and idly shake your head.

“You’re already handsome enough. Gotta stop at some point”.

Sanemi can’t bring himself to chuckle as he usually would, he barely manages to let out a huff of air through his nose. But you cracked a joke and it’s enough to momentarily placate the enraged beast floundering in his chest.

“Come stay at my estate”, his thumbs skate over the skin underneath your eyes to brush off what wetness remains, “just for a while. I’ll send away all the helpers”.

You’re similar to him in more ways than he’d like you to be and Sanemi knows you’ll hesitate. Because you don’t remember how to let someone take care of you.

“I can’t”.

“Yes, you can”.

“What difference would it make?”, you chuckle bitterly, “I’ll still look disgusting, whether at my estate or yours”.

Sanemi gently bumps his forehead against yours.

“I’ll let you plant those flowers you always ramble about, the ones that’d look good by the gate or whatever”.

“Damask roses?”, you attempt a smile and he swears his lungs start expanding once more as they get their fill of oxygen.

“Whatever you want”, he softly runs his index finger over the bridge of your nose, “we’ll have breakfast together, I’ll run you baths. I’ll wait for you to come back from missions and you’ll wait for me. Does that sound so bad?”.

You hum as he keeps exploring your face with gentle touches. You let him. He’s too much of a coward to just kiss you but hopes his hands, the pads of his fingers, are getting the message across. You could never look disgusting. You’re everything I want to look at, the one person I hope to always see. I’m so lucky I still get to see you.

“I’ll come”, you whisper, “if Genya comes too”.

Sanemi heaves a deep sigh. Gods forbid you stop thinking about other people’s feelings even for a moment.

“Pushing it”.

“You’re actually denying me right now, Sanemi?”.

Ah, there it is. The premise of every single one of his downfalls.

“Genya can visit. He can come but he won’t stay”.

You scoff.

“Fine”.

“Good”.

He guides you to him once again, with a hand that cradles the back of your neck. Sanemi rests his chin on your head as he strokes your hair and you sigh softly, the puff of warm air so close to his throat.

“Shinazugawa accepting guests. I feel pretty special”, you murmur, humorless.

“Don’t let it go to your head, I just like your ohagi”.

“Really?”, you click your tongue, “I’ll spit in my next ones, then”.

He smirks.

“Bold of you to assume that would deter me from eating them”.

There’s a pause, one he doesn’t give much meaning to as he keeps absentmindedly stroking your hair. But then he feels it, the way you tense against him and under his touch. When you pull back to fix him with an uncertain look, he fears he already said something wrong.

“What?”, it comes out gruff, watchful.

You hesitate for a second, then let your shoulders drop.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind if…”, another pause, then you take a deep breath, “it’s okay if you find someone else. For relief, I mean. Don’t feel pressured to… like, it wouldn’t make me upset or anything. You can bring them to your estate too, I’ll just find myself somewhere else to be for a while, it’s-”

Sanemi gently but firmly presses his thumb to your mouth, one hand cradling your jaw again and tilting your head up, to make sure you look at him.

“I already told you”, he lets his thumb follow the curve of you bottom lip, “to stop being a fucking idiot”.

You shake your head.

“And I’m asking you to consider that you’re a normal man with normal needs”.

“I am. I need you to shut up”.

“You don’t understand. I might not be able to let someone see me, touch me like that, ever again. Not even you”, you lean forward to press your forehead against his shoulder because there’s only so much courage you can rely on while facing that violet gaze, especially when filled to the brim with weird adoration you can’t interpret the right way.

“I don’t care”, he murmurs. Then, much softer than you’d expect, “we go beyond that”.

It’s weird, hearing him say that. It makes your heart flutter against against your ribs because in no way you wished to imply you are important enough that he’d have to consider your feelings or whatever, in case he wanted to seek relief elsewhere. It’s his right to, as it’d be your right to.

The last thing you want is for him of all people to hold back out of pity. You can’t imagine any man finding you desirable anymore, anyway. It’s pretty easy to come to terms with that. But you wouldn’t be able to tolerate the idea of Sanemi depriving himself of a normal life, whatever normal would look like for you all anyway, because of poor, debilitated you.

“It’s not fair, being stuck with me. Don’t do that to yourself”, you whisper into the fabric of his haori. He scoffs.

“You know what’s not fair? How much of a dumbass you’re being”.

You pull back with a scowl.

“I’m serious, Sanemi”.

“Well, stop that”, he lightly flicks the portion of your forehead that is not covered in scars, “I’m not stuck. I’m where I want to be”.

He then tilts his head to the side, as if to consider something he failed to bring up until now. “What do you want?”.

You blink.

“What?”.

“Yeah. You run that mouth a lot about what I should want but what do you want?”.

In any other universe, this entire conversation wouldn’t exist. It probably wouldn’t have existed in this universe either, if not for you getting almost killed by a hoard of demons. He would’ve stayed the man you share a few of your nights with from time to time, when neither of you can keep pretending want and need and mutual attraction aren’t about to claw their way out of your chests. He would’ve stayed your comrade and the one man you’d trust your heart with, as long as he never finds out.

But now? You’re not sure what this is. You don’t know how to trust anything ever again.

“I want to know”, you murmur, “that you’re not moved by compassion. I want to know that you’re still you and whether I can ever be me again”.

Sanemi’s gaze softens. He’s finally able to take one of your hands but, instead of bringing it to his lips, he presses the palm against his chest. The skin feels warm under your palm.

“I am me and I will do everything I can to help you find you again. And if we never do, that’s fine. There’s time to get adjusted to the new you who, by the way, is still one hell of a fighter. Which is what I always liked in the first place”, he clicks his tongue, “that’s what moves me”.

There’s one thing Sanemi doesn’t say, which is that maybe the journey of helping you find yourself again will also help him find part of himself too. Whatever that could mean.

“Okay”, you say and sound so tired, completely spent when you let yourself rest in his arms again. You don’t have any energy left to question or resist. You’ll pack your bag, the same one you used so many times on missions with either Sanemi or the other pillars, spend some time in the quiet of his estate. You’ll sit in his garden and maybe drink tea on the engawa. You’ll have to find out if you’ll be able to allow him to get close, to take care of you the way you took care of him when he allowed you to get close too.

Sanemi once again wishes for a world where his sole purpose could be to keep you and what’s left of his family safe. He wishes he didn’t have to deny himself tenderness and affection, relentlessly push away the idea of naming whatever it is he feels for you. Whatever has been persistently pulling him in from day one, like a tide that goes out only to go in again, a current he can’t fight and isn’t entirely sure how to navigate.

But it’s fine this way too. Because he’s still him and you’re still you.

“Okay”, he agrees.

#sanemi x reader #shinazugawa x reader #sanemi x you #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #sanemi shinazugawa x you #kny x reader

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