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Helllooo I dont rlly know if ur inbox is open so... feel free to deny!

Giyuu and 14 yo sister! Ok sooo his sister has Mitsuri's Personality! She is a kinoe rank like Tanjiro and others!

SISTER!?!?

oh em gee i love this, i had the story in draft for so long, i forgot to post it, :d -----

The tension in the Demon Slayer Corps headquarters was thick enough to be cut with Nichirin steel. Tanjiro knelt on the stone floor, restrained by the Hashira, his face marred with dirt and worry. His sister, Nezuko, was locked inside her box, her very existence as a demon putting her at risk of immediate execution. The Hashira surrounded him like a council of judgment, their powerful presences bearing down on him.

Obanai Iguro sneered. “A Demon Slayer traveling with a demon? You must think us fools.”

Sanemi Shinazugawa scoffed, gripping the hilt of his sword. “You’re lucky we haven’t killed you already.”

Before anyone could say another word, the door to the courtyard suddenly burst open.

“OI! GIYUU! YOU FORGOT YOUR LUNCH!”

A girl barreled into the tense scene, waving a carefully wrapped bento box over her head. She had a bright, sunny aura—completely out of place among the brooding warriors. Her wide grin was enough to throw even the most serious Hashira off guard.

“Geez, you’re hopeless sometimes,” she huffed, stomping over to Giyuu, completely oblivious to the gravity of the situation. “I swear, if I don’t keep an eye on you, you’ll forget to eat and just drop dead one day.”

Silence.

The Hashira collectively blinked, stunned by the abrupt intrusion. Even Tanjiro looked up in shock.

“M-Mitsuri…?” he murmured in confusion before quickly realizing his mistake. No, this wasn’t the Love Hashira. The girl certainly had the same bubbly energy, but her uniform bore no Hashira markings. She was young—probably around his age—but there was something sharp in her eyes despite her bright demeanor.

Giyuu, still impassive as ever, sighed. “Y/N. Not now.”

Y/N pouted. “What do you mean ‘not now’?! You always forget your lunch. Do you know how long I spent making this? I even made your favorite! Look, I cut the rice into little bunny shapes—”

Her voice trailed off as she finally took in the scene around her.

The Hashira. The boy on the ground. The tension so thick it could choke her.

“…Oh.”

Rengoku’s hearty laugh suddenly broke the silence. “Ahaha! What an energetic young lady! And who might you be?”

Y/N straightened her posture, beaming. “I’m Y/N Tomioka! Kinoe-rank Demon Slayer, at your service!”

Several of the Hashira raised their eyebrows. A Kinoe? Despite her playful attitude, she was at the highest rank before Hashira. That was no small feat.

Tanjiro’s eyes widened. “Y/N?! I remember you! You helped us during the Spider Demon incident on Mount Natagumo!”

Y/N turned to him, tilting her head. A beat passed before recognition lit up her face. “Ohhh, you’re that guy with the forehead of steel! Yeah, I remember now! I thought you were pretty cool back then! But, uh…” She leaned forward, lowering her voice into a dramatic whisper. “You’re kinda in a lot of trouble, huh?”

Tanjiro gave a nervous chuckle. “Yeah… You could say that.”

Shinazugawa groaned, rubbing his temples. “Enough with this nonsense! You’re telling me this idiot is your brother?”

Y/N froze for a moment before slowly turning to Sanemi, her once playful demeanor shifting into something much sharper. Her hands curled into fists at her sides as her eyes narrowed.

“What did you just call my brother?” she asked, her voice unnaturally sweet—but her aura was anything but.

Sanemi met her glare with equal intensity, cracking his knuckles. “You deaf, brat? I called him an idiot.”

Y/N’s smile twitched. “Ohhh, okay.” She let out a small laugh, but it was anything but friendly. “Cool, cool, cool. So, uh…” Her fingers flexed as she cracked her own knuckles. “You wanna say that again so I can knock your teeth out?”

The tension skyrocketed as the two Slayers locked eyes, both practically radiating the desire to throw hands.

Sanemi’s smirk widened. “Hah! You’ve got a lotta nerve, brat. You really think you can take me?”

“Oh, I know I can take you,” Y/N shot back, rolling her shoulders. “You’re all bark and no bite. Just because you scream the loudest doesn’t mean you’re the strongest.”

Sanemi’s eye twitched. “Oh, that’s it—”

He stepped forward at the same time Y/N did, both ready to swing, when—

WHAM!

A firm hand grabbed the back of Y/N’s uniform and yanked her backward, halting her in place before she could launch herself at Sanemi. Giyuu held her by the collar like an unruly cat, his expression as unreadable as ever.

“Y/N,” he said flatly.

“What?! He started it!” she protested, flailing slightly in his grip.

Sanemi scoffed. “Tch. Figures. You’re just as annoying as your brother.”

Y/N stopped struggling. Her head slowly turned back toward the Wind Hashira, her eye twitching.

“Oh, that’s it—PUT ME DOWN, GIYUU! LET ME AT HIM!”

Giyuu didn’t even blink as he held her firmly in place, ignoring her kicking and squirming. “No.”

Mitsuri giggled behind her hand. “Aww, Y/N-chan is so passionate! But maybe fighting Sanemi here isn’t the best idea…”

“Speak for yourself,” Uzui chuckled. “This might actually be entertaining.”

Muichiro yawned. “I don’t care.”

“Come on, just one punch!” Y/N begged, still trying to wriggle free. “Just one! He deserves it!”

Giyuu sighed, finally setting her down, but kept a firm hand on her shoulder. “We’re not here to fight the Hashira.”

Y/N sighed dramatically as Giyuu finally set her down, but she still looked like she was itching to throw a punch. She crossed her arms, kicking a small rock on the ground as if that would somehow vent her frustration. Her bright eyes flickered over to Tanjiro, and she tilted her head, still clearly toeing down from her near-brawl with Sanemi.

“So,” she huffed, narrowing her gaze at him. “What did you do?”

Tanjiro gulped slightly under her intense stare, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “W-Well… It’s not really what I did—it’s about Nezuko…”

Y/N blinked, then looked around at the scene again, finally fully piecing everything together. She squatted down to be at eye level with Tanjiro, resting her chin on her hands. “Sooo, lemme get this straight… These guys wanna kill your sister because she’s a demon, but you’re saying she won’t hurt anyone?”

Tanjiro nodded, his face determined. “Exactly! Nezuko hasn’t eaten a single human! She even resisted blood when she was injured. She sees humans as family, not food!”

Y/N’s nose scrunched up. “That’s it?”

“What do you mean that’s it?” Shinazugawa snapped, still annoyed by her presence.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I mean, that’s the whole reason you guys are acting like he just killed a bunch of people?” She scoffed, throwing her hands up. “Pffft. Wow. And here I thought it was something serious.”

The Hashira collectively twitched.

“IT IS SERIOUS, BRAT!” Sanemi barked, his temper flaring again. “A DEMON IS A DEMON! WE CAN’T JUST—”

Y/N held up a finger. “Ah, ah, ah—tell me, oh wise Wind Hashira, do you have proof that his sister’s dangerous?”

Sanemi grit his teeth. “I—That’s not the point!”

“Ohhh, but it kinda is.” Y/N grinned. “Y’know, Master Kagaya always says we should think before we act, right? So, if you don’t actually know she’s a threat, then you’re just making assumptions.” She poked the side of her head. “That’s not very logical, is it?”

Sanemi’s eye twitched violently.

“Y/N,” Giyuu said in that calm, firm tone of his.

She sighed dramatically again, standing up. “Alright, alright, I’ll shut up. But I still think you guys are making this a bigger deal than it needs to be.” She turned back to Tanjiro, hands on her hips. “Don’t worry, Forehead Boy. If they try anything unfair, I’ll back you up.”

Tanjiro blinked in surprise before offering a small smile. “Thank you, Y/N-san.”

----

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky painted in deep shades of blue and violet. A gentle breeze rolled over the Butterfly Mansion, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and freshly made rice. The once-tense atmosphere from earlier had finally settled, and now, Tanjiro and Y/N sat side by side on the rooftop, quietly munching on their onigiri.

Y/N swung her legs lazily over the edge, her usual energetic demeanor slightly dimmed as she focused on eating. “Man… What a day,” she mumbled through a mouthful of rice.

Tanjiro chuckled softly. “Yeah… I thought for sure they were going to kill me on the spot.”

Y/N scoffed. “Pfft. As if I’d let that happen.” She took another bite before glancing at him. “Seriously, though… you’re crazy for pulling something like that.”

Tanjiro swallowed before replying. “I had to. Nezuko is my family.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment before she smiled, nudging his shoulder with her own. “You’re pretty cool, Forehead Boy. Stupid, but cool.”

Tanjiro laughed. “I could say the same about you.”

She gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Wow. Rude.”

Tanjiro simply smiled. Despite her teasing, there was something about Y/N’s presence that made him feel at ease. It reminded him of Mitsuri in a way—warm, reassuring, like the feeling of a familiar home.

Y/N leaned back, resting her hands behind her. “Y’know… Giyuu doesn’t talk about people much, but I can tell he doesn’t hate you.”

Tanjiro blinked. “Huh?”

“I mean, he’s always quiet, but he lets you stick around,” she explained, tilting her head toward him. “That means he at least thinks you’re decent. And trust me, that’s a big deal with my brother.”

Tanjiro thought about it for a moment. He had always felt a sense of gratitude toward Giyuu for protecting Nezuko and giving him a chance when no one else would. But hearing this from Y/N made it feel… different. More meaningful.

“I respect him a lot,” Tanjiro admitted. “He saved me and Nezuko. I owe him everything.”

Y/N hummed, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, he’s like that. He doesn’t say much, but he cares. I just wish more people saw that.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the sound of chirping crickets filling the air.

Then, Y/N suddenly grinned. “Oh, by the way.”

Tanjiro turned to her. “Hmm?”

She held out an extra onigiri, her eyes glinting mischievously. “I totally stole this from Sanemi’s plate earlier.”

Tanjiro nearly choked on his rice. “W-What?! Y/N-san, he’s going to kill you!”

She laughed. “Worth it.”

Tanjiro let out a nervous chuckle as he cautiously accepted the stolen onigiri, glancing around as if Sanemi might suddenly burst onto the rooftop, sword in hand. “You’re really not afraid of him, huh?”

Y/N shrugged, popping the last bit of her rice ball into her mouth. “Nah. He’s just a loud, angry cat pretending to be a lion.”

Tanjiro smiled at that, but after a moment, his expression softened. He glanced at her, his voice quieter this time. “Y/N-san… can I ask you something?”

She turned her head toward him, tilting it slightly. “Sure. What’s up?”

Tanjiro hesitated before carefully choosing his words. “You’ve talked about Giyuu a lot, but… what about you? I don’t know much about you.”

For a moment, Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the question. She wasn’t used to people asking about her.

“Well, you already know I’m the cooler Tomioka sibling,” she said with a teasing grin, but when Tanjiro remained quiet, she sighed and leaned back on her hands, gazing up at the stars. “…There’s not much to tell, really. I grew up with Giyuu, obviously, but… we had an older sister too.”

Tanjiro’s eyes widened slightly. “You did?”

“Mm-hmm.” Y/N nodded, but her expression turned thoughtful, almost distant. “Her name was Tsutako. She… died a long time ago, when I was just a baby.”

Tanjiro’s heart clenched at her words. He knew the pain of losing family all too well.

“I don’t really remember her,” Y/N admitted, playing with the fabric of her sleeve. “Not her face, not her voice… but I do remember a song.”

“A song?” Tanjiro echoed.

“Yeah.” She smiled softly. “Giyuu told me that before everything happened, Tsutako used to hum it to me whenever I was fussy. I guess it worked, ‘cause whenever I hear it, it makes me feel… safe.”

There was a brief silence, the wind carrying the quiet rustling of leaves through the air. Then, gently, Y/N started humming.

It was a simple tune—soft, slow, almost like a lullaby. It was warm, nostalgic, like something meant to ward off bad dreams and soothe troubled hearts.

Tanjiro closed his eyes for a moment, letting the melody settle around them. He could almost picture it: a young Giyuu, a baby Y/N, and an older sister who loved them both enough to sing them to sleep.

When Y/N stopped humming, she let out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of her neck. “Pretty, right?”

Tanjiro opened his eyes and nodded, his gaze gentle. “Yeah… it is.”

Y/N smiled, a bit more genuinely this time. “Maybe one day, I’ll hum it for Giyuu. I don’t know if he remembers it, but… I think he’d like it.”

Tanjiro smiled warmly at Y/N’s words, imagining how Giyuu might react to hearing that melody again. But before he could say anything, a loud, furious voice shattered the peaceful moment.

“OI, YOU DAMN BRAT!”

Both Y/N and Tanjiro nearly jumped out of their skin as Sanemi’s unmistakable roar echoed through the Butterfly Mansion.

Y/N blinked, then slowly turned her head toward the source of the voice—only to see Sanemi standing below, glaring up at them with pure rage in his eyes. He held an empty plate in his hand, his grip so tight it looked like it might crack.

“DID YOU STEAL MY ONIGIRI?!”

Tanjiro paled, instinctively scooting away from Y/N.

Y/N, on the other hand, had the audacity to smirk. She casually leaned over the edge of the roof, resting her chin in her palm. “Huh? Ohhh, you mean that one I ate like an hour ago?” She gave a dramatic gasp. “Wait, was that yours? Oops.”

Sanemi’s eye twitched violently. “YOU—”

Before he could finish, Y/N immediately shot up to her feet and took off running across the rooftop. “WORTH IT!”

“GET BACK HERE, YOU DAMN GREMLIN—!”

Tanjiro watched in horrified amusement as Y/N cackled, dodging a very real attempt from Sanemi to actually climb onto the roof after her.

From inside the mansion, multiple voices rang out.

“Sanemi! Stop trying to break the building!”

“Y/N-chan, what did you do this time?”

“Tomioka, control your sister.”

Giyuu, who had just walked outside, sighed deeply at the sight before him. “No.”

Tanjiro simply shook his head, letting out a small laugh. For all the chaos that surrounded Y/N, there was something comforting about it. He had a feeling things would never be quiet with her around—but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

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heya ! :P please could you write something fluffy with Molly O’shea 😭 like your seeing her behind Dutch’s back or something like that!! Your writing is amazing oh my gosh

Stolen.

MY GOSHHH, i love molly, she is such a sweetie, and dutch does NOT... deserve her. in this thing, i made the reader in a rival gang, that i just made up, soooooooo :3 i also made this a m!reader Warnings: none ----

The moon hung low over the Lemoyne swamps, casting a soft glow over the thick night air. Crickets chirped in the distance, and the occasional hoot of an owl broke the silence. You sat atop your sleek gray mustang, Orion, just beyond the Van der Linde camp, hidden in the trees. The Scarface Gang would skin you alive if they knew where you were, but that wasn’t what worried you most. No, it was Dutch Van der Linde—if he found out you’d been sneaking around with his woman, you’d be dead before sunrise.

The snap of a twig made your pulse spike, but then you saw her—Molly O’Shea. Her red hair gleamed under the moonlight, and that mischievous smile of hers made your chest tighten.

“You’re late,” you teased in a hushed whisper.

She huffed, lifting her skirts just enough to step over a patch of mud. “Dutch was going on and on about something,” she muttered. “I had half a mind to slap him just to get away.”

You grinned, reaching out to help her up onto Orion. “One of these nights, someone’s going to catch us.”

“And what? You afraid of a little trouble, love?” Molly leaned into you, her breath warm against your neck as she settled into the saddle.

“I’m afraid of gettin’ a bullet in my head over you,” you murmured, but the truth was—you weren’t. Not really.

Molly let out a quiet laugh, wrapping her arms around your waist as you nudged Orion into a slow walk. The night belonged to you both in these stolen moments, away from the weight of gang politics and Dutch’s possessiveness.

As you rode through the trees, Molly rested her head against your back. “You ever think about running off?” she asked softly.

Your fingers tightened on the reins. You had. More times than you could count.

“With you?” you asked.

She hummed in response. “We could, you know. Just disappear.”

You turned your head slightly, catching her hopeful gaze in the dim light. “And where would we go, Molly O’Shea?”

She smiled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Anywhere but here.”

You exhaled slowly, staring ahead at the moonlit trail as Orion carried you both through the quiet night. The idea of running off with Molly, leaving all of this behind, was tempting—God, it was tempting. A life without bloodshed, without looking over your shoulder, without Dutch’s shadow hanging over her. A life where it was just the two of you, where you could start fresh, start a family.

But you couldn’t leave. Not yet.

Your grip on the reins tightened. “Molly…” you started, voice barely above a whisper.

She must have heard the hesitation in your tone because she shifted slightly behind you, holding onto you a little tighter. “What is it?”

You swallowed hard before answering. “My sister,” you murmured. “She’s in Scarface. She’s the only family I got left.”

Molly was silent for a moment, her fingers tracing idle patterns against your chest. “I didn’t know you had a sister,” she admitted.

You nodded. “She ain’t like me. She ain’t cut out for this life, but if I leave… I don’t know what happens to her. I can’t just run off and leave her to fend for herself.”

Molly sighed, resting her forehead against your back. “I understand,” she whispered. And you knew she did. She had no family but Dutch, and maybe once upon a time, that had been enough. But now? She wanted more. Just like you did.

You reached down, taking her hand in yours, squeezing it gently. “I love you, Molly,” you admitted, your voice raw with emotion. “More than anything.”

She squeezed back, her breath hitching slightly. “I love you too,” she said, her voice trembling just a little. “I just… I just want a real life with you.”

You closed your eyes, imagining it—Molly in a white dress, a little house somewhere far from all of this, kids running through a field, laughing. Peace. A future. A family.

You pulled gently on Orion’s reins, bringing him to a stop in a quiet clearing surrounded by towering trees. The moonlight filtered through the branches, casting soft silver streaks over the ground. With a deep breath, you swung your leg over the saddle and slid off with practiced ease, turning to help Molly down like the gentleman you always were.

She looked at you with quiet affection as you reached up, hands firm but gentle on her waist as you lifted her down. For a moment, she didn’t move—just stood there, her hands resting on your chest, searching your face as if trying to memorize you in this moment.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” she murmured.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “’Course I am,” you admitted. “Think about it every damn day.”

Molly studied you for a long moment before she reached up, cupping your face in her hands. “I just want a life where I can wake up next to you,” she whispered. “Where I don’t have to worry about bullets, about Dutch, about what tomorrow’s gonna bring. I want us to be free.”

You swallowed hard, emotions clawing at your chest. You wanted that too. But you were torn—torn between love and loyalty, between the future you dreamed of and the past you couldn’t let go of.

And yet…

Before you could stop yourself, you slowly sank down onto one knee, the damp earth pressing against your trousers. Molly gasped softly, her hands flying to her mouth as her wide eyes stared down at you.

“I ain’t got a fancy ring,” you started, voice thick with emotion. “I ain’t even got a plan. But I know one thing for certain, Molly O’Shea—I love you. And if there’s a way, any way, for me to give you the life you want… the life we both want… I swear to you, I’ll find it.”

Molly let out a shaky breath, her eyes glistening in the moonlight. She dropped to her knees in front of you, her hands trembling as she reached for yours.

“You mean it?” she whispered.

“With every damn piece of me,” you said, squeezing her hands tight. “I don’t know how, and I don’t know when, but one day… I’ll make you my wife. I’ll give you a home. A family. And I’ll love you every day for the rest of my life.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, but she was smiling—smiling so brightly it made your chest ache.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, my love. Always, yes.”

Molly held your hands so tightly it almost hurt, her breath coming out in little, uneven gasps. You could feel her heartbeat racing through her fingertips, matching your own.

She searched your face, her eyes still wet with tears but shining with something else now—hope.

“You mean it?” she whispered again, as if afraid this moment might vanish.

You nodded, squeezing her hands. “Yeah. I mean it.” Your voice was steadier now, conviction settling in your chest. “We leave. You, me… and my sister. We’ll ride north, cross the border into Canada, and never look back.”

Molly let out a sharp breath, something between a laugh and a sob. “Canada,” she murmured, like she was tasting the word on her lips. “You think we could make it that far?”

“If we’re smart, if we plan it right… yeah, I do,” you said, your voice firm. “We got money saved up between us. We ride out at night, take the long roads, stay off the trails. I know a few fellas up that way—trappers, ranchers. They don’t ask questions.”

Molly sniffled and nodded, determination settling into her features. “And your sister?”

You exhaled slowly. “She comes, no matter what. I won’t leave her behind.”

Molly smiled at that, reaching up to cup your cheek. “That’s why I love you,” she murmured. “You’re a good man.”

You huffed out a quiet laugh. “Not sure about that.”

She tilted her head, smirking. “Well, you’re my man. And that’s good enough for me.”

You leaned into her touch for a moment, savoring the warmth of it, then pulled her close, pressing your forehead against hers.

“We do this, we do it right,” you murmured. “We don’t tell nobody. Not Dutch, not anyone in your camp, not even my own men. We ride out in the dead of night—head west first, then north, throw off any trails.”

Molly nodded quickly. “I’ll pack what I can, keep it light. I’ve got some money hidden away too. Not much, but enough.”

You cupped her face, rubbing your thumbs gently over her cheeks. “It’s gonna be alright, Molly. I swear to you.”

She let out a shaky breath, then nodded. “Alright,” she whispered. “We go to Canada.”

You kissed her—slow, deep, full of every promise you couldn’t put into words. And in that moment, with the moon high above and the whole world sleeping around you, you knew there was no turning back.

You were leaving this life behind.

For her.

For family.

For freedom.

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OMG THANK U GUYS SMMM!!! i cant believe over 500 you of u guys like my silly little stories, thank you all sm!!!!!!!! also thank you for 39 followers!

[zafill]

If youre talking requests at the moment,

could you do a Genya x gn reader and its the readers birthday? :D mines coming up soon so I had to ask hehe, love your writing!

What is today?

OMG HAPPY EARILY/LATE/ON TIME BIRTHDAYYY!!! HOPE U GET EVERYTHING U WISH FOR!!§!!!!!!!!

--------

The morning sunlight trickled through the thin curtains, casting soft golden hues across the room. You stirred, slowly blinking the sleep from your eyes, stretching out your arm instinctively—only to find the other side of the bed empty.

A small frown tugged at your lips as you sat up, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from your face. Genya was usually the one to wake up first, but he always made sure to nuzzle close for just a little longer before getting out of bed. Today, though, there was no warmth lingering beside you, no gruff voice whispering a quiet ‘morning’ against your ear. Just silence.

Brushing off the uneasy feeling creeping in your chest, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, feet hitting the cool wooden floor. Maybe he had something to do, an early morning errand. That wouldn’t be too strange. But as you padded through the house, a sense of loneliness settled deep in your bones. The space was empty. No sound of Genya clanking around in the kitchen, no familiar scent of breakfast drifting through the air. Nothing.

Your fingers curled slightly.

Did… did he forget?

You let out a quiet sigh, shaking your head as you made your way downstairs. The house felt unusually empty—too still. Usually, even if Genya was up early, there would be some sign of him: the sound of his boots by the door, the lingering scent of his soap, a half-eaten breakfast he rushed through before heading out. But today, nothing.

Your stomach twisted slightly, but you brushed the feeling aside. Maybe you were just overthinking it.

Stepping into the kitchen, you went through the motions of making breakfast, though the usual comfort of the routine felt dull. You set the kettle to heat, pulled out some rice and miso soup, and idly worked through preparing your meal. The occasional clink of dishes against the wooden table was the only sound accompanying you, filling the silence Genya usually occupied with his gruff complaints about waking up too early or how he somehow managed to burn toast again.

You sat down and picked at your food, appetite waning.

Maybe he really did forget.

Maybe everyone did.

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair as you stared at the quiet house around you. It shouldn’t have bothered you this much. It was just a birthday—it wasn’t like you needed a big celebration. But still…

You swallowed down the lump forming in your throat and forced yourself to take a bite.

It wasn’t a big deal.

Right?

You finished your meal in silence, the food tasteless in your mouth. Pushing your plate aside, you stood up with a quiet sigh and grabbed your phone from the counter. Maybe you were just being dramatic—Genya could have been busy, and maybe the others were caught up with their own routines. A quick call would fix this uneasy feeling, right?

You tapped your parents' contact and held the phone to your ear. It rang. And rang. And rang.

No answer.

Your fingers tightened around the device as you pulled it away, staring at the screen. Maybe they were just out, or busy with something. That was normal. You tried again, but it went straight to voicemail this time.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you scrolled down and called Muichiro next.

Nothing.

The call rang until it cut off automatically. No callback. Not even a short message.

Your stomach twisted as an uneasy pit settled in your chest.

One more. Just one more. You tried to steady your breathing as you pressed on Gyomei’s contact. If anyone would answer, it’d be him. He was always reliable, always so gentle and warm whenever you needed reassurance. You listened intently as it rang, fingers gripping your phone tight enough to make your knuckles ache.

But like all the others… no answer.

Your phone lowered slowly, your screen dimming as the silence in the house grew heavier.

No one was answering.

No calls. No messages. No "Happy Birthday."

Nothing.

Your vision blurred for a second before you quickly blinked the feeling away, shaking your head.

Maybe… maybe this was just a coincidence. Maybe you were just reading too much into it.

But then why did it hurt so much?

Your fingers hovered over the screen before you finally typed out a simple message:

"Where are you?"

You stared at it for a second, hesitating, then hit send. The message delivered instantly, and you waited, heart pounding just a little too hard in your chest.

Three dots didn’t appear. No immediate response.

But then—

Seen.

Your breath hitched slightly as your stomach twisted. He read it. He saw it. But he didn’t reply.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard, debating whether to send another text, to ask again, but something about the silence on his end made your chest ache even more.

Swallowing hard, you exited the messages app, your screen shifting back to your wallpaper. The familiar image stared back at you—Genya, his usual scowl deepened as you had convinced him to do skincare with you. A white headband pushed back his messy hair, a clay mask smeared across his face, his lips pressed into a thin line like he’d rather be anywhere else. You, on the other hand, had been grinning in the photo, your own face covered in a mask, flashing the camera a peace sign.

It was stupid. Just a silly picture. But looking at it now made your throat tighten.

He wouldn't just ignore you… would he?

You shook your head, locking your phone and tossing it onto the couch. You needed to clear your head. Maybe get some air.

Grabbing your jacket, you headed for the door.

Maybe some fresh air would help push away this horrible, sinking feeling in your chest

The streets buzzed with life as you walked through the city, the usual hustle and bustle of people passing by doing little to distract you from the weight in your chest. Your hands were shoved into your jacket pockets, your gaze distant as you tried to push away the nagging thoughts swirling in your mind.

Genya wouldn’t ignore you on purpose.

Muichiro wouldn’t just ignore a call like that.

Gyomei, of all people, wouldn’t leave you hanging.

So why did it feel like everyone had just… disappeared?

You sighed, rubbing your arms absentmindedly as you turned a corner. Just as you did, a familiar flash of maroon caught your eye.

Tanjiro.

Your heart lifted slightly at the sight of him, his warm presence always so reassuring. He was walking ahead, his haori swaying gently as he weaved through the crowd. Without thinking, you picked up your pace, relieved to finally see a familiar face.

“Tanjiro!” you called out, a small smile breaking through your gloom as you approached him. “Hey!”

He turned at the sound of your voice.

And then—

His eyes widened in sheer panic.

Before you could say anything else, he let out a shriek—a genuine, startled shriek—and bolted in the opposite direction.

Your breath caught in your throat.

What…?

Your feet remained rooted to the ground as you watched him sprint down the street, his arms flailing slightly as if he had just seen a ghost. He didn’t slow down. Didn’t hesitate. Just ran.

Away from you.

People turned to look at you curiously, but you barely noticed. Your fingers curled into fists, your body cold despite the sun shining overhead.

He saw you. He knew it was you. And yet… he ran.

Your stomach twisted violently.

Your throat tightened as you stared at the spot where Tanjiro had just been. The sinking feeling in your chest grew heavier, clawing at your ribs like something was pressing down on you from the inside.

Why?

Why would he run?

Your vision blurred as tears welled in your eyes, stinging against the cold air. You sniffled, quickly rubbing at your face with the sleeve of your jacket before anyone could see. Crying in the middle of a crowded street wasn’t exactly the plan for today—not that there had been a plan in the first place.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to move, ducking into a small shop nearby. The scent of various candles and herbs hit you immediately, the warm glow of the shop contrasting with the hollow coldness sitting in your chest.

A gift.

If no one else was going to celebrate your birthday, you could at least do something small for yourself. Even if it didn’t fix the ache, maybe it would make today feel a little less… empty.

You wandered through the aisles, scanning the shelves lined with different candles, each one labeled with its scent in neat little handwriting. Eventually, your eyes landed on one that made you pause.

Strawberry Fields.

You picked it up carefully, twisting the lid off and bringing it to your nose. The scent was sweet, warm, comforting. It reminded you of summer afternoons, of laughter, of Genya sitting beside you with strawberry juice on his lips, grumbling about how it was "too sweet" even as he took another bite.

Your chest ached.

You closed the lid and clutched the candle to your chest, exhaling shakily before heading toward the counter.

It wasn’t much.

But at least it was something.

You handed the candle to the cashier, offering a small, forced smile as they rang it up. They didn’t say much—just the total and a polite, “Have a nice day.” You nodded, gripping the small paper bag tightly as you stepped back onto the street.

The city felt even bigger now, even louder, even lonelier.

You kept your head down as you walked, the weight in your chest pressing harder with every step. The candle felt small in your hands, insignificant compared to the emptiness swallowing you whole.

Why wasn’t anyone answering?

Why did Tanjiro run?

Why did Genya leave you on read?

You let out a shaky breath, tightening your grip on the bag. You tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter. That you didn’t need anyone to acknowledge today. That you were fine.

But the silence from everyone you loved said otherwise.

The walk home felt longer than usual. The streets blurred together, your own thoughts drowning out the noise around you. When you finally reached your house, you hesitated for a moment before stepping inside.

The air was still. Quiet.

Like it had been this morning.

You set the bag down on the counter, staring at it for a long moment before sighing. Maybe you’d light the candle later. Maybe you’d just go to bed early and forget today ever happened.

But before you could even move, something caught your attention.

The faintest sound.

Coming from upstairs.

Your heart skipped.

You weren’t alone.

Your heartbeat hammered in your chest as you slowly made your way upstairs, the sound still faint but unmistakable. It was a creak, a rustle—footsteps, perhaps? You barely breathed, your hands gripping the railing as you carefully approached the lounge. The silence in the house felt suffocating, but your instincts told you something was off.

You moved silently, trying to steady your breath, your thoughts racing. What could it be? Was someone—someone who wasn’t supposed to be here—lurking in your house? The thought made your heart race even faster.

When you reached the corner, ready to face whatever it was, you steeled yourself, preparing for whatever might be waiting. With one swift motion, you rounded the corner, your body tense, fists ready to defend yourself if needed—

And then you froze.

A chorus of voices erupted around you, all at once:

"SURPRISE!!"

Your eyes went wide as you took in the sight before you. Every single person you cared about was there—all of them.

Tanjiro. Nezuko. Zenitsu. Inosuke. Kanao. Genya, his eyes wide with a mix of excitement and something you couldn’t quite place. Giyu. Shinobu. Kyojuro. Tengen. Muichiro. Mitsuri. Obanai. Sanemi. Gyomei.

They were all there, standing in your living room, their faces alight with joy. Some grinning ear-to-ear, others trying to hide their smiles, but the warmth in their eyes was undeniable.

And then Genya—Genya stepped forward, his usual gruff demeanor softening. “You really thought we’d forget?” His voice was tender, the teasing edge he often wore gone for once. “Did you really think we’d let your birthday go unnoticed?”

Your chest tightened, and your eyes immediately welled with tears. You opened your mouth to speak, but the emotions overwhelmed you. You hadn’t realized how much you had needed this, how much you had been hoping for it, even if you hadn’t said a word.

Kanao gently placed her hand on your shoulder, her smile warm as she spoke softly. “We wanted to make today special for you.”

You blinked, shaking your head in disbelief. “But… but I thought—why didn’t anyone—”

“You were upset,” Zenitsu piped in, his usual energy a little more subdued today, “but we had to make sure everything was perfect!”

“We couldn’t risk spoiling the surprise,” Inosuke added, looking ridiculously proud of himself.

And then, as if to punctuate everything, Kyojuro stepped forward, holding a giant cake decorated with frosting and colorful candles, “For you,” he said, grinning widely. “Happy Birthday!”

The warmth of their words, the love in their gazes, the fact that every single one of them was here for you—it hit you all at once. You hadn’t been forgotten. They hadn’t abandoned you. They had been planning this all along.

A soft sob escaped your lips as you smiled, tears streaming freely down your face. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this overwhelmed with emotion.

“You guys…”

Before you could say anything else, Tanjiro stepped forward and pulled you into a warm hug, his hands gentle but firm around you. “Happy Birthday,” he whispered softly, his voice full of sincerity.

The others gathered around, a chorus of “Happy Birthday” filling the room, and you felt yourself melting in the warmth of their love and care. Every ounce of doubt, every fear you had felt that morning seemed to vanish in an instant.

You couldn't help but laugh through your tears as the room filled with laughter and warmth. Genya, standing slightly behind everyone else, gave you a soft, gentle smile. His usual gruffness seemed to melt away in the moment. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around you with surprising tenderness, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Happy Birthday," he whispered, his voice low but full of sincerity.

You melted into his embrace, the tears falling freely now as a mix of joy and relief flooded your chest. You finally felt the weight of the day lift, the knot in your stomach unwinding as his presence reminded you just how loved you truly were.

But, of course, just as you thought the moment was perfect, the chaos of the group erupted.

Sanemi, leaning against the wall with a devilish grin, saw Genya’s tender moment with you and raised an eyebrow. “Oooh~ Genya, didn’t know you had it in you.” His voice was teasing, lighthearted, but there was an edge to it.

Before anyone could react, Genya immediately shoved him, his usual scowl returning with a vengeance. “Shut up, Sanemi!” he growled, his hand clenched into a fist as he took a step toward his older brother.

“Oh? What’s the matter, little brother? Can’t handle a little teasing?” Sanemi’s grin widened, completely unbothered.

The tension between them rose in an instant as they started to bicker, and you couldn’t help but smile through your tears. It was chaotic, sure, but in that moment, it felt perfect. Every single person here was a reminder of how much they cared for you, and even in their ridiculousness, it made you feel even more special.

“Can you two calm down?!” Kanao’s voice cut through the chaos, a hint of amusement in her usually composed tone. Zenitsu was frantically trying to separate the two, his voice pitched higher in concern.

“Inosuke, help!” Tanjiro was pleading, but Inosuke seemed more interested in watching the scene with interest. “This is getting good.”

“STOP!” Genya snapped, trying to lunge at Sanemi once more, but before the situation escalated further, Kyojuro and Tengen stepped in between the two brothers.

“Come on, now, let's not ruin the birthday celebration with a fight!” Kyojuro laughed heartily, his booming voice full of warmth. “Save the sibling rivalry for later, huh?”

“I’ll beat him later, Kyojuro!” Genya muttered, crossing his arms as he glared at his brother, but even he couldn't suppress the small smile tugging at his lips.

Sanemi, clearly unfazed, just chuckled and shrugged, but you could see the faintest trace of fondness in his eyes for his younger brother.

The moment finally settled as everyone tried to calm the brothers down, but you just stood there, still enveloped in Genya’s arms, the soft laughter and banter filling the room. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so seen, so surrounded by people who truly cared. It was everything you needed, and more.

“Thank you,” you whispered quietly to Genya, your voice trembling with emotion. He just smiled down at you, his hands resting gently on your shoulders.

"Happy Birthday," he repeated, a quiet promise in his words as he pulled you in for another soft kiss on your forehead.

And as the room settled into laughter again, with Sanemi and Genya finally at peace, you realized that, despite everything that had happened earlier that day, you were exactly where you needed to be.

[zafill]

If you're still taking requests can I get something with the reincarnated kindergarten teacher gyomei and am afab reader who's picking up her friends son/basically nephew? I would enjoy nsfw for it because it's been a week for me but I'll take anything really 💖

A Gentleman's Devotion

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GGRR I LOVE THIISSS (i didnt really write nsfw, but if u still want that, ill gladly write a pt2.)

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The soft hum of conversation filled the preschool’s entrance as parents and guardians waited for their little ones. The air carried the scent of crayons, freshly cleaned floors, and the faintest hint of something sweet—probably a leftover snack from the day’s activities. You stood near the sign-in desk, scanning the room for Yu-ba, your best friend’s son, who you had promised to pick up today.

You had barely stepped further into the room when a deep, warm voice spoke from nearby.

“Are you here for Yu-ba?”

You turned to find the speaker—Gyomei Himejima, the kindergarten teacher. He was a towering presence, his gentle demeanor somehow making him seem even larger. His hands, which you had seen delicately guiding children through crafts and playtime, were folded calmly in front of him. Though his eyes remained closed, he always seemed to know exactly where everyone was.

“Yes! I hope he wasn’t too much trouble today,” you said with a soft chuckle, knowing full well how energetic Yu-ba could be.

Gyomei gave a small, serene smile. “Not at all. He is a bright and kind child. He has a strong spirit.”

That made you smile. “That means a lot coming from you.”

Just then, a delighted squeal rang out. “Auntieeee!”

Yu-ba barreled toward you, his tiny arms wrapping tightly around your waist. You laughed as you ruffled his hair, his energy infectious.

“Hey, champ! Did you have a good day?”

“Mhm! Teacher Gyomei helped me build the biggest tower! And then we did storytime, and he told us about a warrior monk who—” Yu-ba’s words tumbled out rapidly, his excitement barely contained.

You glanced at Gyomei, who inclined his head slightly, the corners of his lips lifting in quiet amusement.

“I’m glad you had fun,” you said, adjusting Yu-ba’s backpack. “Ready to go?”

As you turned to leave, Gyomei spoke again. “Please, take care on your way home.”

As you secured Yu-ba in his car seat, you felt Gyomei’s presence lingering. Glancing up, you spotted him through the window, standing near the entrance, his expression unreadable yet calm. There was something reassuring about the way he watched over his students—even as they left for the day.

Just as you were about to shut the door, Yu-ba gasped dramatically.

“Auntie! My lunchbox and my water bottle! I left them inside!”

You sighed, shaking your head fondly. “Of course you did.”

With a quick glance back at the school, you made a split-second decision. “Hang tight, buddy. I’ll go grab them.”

Hurrying back inside, you spotted Gyomei still by the entrance. He seemed to sense your approach before you could even call out.

“Did you forget something?” he asked, turning slightly toward you.

You gave him a sheepish smile. “Yu-ba left his lunchbox and water bottle inside. I… have no idea where to find them, though.”

Gyomei nodded. “I will help you.”

Without hesitation, he guided you back into the classroom. The room was now much quieter, the remnants of the day scattered across the small tables—crayon marks, unfinished crafts, and the occasional forgotten toy.

“His belongings should be in the cubby area,” Gyomei said as he walked ahead with quiet confidence.

You followed, watching as he reached out with practiced ease, fingertips brushing over the labels of each cubby until he found Yu-ba’s. Retrieving the small lunchbox and bottle, he handed them to you with a gentle smile.

“Here you are.”

You took them, smiling in relief. “You’re a lifesaver, Gyomei. Thank you.”

He inclined his head. “It’s no trouble at all. I am glad I could help.”

As you turned to leave again, you hesitated for just a moment, glancing back at him. “You really care about these kids, huh?”

His expression softened. “They are precious. Their happiness and safety mean everything.”

You were about to turn away when you felt a gentle yet firm touch—Gyomei’s large hand lightly grasping yours. The warmth of his palm was unexpected, his calloused fingers careful as if afraid to startle you.

You looked up at him, surprised. His expression remained calm, yet there was something different—something just beneath the surface of his usual serenity.

“Would it be alright if I had your number?” His deep voice was as steady as ever, but there was a quiet sincerity in his words. “In case Yu-ba ever needs something… or if you ever do.”

Your heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t just politeness. There was intent behind his words, a careful step forward.

For a moment, you simply held his gaze—well, as much as you could when his eyes remained closed—and then, feeling a smile tug at your lips, you nodded.

“Yeah… I’d like that.”

Pulling out your phone, you quickly exchanged numbers, your fingers brushing briefly as you handed it to him. His touch lingered for just a second longer than necessary before he finally released your hand.

“I’ll be sure to check in,” he said, the corners of his lips lifting ever so slightly.

As you turned away, you couldn’t stop the small, giddy smile that crept onto your face. Your fingers still tingled where Gyomei had touched them, the warmth lingering like an ember refusing to fade. You clutched your phone tightly, as if it could somehow preserve the moment forever.

Walking back to the car, the cool evening air did little to cool the warmth rising to your cheeks. You opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

And then, it hit you.

You had just exchanged numbers with Gyomei Himejima.

The man who radiated calm wisdom, whose hands—large and strong—had just barely brushed against yours, sending a shockwave through your entire system.

Your face grew impossibly warm. You brought your hands to your cheeks, as if trying to physically push down the flustered heat that was spreading rapidly.

From the back seat, a small but inquisitive voice broke through your thoughts.

“Auntie… are you okay?”

You stiffened.

Slowly, you turned your head to see Yu-ba peering at you with wide, curious eyes, his little hands gripping the straps of his car seat. His expression was a mix of confusion and mild concern, as if you had just turned into a completely different person before his very eyes.

“I—uh—yeah! Yeah, I’m totally fine,” you said, perhaps a little too quickly.

Yu-ba squinted at you, clearly not convinced.

“Are you sure? Your face is red.” His tiny hands mimicked yours, patting his own cheeks as if testing to see if they, too, were warm.

You let out a nervous chuckle, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s just… the car! It’s, uh, warm in here.”

Yu-ba blinked, then looked pointedly at the still-running AC blasting cool air.

You winced. Busted.

There was a long pause before Yu-ba gasped dramatically, his little hands smacking against his cheeks.

“Ohhh!” His eyes sparkled with sudden realization. “You like Teacher Gyomei, don’t you?!”

Your entire soul nearly left your body.

“What?! No—! Yu-ba, that’s—” You sputtered, gripping the steering wheel as if it could somehow anchor you to reality. “That’s not—I mean—it’s not like that!”

Yu-ba giggled, clearly delighted by your flustered reaction. “It is like that! Your face is all red, and you look happy! Like my mommy when she talks about her favorite TV show!”

You groaned, leaning forward until your forehead lightly thudded against the wheel. Of course a four-year-old would call you out so easily.

“Yu-ba,” you started, turning to give him a serious look, “this is top secret, okay? No telling your mom. Or anyone.”

Yu-ba’s eyes widened in excitement, and he nodded enthusiastically. “Okay! I won’t tell! But…” He wiggled in his seat, grinning. “If you marry Teacher Gyomei, does that mean I get extra snack time?”

You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head as you reached back to ruffle his hair. “You little negotiator. Let’s just get you home first.”

As you finally pulled out of the parking lot, you couldn’t help but glance one last time in the rearview mirror. Gyomei was still there, standing by the entrance, as if making sure you both left safely.

And just like that, your face heated all over again.

Pulling into the driveway, you put the car in park and turned to look at Yu-ba, who was practically vibrating with leftover excitement from his teasing. He grinned at you, clearly holding onto his "top secret" knowledge like it was the greatest discovery in the world.

"Alright, champ, let’s get you inside," you said, unbuckling his seatbelt.

Yu-ba hopped out of the car, grabbing his backpack with the same boundless energy he always had. You followed him up to the front door, opening it with ease since Moni had given you the spare key for days like this.

The comforting scent of home-cooked food filled the air the moment you stepped inside. The soft clatter of utensils and the bubbling sound of something simmering on the stove led your eyes to the kitchen, where Moni stood with her back to you.

“Welcome home, baby!” she called over her shoulder. “Did you have a good day?”

Before Yu-ba could answer, she turned, wiping her hands on a dish towel, and spotted you standing there as well. Her lips curled into a smirk almost immediately.

“Well, well. You look suspiciously flustered,” she mused, raising a perfectly arched brow.

You froze. Was it that obvious?!

Yu-ba, ever the little traitor, gasped dramatically and pointed right at you. “Auntie’s in looooove!”

You choked on air.

Moni’s eyes widened for a second before a slow, knowing grin spread across her face. She placed a hand on her hip, her amusement practically radiating. “Oh? Do tell.”

“No! No ‘do tell’!” you exclaimed, waving your hands frantically. “Yu-ba is just making up stories.”

Yu-ba pouted. “Nuh-uh! Auntie was blushing so much in the car! And she smiled a lot when Teacher Gyomei talked to her!”

You clamped a hand over your face, groaning. “I am never taking you anywhere again.”

Moni gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Teacher Gyomei? As in Yu-ba’s giant, kind-hearted, could-probably-carry-a-house-on-his-back teacher?”

Your face burned hotter. “Oh my god, Moni.”

She cackled. “This is the best thing I’ve heard all day! Hold on, I need details.” She grabbed your wrist and dragged you toward the kitchen table before you could even think about escaping.

With no hope of escape, you sighed in defeat, resting your elbows on the kitchen table. “Fine. But if I tell you, you have to promise not to make a big deal out of it.”

Moni grinned. “No promises. Now spill.”

You hesitated, glancing at Yu-ba, who was practically bouncing in his seat, eager to hear the story unfold. Taking a deep breath, you began recounting everything—how Gyomei had helped you find Yu-ba’s forgotten things, the way his fingers brushed over the cubbies with practiced ease, the warmth in his voice when he spoke about the kids, and then… the part that made your stomach flutter all over again.

“And then… he asked for my number,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Moni gasped so loudly it could’ve shattered glass. “No way.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “Yes way.”

She smacked the table. “Oh my god. That’s huge! That man is literally a walking guardian angel, and he wants your number?” She waggled her eyebrows. “Girl, do you know what this means?”

“That I’m never telling you anything ever again?” you deadpanned.

She ignored you completely. “It means he’s interested!”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could say anything, your phone vibrated on the table. The three of you froze, eyes snapping toward the screen.

A message. From Gyomei.

Moni gasped again, this time more dramatically, as if she were witnessing a scene from a romance movie. “Oh, this is divine intervention. Read it. Right now.”

Your heart pounded as you picked up your phone, your fingers slightly trembling. With one deep breath, you unlocked the screen and read the message.

Gyomei Himejima: I hope you both made it home safely. It was nice speaking with you today.

You stared at the message, warmth spreading through your chest. It was simple, thoughtful, and so him.

Moni, impatient, leaned over and tried to peek at your screen. “What did he say? Did he ask you on a date? Oh my god, are we planning a wedding?”

You shoved her away with one hand, your face burning. “Calm down! He just—he just asked if we got home safe.”

Moni clutched her chest. “That’s basically a love confession.”

Yu-ba, still munching on a snack, nodded sagely. “Teacher Gyomei does like you, Auntie.”

You shook your head, typing a quick response before Moni could steal your phone.

You: We did! Thanks again for your help today. You really saved me back there.

You hesitated for a second before adding:

You: It was nice talking to you too.

The moment you hit send, Moni squealed and grabbed your shoulders, shaking you lightly. “Ohhh, you’re so into him. This is adorable.”

The drive home was quiet, but your mind was anything but. Moni’s teasing echoed in your head, and despite your protests, you couldn’t shake the warmth lingering in your chest. Could Gyomei really be interested in me? The thought sent a flutter through your stomach, one you tried (and failed) to ignore.

Pulling into the parking lot of your apartment complex, you exhaled deeply, trying to shake off the nerves. It was just a text. A simple, polite text. No need to overthink it.

Your four-room apartment was quiet when you stepped inside, the kind of peaceful silence that came after a long day. Tossing your bag onto the couch, you set your phone on the nightstand and stretched. Shower first, then overanalyze every interaction I had today.

Warm water rushed over your skin, washing away the stress of the day. You let yourself relax, the steam soothing your muscles. And yet, as much as you tried to empty your thoughts, they kept circling back to one thing. Or rather, one person.

Gyomei.

The way his voice wrapped around you like something steady and grounding. The way his smile, small and soft, had made your chest tighten. The warmth of his hand when he had taken yours, so gentle despite his strength.

You let out a groan, covering your face. I am in trouble.

After finishing up, you wrapped yourself in a soft towel, feeling refreshed—though your mind was still an absolute mess. Walking over to your nightstand, you grabbed your phone, expecting to see a few notifications from Moni sending more teasing texts.

Instead, a new message from Gyomei awaited you.

Your heart stuttered.

With slightly damp fingers, you unlocked your phone and clicked the notification.

Gyomei Himejima: Forgive me if this is too soon, but… would you allow me to take you out sometime?

Your breath caught in your throat.

Before you could even process that, another message came through.

Gyomei Himejima: I understand we have only just spoken properly today, but I would like to know you better.

For a moment, you just stared at the screen, rereading the words over and over again. Was this real? Was he seriously asking you out? Oh my god.

You sat down on the edge of your bed, gripping your phone like it might slip out of your hands. Your heart thudded so loudly you could practically hear it in the quiet of your apartment.

A date. Gyomei wanted to go on a date.

You exhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. Okay, okay, play it cool.

Slowly, carefully, you typed back.

You: I’d love that. When were you thinking?

The moment you hit send, you flopped onto your bed, staring at the ceiling.

Your phone buzzed again almost immediately. With a deep breath, you lifted it to read his response.

Gyomei Himejima: Would tomorrow evening be alright? There is a restaurant I believe you may enjoy. It is a quiet place, but the food is exceptional.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow?!

You shot up into a sitting position, clutching your phone like it was about to combust in your hands. Your heart did an unsteady flip. Not only was this happening, but it was happening so soon.

A fancy dinner. A real, actual date with Gyomei.

Swallowing hard, you forced your trembling fingers to type a response.

You: Tomorrow sounds perfect. I’m looking forward to it.

As soon as you hit send, you stared at the message, wide-eyed. The words felt so casual, so effortless—but internally, you were screaming.

Almost instantly, another response came through.

Gyomei Himejima: I will send you the details in the morning. Rest well.

Your heart softened. Even in a simple text, he was so considerate.

You: You too, Gyomei. See you tomorrow.

The moment your phone screen dimmed, you let out a sharp breath and flopped back onto the bed, covering your face with your hands.

Moni was going to lose her mind.

There was no way you were going to survive this night without talking to someone about it. And by someone, you meant Moni.

With a deep breath, you grabbed your phone and scrolled to her contact, pressing the call button before you could second-guess yourself.

It barely rang twice before she picked up.

“Ohhh, I knew you were gonna call me,” she said, her voice dripping with mischief. “It’s Gyomei, isn’t it?”

You groaned. “Moni.”

She gasped dramatically. “Wait, wait—did he text you again? Oh my god, what did he say? Was it a goodnight text? Did he send a heart emoji?”

You rolled your eyes, but your face was still burning. “No heart emoji, but—”

“But what?” she pressed, her voice practically vibrating through the speaker.

You inhaled sharply and blurted, “He asked me out.”

Silence.

For half a second, you thought maybe the call had dropped. Then—

A loud, ear-piercing scream erupted from the other end, forcing you to pull the phone away from your ear.

“MONI!” you shouted. “WHAT THE HELL?!”

“Oh my god!” she screeched. “Oh my god! I knew it! I knew he was into you! I could feel it! The soft-spoken, gentle giant act? The way he lingered when you left? Classic romance movie behavior!”

You groaned, covering your face with your free hand. “Moni, please. I called for support, not for you to break my eardrums.”

“This is support!” she argued. “Oh my god, you’re going on a date with Gyomei Himejima. Do you understand what this means? This man is a literal angel. He’s built like a Greek god but has the soul of a saint. And he’s interested in you.”

“Thanks for making it sound like I’m undeserving of him,” you muttered dryly.

Moni gasped. “No, no, that’s not what I meant! I always knew you were a catch, but this is Gyomei. He’s like... I don’t know, the human embodiment of a warm hug mixed with divine intervention.”

You exhaled, flopping back onto the bed again. “Yeah, well… tomorrow. Fancy dinner. He said he wants to get to know me better.”

Another squeal. “Oh my god, a fancy dinner?! That means he’s serious. This isn’t just some casual ‘let’s grab coffee’ thing. This is a real date. Romantic.”

The realization settled into your stomach like a whirlwind. A real date.

“Okay,” Moni continued, shifting into planning mode. “You need an outfit. Something elegant but effortless. You don’t wanna look like you tried too hard, but also, let’s be real, you have to try hard because this man is the definition of refined.”

You groaned again. “Moni, I own like three dresses, and two of them are for weddings.”

“Then we’re going shopping first thing in the morning,” she declared. “No arguments.”

“I work in the morning.”

“You take your lunch break in the morning,” she corrected. “And we’ll make it quick. Just enough time to find something that’ll make Gyomei’s heart skip a beat when he sees you.”

You sighed, but you couldn’t help the tiny smile forming on your lips. Moni was a lot, but she had your back no matter what.

“Fine,” you conceded. “One outfit. But if you make me try on fifty, I’m blocking your number.”

The next morning came faster than you expected, your nerves barely giving you a moment of decent sleep. But before you could even think about backing out, a loud honk from outside snapped you out of your half-awake state.

You peeked out the window. Moni’s car was parked right in front of your apartment, and in the passenger seat, Yu-ba was waving enthusiastically like he had been waiting for this moment his entire life.

With a groan, you quickly threw on some decent clothes, grabbed your bag, and hurried outside. The moment you slid into the backseat, Yu-ba beamed.

“HI, AUNTIEEE!”

You laughed, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “Good morning, Yu-ba. You’re extra energetic today.”

“Because today is special!” he announced.

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What’s so special about today?”

Yu-ba grinned mischievously. “You’re gonna look so pretty for your date with Teacher Gyomei!”

You choked.

Moni cackled from the driver’s seat. “That’s my boy. We love a supportive wingman.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Moni, you’re corrupting him.”

“I prefer the term guiding him toward greatness,” she said with a wink before pulling out onto the road.

The drive to Yu-ba’s preschool was short, and as soon as you arrived, he practically leaped out of the car and ran inside, calling out his goodbyes. You and Moni followed at a more reasonable pace, lingering just long enough to make sure he got inside safely.

And that’s when you spotted him.

Gyomei stood near the entrance, talking to another teacher, his usual calm presence grounding the space around him. But the moment his attention turned in your direction, something changed.

His lips parted slightly, his expression softening as a faint flush dusted his cheeks.

And then—he waved.

A small, shy wave.

Oh no.

Your heart flipped in your chest. Without thinking, you waved back, your own face heating up.

Moni, beside you, sucked in a breath. “Oh. My. God.”

You shot her a warning look, but it was already too late.

“He blushed,” she whispered, gripping your arm like she had just witnessed a real-life romance drama unfold before her eyes. “I knew it. He’s down bad.”

“Moni, please,” you hissed under your breath.

But Gyomei, ever composed, simply offered a small nod before returning to his conversation. You could still see the pink on his face, though, and that was definitely going to live in your mind rent-free for the rest of the day.

Moni practically dragged you back to her car, squealing the moment you both got in.

“Okay, now we’re shopping.” She floored it out of the parking lot. “We’re finding you the perfect outfit because that man is already whipped, and we need to make sure you seal the deal.”

The ride to the shopping district was anything but peaceful. Moni, energized by the sheer thrill of your upcoming date, had been talking nonstop, barely giving you a chance to breathe.

“I knew he liked you,” she said for what felt like the hundredth time. “Did you see the way he blushed when he waved at you this morning? I could feel the secondhand butterflies.”

You exhaled dramatically. “Moni, I swear, if you bring up his blush one more time, I’m kicking you out of the car.”

She gasped, clutching her chest. “You wouldn’t.”

“You wanna test that theory?”

Moni cackled but didn’t push it further. Instead, she turned up the music and started dramatically lip-syncing to a love song playing through the speakers. You rolled your eyes but smiled, appreciating the lightheartedness.

By the time you arrived at the shopping district, the morning sun had settled in, casting a warm golden glow over the streets. The stores were just starting to fill with early shoppers, and the faint smell of fresh coffee and pastries lingered in the air.

Moni practically leapt out of the car the second you parked. “Alright,” she said, cracking her knuckles like she was about to go into battle. “Operation ‘Make Gyomei Weak in the Knees’ is officially underway.”

You groaned, stepping out and shutting the car door behind you. “Can we please rename this operation?”

She ignored you, grabbing your wrist and dragging you toward the first boutique she spotted. The storefront was sleek and modern, the mannequins in the window displaying elegant dresses that were both timeless and effortlessly stylish.

“This,” Moni said, gesturing grandly at the store, “is where we start.”

You sighed, giving in to your fate. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Moni grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

The moment you stepped inside, a soft chime rang through the boutique, signaling your arrival. The interior was bright and airy, with racks of carefully curated dresses arranged in neat, color-coordinated sections. The scent of vanilla and lavender lingered in the air, adding to the boutique’s cozy yet refined atmosphere.

Moni wasted no time. She immediately dove into the nearest rack, her eyes scanning the dresses with the intensity of a detective on a high-stakes case.

“Alright,” she said, flipping through the options, “we need something elegant but not over-the-top. Something that says, ‘Yes, I’m gorgeous, but also effortlessly so.’”

You snorted. “Is that an actual category of dress?”

“It should be,” Moni shot back, holding up a sleek black gown before shaking her head and putting it back.

A sales associate approached with a warm smile. “Welcome! Looking for anything special today?”

Moni didn’t hesitate. “Yes. My best friend here has a very important date with the world’s most perfect man, and she needs an outfit that will make him question every vow of self-discipline he’s ever taken.”

You smacked her arm. “Moni!”

The sales associate chuckled. “Got it. Something stunning, but tasteful.” She motioned for you to follow her. “Let’s take a look at a few options.”

Before you could so much as blink, Moni had already grabbed several dresses and shoved them into your arms. “Try these first.”

“You picked these out in thirty seconds,” you said, incredulous.

She grinned. “I have a gift.”

Sighing, you let yourself be ushered toward the fitting rooms.

The first dress was… fine. A deep red, form-fitting, but a little too bold for your taste.

Moni scrunched her nose. “You look hot, but I feel like that’s something you wear when you want to ruin a man, not go on a sweet, romantic dinner.”

You quickly changed.

The second dress was softer. A pastel blue with delicate lace detailing and a flowy skirt.

Moni tilted her head. “It’s pretty, but it feels too… innocent?”

The sales associate nodded in agreement. “It’s lovely, but if you’re looking for something elegant and balanced, we might want to try something else.”

Then came the third dress.

The moment you slipped it on, you knew.

It was a deep emerald green, made of a smooth, flowing fabric that hugged you in all the right places without being too tight. The neckline was elegant—off-the-shoulder with subtle draping, giving just a hint of allure without trying too hard. It felt timeless.

You stepped out of the fitting room hesitantly.

Moni’s jaw dropped. “Oh. Oh.”

The sales associate beamed. “Now that is the one.”

You turned to face the mirror, your heart fluttering. The dress made you feel… beautiful. Confident. Like you belonged at a fancy dinner with someone as poised as Gyomei.

Moni clapped her hands together. “He’s gonna die when he sees you.”

Your fingers hesitantly reached for the price tag, and the moment your eyes landed on the number, your stomach dropped.

“Moni…” You turned to her slowly, voice filled with regret. “I can’t afford this.”

Moni barely glanced at the tag before shrugging. “WELL, I CAN.”

Your eyes widened in horror. “Absolutely not.”

Moni crossed her arms, looking at you like you were an unreasonable child refusing to eat their vegetables. “Listen. This dress is the one. You look like a freaking goddess. I will not let finances stand in the way of my best friend’s chance at true love.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Okay, first of all, it’s not true love, it’s one date. Second, this dress costs more than my monthly grocery bill. I can’t let you pay for it.”

Moni raised a hand, silencing you dramatically. “I can and I will. Consider it an investment in my entertainment.”

You groaned. “Moni—”

She grabbed your shoulders, staring you down. “Do you want this dress?”

You hesitated. You really, really did. But—

“That’s what I thought,” she said before you could respond. She turned on her heel, marching toward the register. “I’m buying it. You can’t stop me.”

“Moni, no—”

“Moni, yes—”

You chased after her, but it was already too late. She handed over her card with a smug little flourish, and the sales associate, clearly entertained, processed the transaction without question.

A minute later, Moni turned to you triumphantly, holding the shopping bag out like a prized trophy. “Boom. Done. No take-backs.”

You stared at her, defeated. “You’re ridiculous.”

She smirked. “And yet, you love me for it.”

You sighed, taking the bag from her. “I don’t know how to repay you.”

Moni grinned, looping her arm through yours as you both walked toward the exit. “Simple. You wear that dress tomorrow, knock Gyomei flat, and then you let me scream about it when you text me the details.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “Deal.”

You took one last look in the mirror, smoothing out the fabric of your new dress before checking your makeup. The soft glow of your vanity lights highlighted the effort you had put in—your eyes shined a little brighter, your lips perfectly glossed. Okay, you told yourself, just breathe.

Then your phone buzzed.

Gyomei Himejima: I have arrived. Take your time.

Your stomach flipped. He’s here.

Grabbing your clutch, you took a deep breath and made your way outside. The cool night air greeted you as you stepped onto the pavement—only to freeze in place at the sight before you.

Gyomei was there, all right. But he wasn’t just waiting—he was leaning against a sleek, undeniably expensive car, the kind that belonged in a showroom or in the garage of someone with a very well-paying job.

The streetlights cast a warm glow over him, highlighting the sharp lines of his tailored suit. It fit him too well, broad shoulders framed perfectly, the deep color of the fabric complementing his presence. Even as composed as he was, there was something effortlessly powerful about the way he stood, arms loosely crossed, his posture relaxed but confident.

And holy hell, did he look good.

For a second, you completely forgot how to walk.

Gyomei turned his head slightly, as if sensing your presence, and then—oh no. He smiled.

It was small, subtle, but devastatingly warm.

“You look stunning,” he said, his deep voice even smoother than usual.

Heat rushed to your cheeks. You somehow managed to step forward, clearing your throat. “You—you’re one to talk. You clean up really well.”

He let out a soft chuckle, reaching out his hand toward you. “Shall we?”

You hesitated only for a second before slipping your hand into his. His grip was firm yet gentle, his warmth grounding you as he led you to the car.

As he opened the door for you, a thought hit you.

“…Gyomei?” you asked hesitantly. “Not that I’m complaining, but… this car? You wouldn’t happen to have another job, would you?”

He paused for half a second before letting out another quiet laugh. “Something like that,” he admitted, amusement lacing his tone.

You tried not to stare. You really did.

But the moment Gyomei settled into the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the wheel, it became a losing battle.

His hands were huge—strong, steady, every movement deliberate. And the veins running along his forearms? Absolutely unfair. The tailored sleeves of his suit strained just slightly as he maneuvered the car effortlessly, his broad shoulders shifting with every turn.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look anywhere else. The city lights blurred past outside the window, a soft hum of music playing in the background. But your attention kept drifting back to him—to the sheer presence he carried, even while doing something as simple as driving.

“I hope the restaurant is to your liking,” Gyomei said after a few moments, his deep voice breaking the silence. “It is a place I enjoy, and I thought you might as well.”

You blinked, pulling yourself from your very inappropriate thoughts. “Oh! I’m sure it’s great. I mean, I trust your taste.”

He smiled at that, keeping his gaze on the road. “That is kind of you to say.”

You exhaled slowly, trying to get a grip on yourself. It’s just a date. A normal, elegant date with a man who happens to be ridiculously attractive. No big deal.

…And then he turned the wheel, his biceps flexing ever so slightly.

Oh, you were in trouble.

The moment Gyomei stepped out of the car and rounded the front to your side, you felt your heart rate spike. He moved with such effortless grace despite his size, and when he extended his hand to help you out, you hesitated only a second before placing yours in his.

His palm was warm, his grip gentle yet firm as he guided you to your feet. You swore you could feel the heat of it even after he released you, but then—he didn’t fully let go.

Instead, his fingers laced loosely with yours as he led you toward the restaurant entrance.

Oh. Oh.

You glanced up at him, but if he noticed what he was doing, he gave no sign of it. He walked with quiet confidence, his presence alone commanding attention. And, judging by the way the valet and the doorman straightened the moment they saw him, he was definitely known here.

The second you both approached, the doorman smiled warmly. “Himejima-sama. It’s good to see you again.”

You raised an eyebrow at the respectful tone. Sama?

Gyomei inclined his head slightly. “It’s good to be here. Thank you.”

The doorman’s gaze flickered to you for just a second before his smile grew. “Your table is ready whenever you are.”

Okay, yeah. He was absolutely a regular here.

You turned to Gyomei as you both stepped inside, your curiosity bubbling over. “You, uh, come here often?”

His lips quirked slightly. “On occasion.”

The way the staff all greeted him like royalty? This was not an “on occasion” kind of situation.

And yet, with the way he kept your hand in his, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, you found you didn’t mind one bit.

As you both stepped further into the restaurant, you could feel the refined atmosphere settle around you. Soft lighting bathed the space in a warm glow, the quiet hum of conversation and the distant clinking of silverware creating an air of understated luxury.

Gyomei led you through the dining area, and even though his eyes remained closed, he moved with practiced ease—completely confident in his surroundings. When you reached your table, he released your hand just long enough to pull out your chair for you.

Your heart fluttered at the gesture. “Oh—thank you.”

He inclined his head slightly, his lips curving in a small smile. “It is my pleasure.”

As you settled into your seat, he gently pushed the chair in before moving to sit across from you.

A waiter appeared almost instantly, offering menus with a polite nod. Gyomei accepted his without hesitation, and though you browsed yours for a moment, it seemed like he already knew exactly what he wanted.

“I’ll have the Wagyu steak,” he said in his deep, even tone. “Medium-rare. With a side of roasted vegetables.”

The waiter nodded before turning to you. “And for you, miss?”

You glanced down at the menu one last time before deciding. “I’ll have the seared scallops and spinach with pomegranate glaze.”

“A wonderful choice,” the waiter said. “And to drink?”

You hesitated. “Just water for me, please.”

Before the waiter could confirm, Gyomei spoke up again. “We will also have a bottle of the Château Margaux 2005.”

You blinked, your head snapping up. That sounded… expensive.

The waiter’s expression didn’t waver, but there was a distinct note of approval in his nod. “Of course, sir. I’ll have it brought out shortly.”

As the waiter disappeared, you gave Gyomei a curious look. “Fancy wine, huh?”

He smiled slightly, folding his hands on the table. “A meal should be enjoyed to its fullest. A good pairing makes all the difference.”

You bit back a smile, shaking your head in amusement. “You really don’t do anything halfway, do you?”

His expression remained calm, but there was a glimmer of warmth beneath it. “Not when it matters.”

As you waited for your food, the restaurant’s soft atmosphere wrapped around you like a comforting haze. You were just about to make a comment about the décor when a voice cut through the ambient chatter.

“Oi, Gyomei? That you?”

You turned toward the sound and found yourself staring at a young man approaching your table. He looked to be in his late teens, with short, messy black hair and a small scar on his cheek. His sharp eyes flickered between you and Gyomei with a mix of surprise and curiosity.

Gyomei, however, remained completely unfazed. At the sound of the boy’s voice, he turned his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Genya. It has been a while.”

So they knew each other.

Genya came to a stop beside the table, crossing his arms. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Figured you’d be at the temple or something.”

Temple? Wait.

Before you could ask, Gyomei inclined his head, his deep voice calm as ever. “Even I must take time to rest, occasionally.”

Genya snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, makes sense.” His gaze flickered to you, assessing for a brief moment before something seemed to click in his head. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face.

“Wait. Is this a date?”

You stiffened slightly, your face growing warm. “Uh—”

Gyomei, on the other hand, remained entirely composed. “That is correct.”

Genya let out a low whistle. “Damn. Didn’t think I’d ever see the day.” He looked at you then, properly this time, his expression thoughtful. “Huh. Guess you gotta be pretty special for Gyomei to bring you here.”

You blinked. “I—uh—”

Gyomei turned slightly toward you, his lips curving just barely. “She is.”

Oh. Oh.

Your heart nearly stopped.

Genya raised an eyebrow at Gyomei’s response but didn’t press the matter. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets and smirked. “Well, I won’t interrupt. Just wanted to say hey.”

Gyomei inclined his head in a respectful nod. “It was good to see you, Genya. Please send my regards to your brother.”

Genya rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Not sure he’ll care, but I’ll tell him.” He shot you one last glance before turning to leave. “Good luck with this one. He’s kinda terrifying, but I guess you already know that.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah… I’m getting that.”

With a final nod, Genya walked off, disappearing into the crowd of diners.

As soon as he was gone, you turned to Gyomei, still reeling a little. “Okay. That was unexpected.”

Gyomei simply smiled. “Genya is brash but well-meaning.”

“I got that.” You hesitated. “He mentioned a temple?”

Gyomei nodded slightly. “I was once a monk.”

You blinked. Oh. That explained… a lot.

Before you could even process that revelation, the waiter returned with your wine, smoothly pouring it into elegant glasses.

Gyomei reached for his glass, lifting it slightly in your direction. “Shall we?”

You swallowed, still thrown by everything that had just happened, but managed a small smile as you picked up your glass. “Yeah. We shall.”

As your glasses clinked together softly, you couldn’t help but feel like this night was only going to get more interesting.

-

The night air was crisp as you stepped out of the restaurant, your heels clicking softly against the pavement. The warmth from the wine buzzed pleasantly through your veins, making the world feel just a little lighter, a little softer.

You weren’t drunk, exactly. But tipsy? Yeah, definitely.

Gyomei, ever composed, must have noticed because the moment you took a slightly unsteady step, his large, steady hand pressed gently against the small of your back. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice laced with quiet amusement.

You huffed, trying to regain your balance—and dignity. “I’m fine. Totally fine.”

He didn’t argue, but you could practically feel his skepticism as he guided you toward his car. His touch was warm, grounding, and you found yourself leaning into it just a little more than necessary.

When you reached the sleek, expensive vehicle, he smoothly stepped ahead to open the passenger door for you. But instead of just letting you get in on your own, he extended a hand.

You blinked up at him. “I can get in by myself, you know.”

His lips twitched in the faintest ghost of a smile. “I know.”

Still, he didn’t lower his hand.

After a moment of hesitation, you placed your fingers in his palm. His grip was gentle yet firm as he helped you into the car with effortless ease, making sure you were settled before carefully shutting the door.

You exhaled, watching as he rounded the car and slid into the driver’s seat.

“…You’re really good at this whole ‘gentleman’ thing,” you muttered as he started the engine.

He glanced at you briefly before focusing on the road. “It is simply how one should treat someone they care for.”

Your breath hitched slightly. Care for?

The drive home was quiet, the soft hum of the engine filling the space between you. The city lights blurred past in streaks of gold and white, and the warmth of the wine mixed with the steady presence of Gyomei beside you made everything feel hazy, dreamlike.

You snuck a glance at him as he drove—his strong hands on the wheel, the way his jaw tightened slightly in concentration, the quiet, effortless way he carried himself. It was almost unfair how composed he was, while you were sitting there trying to keep your heart from hammering out of your chest.

Before you knew it, you were home. Gyomei parked and was out of the car before you could even process it, moving around to your side to open the door for you.

“I can walk,” you assured him as you stepped out, only for your heel to wobble slightly.

Without hesitation, Gyomei’s arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you. “I know.” His voice was calm, steady. “Allow me.”

And just like that, he guided you inside, his large, warm hand resting lightly against your back as he led you up to your apartment.

By the time you reached your door, the reality of how close he was—how careful he was with you—was making your head spin far more than the wine ever could.

You fumbled with your keys, but Gyomei wordlessly took them from you, unlocking the door with practiced ease before pushing it open.

He stepped inside with you, his movements deliberate as he guided you toward your bedroom. His presence filled the space effortlessly, making your cozy apartment feel even smaller.

When you reached your bed, he gently helped you sit, his touch lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

“You should rest,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “I will see you another time.”

But as he moved to pull away, something in you acted before you could think.

Your fingers curled around the front of his suit jacket, stopping him in place.

And then, before you could second-guess yourself—before you could talk yourself out of it—you leaned up and pressed your lips to his.

It was soft, fleeting, but unmistakable.

Gyomei froze.

For a moment, the world itself seemed to still.

Then, slowly, he exhaled, his breath warm against your lips. His hands, which had been hovering uncertainly, came up to gently cup your shoulders.

“…You are not entirely sober,” he murmured, his voice impossibly gentle.

You swallowed, your heart pounding. “I know what I’m doing.”

Silence.

Then, ever so carefully, his forehead came to rest against yours.

“…Rest,” he said again, but his voice was lower now, softer.

You grumbled something incoherent, already half-asleep as your head hit the pillow. The warmth of the wine, the comfort of your bed, and the lingering presence of Gyomei all melted together, pulling you into drowsiness almost instantly.

Gyomei stood there for a moment, watching as your breathing evened out. A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest—softer than usual, almost fond.

Then, moving with careful precision, he leaned down.

His lips brushed against yours in the faintest, most fleeting of kisses. A whisper of a touch. Barely there. But enough.

Enough to make his own heart stutter in a way he hadn’t expected.

He pulled back slowly, watching you for any sign that you’d woken, but you were already gone—lost in sleep, your expression peaceful.

With a quiet exhale, he straightened and turned toward the door.

The night air was cool when he stepped outside, but he hardly noticed. His mind was still back in your apartment, still replaying the feeling of your lips against his.

As he slipped into his car, his fingers brushed absentmindedly against his own mouth.

and the bulge in his pants was getting hard to ignore. he was definitely gonna jerk off when he got back.

[zafill]

Heyoo!! I'm also a fanfic writer, but only MHA right now because my Crunchyroll subscription ran out, and I needed to finish Demon Slayer before I wrote for them!!

Anyways- Let's cut a deal! I'll ask a request for you, and you give ME a request!! I need a small project to work on while I find tune my upcoming series!!

My request-

Gyomei x AFAB Reader!

The reader has very long hair, and it was recently cut super short because of a demon attack!! (like that one demon slayer tiktok girl) They're super depressed and threw themselves into training and never let their hair out of a ponytail/bun or whatever. (So they don't have to think about the length)

That's all I got, cuz I want it to be a surprise!!

Titel: Echo's of the fallen. embrace from the loved.

OMG THIS IS SO CUTTEE!!! and i really like the idea with the trade thing, if you want i could dm or send smth in your inbox! i saw that you to text stories, and i love them! i acc follow you on my other acc, so this was an honor :D (also sorry if its not what you wanted, i lowkey forgot hlafway what u asked for</3) Warnings: death, slit throat, lost limps, fluff/agnst

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The late afternoon sun painted the sky in strokes of soft orange and pink as laughter filled the small garden behind the house. Y/N twirled, her long hair catching the breeze as her younger brother, Haru, chased after her, his small feet kicking up dust as he ran. Their father sat nearby, leaning against the wooden porch with a wool blanket draped over his frail shoulders. His breaths were slow, labored, but his eyes held warmth as he watched his children play.

"You have to be faster, Haru!" Y/N teased, giggling as she dodged his grasp, her hair a shining cascade behind her.

Haru pouted, determination flashing in his bright eyes. "One day, I'll be faster than you!"

Their father chuckled, his voice weak but affectionate. "That day might come sooner than you think, Y/N. Your brother is growing stronger."

Y/N turned toward him, hands on her hips. "But I'll always be stronger! Right, Father?"

The old man smiled, lifting a trembling hand to brush a strand of her long hair from her face. "Strength isn't just about speed or power, my dear. Sometimes, strength is in how you endure."

But it was all a dream.

Days later, their father took his last breath, leaving only Y/N and Haru to fend for themselves. The house felt colder, emptier, as if the warmth of their family had faded with him. Y/N held Haru close, promising to protect him no matter what. The once joyous garden now seemed overgrown and silent, shadows of memories lingering in the air.

Haru was heartbroken. The only sense of comfort he had left was Y/N’s hair—it reminded him of their mother and father. Their mother had long, flowing hair, and their father’s was the same deep shade. Y/N carried both of them in her features, and Haru found solace in that. He would often play with her hair, weaving his small fingers through the strands, feeling as if a piece of their parents still remained with them.

Days turned into weeks, and though the pain of their father’s passing lingered, Y/N did everything she could to keep Haru smiling. She let him braid her hair, tell stories about their parents, and fall asleep curled beside her like he used to when they were younger. She didn’t know if it was enough, but she hoped that, in some way, it helped him heal.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Haru climbed onto the porch beside her. Without a word, he reached out, brushing his fingers gently through her hair. Y/N felt her throat tighten, but instead of looking away, she placed a hand over his.

"It’s soft," he murmured, a small, wistful smile playing on his lips. "Just like Mother’s."

She exhaled softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "And you have Father’s eyes."

Haru beamed at that, leaning against her side. "Do you think they’d be proud of us?"

Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat and wrapped an arm around him. "I know they would be."

—

Y/N pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she stepped onto the dirt path leading toward the market. The sun had almost disappeared behind the hills, casting long shadows across the quiet village streets. She clutched the small pouch of coins in her hand, feeling the weight of their dwindling savings.

She hated leaving Haru alone, but they needed food. He had been eating less lately, still mourning, and she had to make sure he had something warm to fill his stomach.

As she entered the market square, the usual hum of voices surrounded her—vendors calling out their wares, the scent of freshly baked bread mixing with the sharp tang of herbs and spices. Her stomach tightened at the thought of spending the little they had left.

She approached a stall selling rice and vegetables, carefully picking out the smallest portions she could afford. The vendor, a kind-looking woman with graying hair, glanced at the coins in Y/N’s palm and then at her worn cloak.

"You’re the eldest daughter of that kind man, aren’t you?" the woman asked gently. "I was sorry to hear of his passing."

Y/N nodded, swallowing back the lump in her throat. "Thank you…"

The woman hesitated before slipping an extra handful of rice into Y/N’s basket. "Take this. For you and your little brother."

Y/N’s eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise. "I—I can’t—"

"Consider it a gift," the woman interrupted, offering a sad smile. "Your father always helped others. It's only right someone returns the favor."

Y/N felt warmth spread through her chest. She bowed deeply. "Thank you. Truly."

With her basket secured, she hurried home, the sky now a deep indigo. The wind had picked up, rustling through the trees. A strange unease settled in her stomach as she approached the house.

The door was slightly open.

Her heart lurched.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she stepped forward, the basket slipping from her fingers and hitting the ground with a dull thud. Grains of rice scattered across the wooden floor, but she didn’t notice. She couldn’t.

Her body felt frozen, yet her heart pounded so violently it hurt.

"Haru…?"

The word barely made it past her lips, a trembling whisper swallowed by the suffocating silence.

Her feet carried her forward, unwillingly, fear clawing at her chest with every step. The room smelled of iron, thick and nauseating, wrapping around her like a suffocating shroud.

Then she saw him.

Haru lay motionless on the floor, his small frame unnaturally still, too still. The dim light barely illuminated the pool of crimson spreading beneath him, seeping into the wooden boards like ink spilled on parchment.

Her stomach churned violently. Her vision blurred.

His arm—gone. His leg—gone. His throat—slit.

Y/N let out a choked gasp, falling to her knees beside him. Her hands hovered over his broken body, trembling violently as if touching him would make it real.

He was still warm.

Her breath hitched. A sob tore from her throat as she cupped his face, his soft skin now cold, his once bright, mischievous eyes dull and half-lidded, staring at nothing.

No.

No, no, no.

Her mind refused to accept it. This couldn’t be real. This wasn’t happening.

She shook him, desperate, her voice cracking as she pleaded, "Haru, wake up. Wake up, please—!"

But he didn’t.

He never would.

And then she saw it.

In his remaining hand, held so delicately, so heartbreakingly still, was a small wooden hairbrush.

Y/N’s breath came in ragged gasps as she reached for it with shaking fingers, prying it from his slackened grasp. The bristles were worn, strands of her own hair still tangled in them, as if he had been waiting—hoping—that when she returned, he could brush her hair just like before.

The realization shattered her.

A broken wail escaped her lips, raw and agonized, filling the empty house with the sound of her grief. She clutched the brush to her chest as if it could somehow bring him back, her entire body wracked with violent sobs.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

She was supposed to protect him.

She promised.

A sharp pain twisted in her chest, unbearable, suffocating. Her mind reeled, spinning in frantic circles, grasping for answers that didn’t exist.

Who had done this?

Who had taken Haru from her?

Her vision blurred with tears, but through the haze, she noticed something—something that didn’t belong.

Bloody footprints.

Leading away from the body.

Her sorrow was swallowed by something else—something dark, something seething.

Rage.

A slow, burning fury crawled through her veins, its heat dulling the cold horror of grief.

Someone had done this. Someone had stepped into their home, into their fragile world, and ripped it apart.

And she would find them.

Trembling, Y/N reached out, closing Haru’s eyes with gentle fingers. Her hand lingered on his cheek as she whispered, voice raw, "I’m so sorry, Haru… I’m so sorry…"

She pressed a trembling kiss to his forehead before rising to her feet, the hairbrush still clutched in her grasp.

Her hands curled into fists.

She would mourn later.

For now, there was only one thing left to do.

Find them.

And make them pay.

Y/N’s breath came in short, uneven gasps as she took a shaky step back, her eyes locked on the trail of bloody footprints. The grief in her chest twisted violently, morphing into something else—something dark and consuming.

Even though she was small, even though she was weak, she wanted this person dead.

They… or it… had taken the only family she had left.

The thought sent a cold shiver through her spine. What kind of monster could have done this? A person? A beast? The brutality of it, the sheer cruelty, was beyond anything she had ever imagined.

Her fingers tightened around the hairbrush, her knuckles turning white. It was a pathetic weapon, useless against whatever had done this, but she refused to let go. It was all she had left of Haru.

She forced herself to move. One foot in front of the other. The floor creaked beneath her weight as she followed the bloody trail out the door, her heart pounding so hard it echoed in her ears.

Outside, the night was still, almost eerily so. The village was quiet, unaware of the horror that had unfolded in her home. A light breeze rustled the trees, but to Y/N, it felt like a warning—a whisper of something watching, waiting.

The footprints stretched forward, leading into the darkness beyond the garden, disappearing into the dense forest that bordered their home.

Y/N’s breath came in uneven gasps as she followed the trail, the night swallowing her whole. Every step felt heavier than the last, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. The blood on the ground was still fresh, glistening under the pale moonlight like a cruel breadcrumb trail leading her toward the one responsible.

She forced herself forward, bare feet sinking into the cold earth, the hem of her cloak brushing against damp grass. Her body trembled, not from the chill, but from the storm raging inside her. The air was thick, almost suffocating, carrying the scent of blood and damp leaves.

Then she saw it.

A shadow. A figure just ahead.

Y/N froze, her heart slamming against her ribs as her eyes locked onto the dark silhouette standing at the edge of the trees. It was barely illuminated by the moonlight, its presence unnatural, looming. The bloody footprints led directly to it.

Her nails dug into her palms.

This was them. The one who took Haru.

Her breath quickened. Every muscle in her body screamed for her to run, but rage kept her rooted in place. She took a shaky step forward, then another, her fingers trembling as they clutched the hairbrush. It was useless—she knew that—but it was the last thing Haru had held, and she wouldn’t let go of it.

The figure didn’t move. It just stood there, watching.

The darkness made it impossible to make out any features, but she could feel its gaze, heavy and cold, piercing through her.

Her lips parted, her voice a broken whisper. "You…"

The word barely made it past her throat before the figure shifted. Not like a person, not like anything she had ever seen. It was fast—unnaturally fast. One second it was there, the next, it wasn’t.

Gone.

Y/N’s body snapped forward as she sprinted toward where it had been, her pulse pounding in her ears. She ran through the trees, breathless, her hands shaking, her vision blurred by frustration and grief.

But there was nothing.

No footprints. No sign of movement.

Just silence.

Her knees buckled beneath her. She collapsed onto the cold earth, her hands digging into the dirt as a sob tore from her chest. It was gone. She had lost it.

She had lost him.

The crushing weight of reality sank in all at once. Her body shook violently as she pressed the hairbrush to her chest, gasping for air that wouldn’t come.

Haru was gone.

She had let the monster slip through her fingers.

The night stretched on, endless and merciless, as she remained there, kneeling in the dirt, staring into the darkness that had swallowed everything she loved.

But she couldn’t stay here.

She forced herself to her feet, her legs weak, her body numb. She turned back toward the house, each step heavier than the last.

By the time she reached home, exhaustion had settled deep into her bones, but she didn’t stop. She pushed the door open, stepping inside the cold, silent space that no longer felt like home.

Her gaze fell upon Haru’s small body, still lying where she had left him, and the sight made her knees nearly give out again.

No one should see their family like this.

No one should have to bury their own little brother.

Her hands trembled as she knelt beside him, brushing his blood-matted hair from his face. He looked peaceful now, despite the horror that had been done to him. His small fingers were still curled slightly, as if he had been holding on, waiting for her.

Fresh tears welled in her eyes as she leaned down, pressing her forehead against his. "I’m sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I’m so, so sorry…"

She didn’t know how long she stayed like that, holding him, whispering broken apologies that would never be enough.

When she finally pulled away, she knew what she had to do.

With unsteady hands, she gathered the torn blanket from the floor and gently wrapped him in it, covering his wounds, his broken body. Her fingers hesitated at the edges, unwilling to let him go.

But he deserved peace.

She lifted him carefully, cradling him against her chest, and stepped outside once more.

The garden—once filled with their laughter—now felt hollow, empty. The same garden where he had once chased her, his tiny feet kicking up dust, where he had clung to her hand after their father died.

This was the only place that still held their memories.

She moved slowly, deliberately, her vision swimming as she knelt down and began to dig.

The earth was cold and unyielding, but she didn’t stop. She scraped at it with her fingers, with a broken piece of wood, with anything she could find, her breath coming in ragged sobs. The dirt clung to her nails, her hands raw, but she kept going.

She worked until her arms felt like they would give out, until her vision blurred so badly she could barely see.

And finally, she placed him down.

A sharp pain twisted in her chest, unbearable, suffocating, as she covered him with the same soil she had played in as a child.

Each handful was agony.

Each moment a fresh wound she knew would never heal.

By the time she finished, the first light of dawn had begun to paint the sky in soft hues of gray and blue.

She sat beside his grave, knees pulled to her chest, the hairbrush clutched tightly in her hands.

The world around her felt different now.

Colder.

Emptier.

She should have been inside, waking up to Haru tugging at her hair, giggling as he begged her to let him braid it.

Instead, she was here. Alone.

Her fingers ran absently over the bristles of the brush, her breath uneven.

She wasn’t strong. She wasn’t fast. She wasn’t anyone special.

But she had one thing now.

A purpose.

She would find whoever—whatever—had done this.

And she would make them suffer.

No matter what it took.

—

The days blurred into one another. Y/N wandered the streets, clutching the hairbrush like a lifeline, her fingers wrapped so tightly around it that her knuckles ached. The weight of hunger gnawed at her stomach, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness inside her chest.

She had no home. No family. Nowhere to go.

At first, she had stayed near the grave, unwilling to leave Haru behind. But the hunger had forced her away, and so she walked—barefoot, cold, lost.

The village was not kind to the homeless.

People averted their gazes when she reached out with trembling hands, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please… just a little… just one yen…"

Some ignored her completely. Others sneered, turning their backs as if her suffering was an inconvenience.

"Go away, girl."

"Filthy beggar."

"Shouldn’t you be working?"

But who would hire her? A girl with no family, no home, no strength to carry more than the grief on her back?

Still, she begged.

She begged until her throat was raw, until her legs shook beneath her. Until someone—pitying or annoyed—dropped a single yen into her palm.

It wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

Nights were the worst. The cold bit into her bones, her thin clothes barely offering protection against the wind. She curled into alleyways, pressing the hairbrush to her chest, whispering Haru’s name like a prayer.

Y/N sat slumped against the cold stone wall of an alley, her body trembling from exhaustion. The morning light was pale, weak—just like her. Her stomach twisted painfully, empty for far too long. She had lost count of the days since she last had a proper meal.

Her fingers curled around the single yen in her palm, her only success from hours of pleading. It wasn’t enough for food. It wasn’t enough for anything.

She swallowed her pride again, forcing herself to her feet.

She had to keep begging.

Steadying her shaky legs, she stepped out onto the bustling street, eyes scanning the faces of people passing by. Most ignored her, their gazes sliding over her like she didn’t exist. Some wrinkled their noses, disgusted by the sight of a filthy, homeless girl standing among them.

Still, she tried.

"Please… just a little… just one yen," she murmured, her voice weak.

No one stopped.

Until he did.

A man, dressed in flowing robes, his presence almost ethereal. His face was kind, gentle, though his skin was pale, sickly, as if he carried an illness within him. His eyes, blind yet warm, turned in her direction as if he could still see her.

Y/N’s breath caught.

Something about him felt… different.

She hesitated before stepping forward, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Please… just a little money. Anything…"

The man, tilted his head slightly, as if studying her without sight. Then, he smiled—soft, understanding, as though he could see straight into her suffering.

"You must have been through so much," he said gently.

The man’s soft smile remained as he spoke, his voice calm yet filled with an unshakable presence.

"My name is Kagaya Ubuyashiki," he said gently. "I am the head of the Demon Slayer Corps."

Y/N’s breath hitched. She had heard whispers of the Demon Slayer Corps before—warriors who hunted the creatures that lurked in the darkness. Beasts that tore families apart, monsters that destroyed homes, lives…

Like what had happened to Haru.

Her grip on the hairbrush tightened.

Kagaya continued, his tone warm but firm. "You have suffered greatly, haven’t you?" He didn’t say it with pity. He simply stated it, as though he already knew. "You have no home, no family left… and yet, you continue to endure."

Y/N felt her throat tighten. How could a stranger see through her so easily?

Kagaya took a small step closer. "I will not pretend to understand the depth of your pain, but I can offer you something."

She lifted her gaze to meet his blind eyes.

"A home," he said. "A purpose."

Y/N’s breath caught.

"You are strong," Kagaya continued. "Not because you wield a sword or possess great power—but because you have endured when so many would have given up." His expression softened. "Come with me. I will take you in."

The words settled deep within her. A home. A purpose.

The Demon Slayer Corps…

Her mind raced, images of Haru flashing behind her eyes—his smile, his laughter, the way he used to braid her hair with small, clumsy fingers. The warmth of his tiny hands. The cold, empty look in his lifeless eyes the night she lost him.

Y/N exhaled shakily.

She had nothing left.

But if she could have a chance—just one—to become stronger, to make sure no one else suffered the way she had…

Then maybe she could still have something worth living for.

She swallowed hard and nodded.

"I… I’ll go with you."

—

The walk was long. Y/N’s legs ached with every step, her body weak from days of hunger and exhaustion. But she pushed forward, refusing to slow down. This was her chance—a chance at something more than just surviving.

Kagaya Ubuyashiki walked ahead, his steps measured and graceful despite his blindness. The two attendants at his side guided him, but it was clear he didn’t need much assistance. He carried himself with an air of quiet authority, his presence both commanding and comforting.

Y/N kept her gaze on the road ahead, watching as the village faded into the distance, replaced by vast stretches of forest and winding dirt paths. The silence between them was heavy, but not uncomfortable.

Hours passed before she saw it.

Nestled among the trees, hidden away from the rest of the world, stood a grand mansion. The sight stole what little breath she had left.

The mansion was massive, yet it didn’t feel imposing. It was surrounded by lush gardens, the scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers drifting through the air. Tall walls enclosed the estate, but instead of feeling like a barrier, they felt like protection—like safety.

For the first time in a long while, Y/N felt something other than emptiness.

Hope.

The gates creaked open as they approached, and several figures in black uniforms stood waiting inside. Their eyes flickered to her—curious, assessing—but they said nothing as they bowed respectfully to Kagaya.

Y/N hesitated for just a moment before stepping forward.

She was no longer just a lost girl begging on the streets.

She was here.

And her new life was about to begin.

Y/N followed closely behind as she was led through the grand halls of the Ubuyashiki estate. The wooden floors were polished and smooth beneath her aching feet, and the scent of incense lingered faintly in the air. It was unlike anything she had ever known—warm, peaceful, a place untouched by the suffering she had endured.

As she walked, she was introduced to Kagaya's wife, Amane Ubuyashiki. She was graceful and kind, her voice soft yet firm, like a quiet strength that reminded Y/N of the mothers she saw in the village. Amane welcomed her gently, offering her a place to stay, a bath, fresh clothes.

Then, there were the children.

Small, delicate figures with pale skin and bright eyes, each younger than Y/N. They clung to Amane's robes, peeking at her with shy curiosity. Despite their quiet nature, they didn’t seem afraid of her—just observant, watching her as though she were something new and strange.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N was surrounded by warmth. By people who didn’t turn away from her, who didn’t sneer or ignore her presence.

But then, she saw him.

He was sitting alone at the far end of the garden, beneath the shade of a tree. His massive frame was impossible to ignore—broad shoulders, thick arms covered in the loose fabric of monk-like robes, his hands resting calmly on his lap. Despite his intimidating size, his presence wasn’t harsh or overbearing. Instead, there was a quiet serenity about him, like the stillness of a river before a storm.

His head was bowed slightly, his expression unreadable. His dark hair was pulled back, revealing the sharp lines of his face—handsome yet hardened, as if he had already seen too much of the world’s cruelty.

Y/N found herself staring.

"Kagaya-sama," she asked hesitantly, turning toward the man who had taken her in. "Who is that?"

Kagaya only smiled, his blind eyes turning toward her as if he had been expecting the question. "Why don’t you go ask him yourself?"

Y/N blinked, her grip tightening around the hairbrush still clutched in her hands.

Go ask him?

She glanced back at the young man beneath the tree.

For some reason, her heart pounded just a little harder.

Y/N hesitated, her fingers curling around the worn bristles of the hairbrush in her hand. The idea of approaching him made her stomach twist—not out of fear, but out of uncertainty.

She had never spoken to someone like him before.

Still, she forced her feet to move, stepping carefully across the soft grass, each step lighter than the last. The closer she got, the more she noticed about him—the way his shoulders tensed slightly, the subtle shift in his posture as if he were listening for something unseen.

Then, just as she was about to speak—

His head snapped up.

Y/N froze mid-step, startled by the sudden movement. His eyes, a deep shade of gray, widened slightly before narrowing in focus. His body went rigid, as if preparing for an attack, his muscles coiled beneath his robes.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then, realization flickered across his face.

"Ah," he exhaled, his voice deep yet gentle. "I did not hear you approach."

Y/N tilted her head, confused. "I… didn’t mean to startle you."

He relaxed slightly, though his shoulders remained tense. "Your steps are very light," he admitted, his hands slowly unclenching. "I thought… you were something else."

Something else?

She didn’t know what he meant by that, but she didn’t press.

Instead, she took another cautious step forward, this time making sure he could hear her.

"Are you… new here too?" she asked, unsure of what else to say.

The young man nodded. "Yes. Kageya-sama took me in recently."

Y/N studied him for a moment, then hesitated before asking, "What’s your name?"

He looked at her, silent for a moment, before answering.

"Himejima Gyomei."

The name felt heavy, important. She could tell just by looking at him—he wasn’t someone ordinary. There was something strong about him, something unshaken.

Still, despite his intimidating presence, there was something else beneath it all.

A quiet sadness.

Just like hers.

Y/N sat down a small distance from him, careful not to intrude too much. She glanced down at the hairbrush in her hands, running her thumb over the edge before speaking again.

"I’m Y/N," she murmured. "I lost everything too."

Gyomei’s expression shifted—just barely, but enough for her to notice.

Gyomei’s fingers twitched slightly where they rested on his lap. He turned his head in her direction, as if studying her without truly seeing.

"I’m nineteen," he said, his voice quiet but firm.

Y/N hesitated before replying, "I’m fifteen."

The words felt strange on her tongue. She had never really thought about her age in the past weeks. What did it matter anymore? She wasn’t a child. She wasn’t even sure she was still just a girl. She was… something else now. Something hollow. Something surviving.

Gyomei remained silent for a moment before nodding. "You are young," he murmured.

Y/N almost laughed—but it wasn’t a happy sound. "Not young enough," she muttered, more to herself than to him.

Gyomei didn’t respond right away. Instead, he slowly turned his face toward the sky, his expression unreadable.

"The world does not care for age," he said finally. "It only cares for strength."

Y/N looked down at her hands—her frail, thin fingers curled around the hairbrush. "Then the world doesn’t care for me."

This time, Gyomei did turn to her, his cloudy eyes settling just past her face. "You are here," he said simply. "That is enough proof that you are strong."

She looked at him then, truly looked at him. He wasn’t just strong in body—he was strong in the way he carried himself, in the way his voice didn’t waver, even when speaking of painful things.

He was what she wanted to be.

Y/N gripped the hairbrush tighter. "Do you… do you think we can become stronger?"

Gyomei didn’t answer right away. But after a long pause, he finally said, "We have no choice but to try."

—

Years passed, and Y/N transformed.

The girl who once begged for a single yen, who once dug graves with trembling hands, was gone. In her place stood a warrior—a Hashira, one of the strongest in the Demon Slayer Corps.

She had trained relentlessly, pushing her body beyond its limits, fueled by the memory of Haru’s lifeless eyes and the promise she had made to herself. Blood, sweat, and agony carved her into something unbreakable. She had fought demons, stared death in the face, and survived.

Now, she stood alongside the strongest.

Giyu Tomioka, quiet and distant but unwavering in battle. Shinobu Kocho, always smiling, always sharp—like the poison she wielded. Kyojuro Rengoku, a beacon of warmth and unwavering resolve. Tengen Uzui, flamboyant and bold, but deadly all the same. Muichiro Tokito, a prodigy whose mind drifted like mist but whose blade was unmatched. Mitsuri Kanroji, full of love, yet terrifying in her strength. Obanai Iguro, silent, calculating, his loyalty unshaken. Sanemi Shinazugawa, fierce and wild, his scars telling a story of survival.

And then there was Gyomei.

He had been her first pillar of strength—the first person who had told her she was strong when she didn’t believe it herself. He had trained her, guided her, and watched as she grew. Now, she stood among them, not as a lost girl, but as an equal.

Gyomei was the only one who knew.

The only one who understood why Y/N never cut her hair, why she let it grow past her waist, brushing against her back with every step.

It wasn’t vanity. It wasn’t for beauty.

It was for Haru.

She had once told him, in a rare moment of vulnerability, as they sat beneath the same tree where they had first met. Her fingers had ghosted over the strands, her voice quiet as she admitted, "It’s all I have left of them. My mother, my father… Haru."

Gyomei had said nothing at first, only listening, his presence steady beside her. Then, with a solemn nod, he had simply replied, "Then you should keep it."

And so she did.

It became part of her identity, her silent vow to remember, to carry them with her.

But not everyone understood.

One day, Inosuke—wild, reckless, unpredictable—had reached out, grabbing a fistful of her hair with childlike curiosity. “Oi, why’s your hair so long? Doesn’t it get in the way?” He tugged, not cruelly, but carelessly.

Before Y/N could react, a shadow loomed over them.

“Inosuke.”

Gyomei’s voice, usually calm, was sharp—unyielding. A single word, but it held weight.

Inosuke froze. His grip on her hair slackened, his wild boar mask tilting up toward the towering man. “Hah?”

“Let go,” Gyomei commanded, his voice deep and firm.

Inosuke huffed but obeyed, releasing Y/N’s hair with a scowl. “Tch, fine, fine. No need to get all scary about it.”

Gyomei said nothing more, but the message was clear.

No one touched Y/N’s hair.

Because only he knew what it meant to her.

—

The world around her faded.

One moment, Y/N was in the middle of training, her sword clashing against Gyomei’s, her muscles aching from exhaustion. The next, she wasn’t standing in the dojo anymore.

She was back there.

The dimly lit room. The cold air pressing against her skin. The metallic scent of blood choking her lungs.

And him.

Haru.

He sat in the middle of the room, just as she had found him that night. His small frame drenched in blood, his severed arm clutching the hairbrush he had always used to comb her hair. His wide, lifeless eyes stared at her—except this time, they blinked.

His mouth moved.

"Why didn’t you take me with you?"

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

"Why didn’t you protect me?"

Her heart pounded. No—this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

Haru was gone. She had buried him with her own hands.

But he was still there, staring at her, his body broken, his voice filled with something she had never heard before.

Accusation.

"You left me."

Terror wrapped around her, squeezing her chest so tightly she couldn’t breathe. Her vision blurred, the world tilting beneath her feet.

No.

No, she didn’t leave him. She had tried. She had fought, she had begged, she had suffered. But it wasn’t enough. She wasn’t enough.

She dropped her sword. Her hands trembled. The breath in her lungs felt too heavy, her body swaying.

Then—

A firm hand on her shoulder.

"Y/N."

A voice. Steady. Grounding.

Not Haru’s.

Gyomei’s.

She gasped, the image of Haru vanishing as if snuffed out like a candle flame.

The dojo came back into focus. The air was different—warmer, filled with the scent of earth and incense instead of blood. She was kneeling on the wooden floor, her body shaking, her breath ragged.

And Gyomei was there, kneeling beside her.

His blind eyes were turned toward her, his hand still resting gently on her shoulder. He didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t need to.

She had told him once, long ago, about the nightmares. About the weight she carried.

He simply waited, silent and patient, as she struggled to steady herself.

Minutes passed before she could finally whisper, her voice hollow, “He was talking to me.”

Gyomei didn’t move. “Who?”

She swallowed. “Haru.”

His fingers flexed slightly against her shoulder, the only sign that he had heard her.

Then, he said, “You did not leave him.”

Her breath hitched.

“You did not fail him,” he continued, his voice unwavering. “He was taken from you. But he does not blame you.”

She clenched her fists. “You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

She turned to him then, her eyes filled with unshed tears, waiting—needing—an explanation.

Gyomei exhaled slowly. “Because you are still fighting for him.”

—

The estate was quiet that evening, the sun dipping below the horizon in hues of amber and violet. A gentle breeze carried the scent of wisteria through the open corridors, rustling the paper doors of Kagaya Ubuyashiki’s quarters.

Y/N and Gyomei knelt before him, their heads bowed respectfully. His presence, as always, was serene—his voice soft, yet carrying the weight of undeniable authority.

“There is a village near the outskirts of Kyoto,” Kagaya began, his expression calm despite the grave nature of his words. “For the past month, families have been disappearing. Entire homes left in disarray, their occupants taken without a trace.”

Y/N felt a chill crawl up her spine. She had heard of demons that took their time with their victims—demons that played with their food.

Kagaya continued. “The villagers believe it is the work of a spirit—a curse upon their land. However, our scouts have confirmed the presence of a demon.”

Gyomei nodded solemnly. “Have they determined its strength?”

Kagaya shook his head. “No. The few who have encountered it did not live long enough to tell the tale.”

Y/N’s fists tightened against her lap. That meant this demon was skilled—dangerous. Not just mindless brutality, but something calculated.

“This will not be an easy mission,” Kagaya warned gently. “But I believe the two of you are the best suited to handle it.”

Y/N met Gyomei’s gaze—or at least, where his gaze would have been. He was calm, as always, his hands resting on his knees, his posture unshaken.

She took a slow breath. “We won’t fail you, Kageya-sama.”

Kagaya smiled softly. “I know you won’t.”

The paper doors slid open behind them, and Amane Ubuyashiki stepped inside, bowing respectfully before handing Gyomei and Y/N a written report with the village’s details.

“The villagers are afraid,” Kagaya said as they rose to their feet. “To them, this is not just a demon. It is a nightmare they cannot escape. Be their light in the darkness.”

Gyomei pressed his palms together in a silent prayer. “We will.”

Y/N gave one last bow before following Gyomei out into the evening air.

—

The air was crisp as they stepped beyond the estate’s walls, the sun fully set, leaving only the glow of paper lanterns to guide their way. The journey ahead would be long, but neither of them hesitated.

Y/N adjusted the sword at her hip, her fingers briefly tightening around the hilt before she let out a slow breath. She glanced at Gyomei as they walked in silence, his towering figure steady beside her. His beaded prayer necklace clinked softly with each step, a quiet contrast to the rhythmic thud of his heavy footsteps against the dirt path.

The village they were sent to was at least a day’s journey away. The forests would be treacherous at night, the demon lurking somewhere beyond the safety of civilization. But they were not ordinary travelers. They were Hashira.

As they neared the forest’s entrance, Y/N finally spoke. “What do you think we’ll find?”

Gyomei remained silent for a moment before answering, his voice low and measured. “Pain.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, but she nodded. It was always the same with demons—pain, loss, devastation. She had seen it countless times before. But each time, it still hurt.

They walked deeper into the woods, the path winding beneath the thick canopy of trees. Crickets chirped in the distance, but there was something unsettling about the air tonight. Something unnatural.

Gyomei suddenly halted, his head tilting slightly as if listening.

Y/N tensed. “What is it?”

A beat of silence passed. Then—

“…We’re not alone.”

Her hand went straight to her sword. The mission had barely begun, and already, the shadows around them seemed to shift.

The shadows twisted.

Before Y/N could react, something lunged from the darkness—fast, too fast. Clawed fingers slashed toward her throat, the wind shrieking in its wake.

She barely had time to dodge. Instinct took over as she threw herself backward, the demon’s attack slicing through empty air where her head had been just moments before. The force of the strike sent dust and leaves flying, the trees groaning from the impact.

A guttural snarl echoed through the night. The demon stood before her now, crouched low, its elongated limbs tensed like a predator ready to pounce. Its eyes gleamed in the moonlight, wide and hungry, lips curled into a grin that dripped with malice.

“You reek of grief,” it hissed, tilting its head. “How delicious.”

Y/N’s breath came out slow and steady. Her sword was already drawn, the metal glinting in the dim light. “And you reek of death.”

The demon’s grin widened—just as it lunged again.

She met it head-on, blade flashing. Their weapons clashed, sparks flying as her katana collided with its razor-sharp claws. The force sent a jolt up her arm, but she held her ground. The demon was strong. But so was she.

Still, it was fast—too fast. Its movements were erratic, unnatural, forcing her on the defensive as she dodged and parried, trying to find an opening.

Then, just as she deflected another blow, it spoke.

“You let him die.”

Her breath caught.

Haru.

The moment of hesitation cost her. The demon twisted, using the brief distraction to knock her off balance. Pain flared through her ribs as its foot connected with her side, sending her skidding across the dirt.

A deep, resounding voice cut through the night.

“Enough.”

The ground trembled.

Gyomei moved.

Faster than anything that size should have been capable of, his chained flail whirled through the air, striking the demon with crushing force. The impact sent it hurtling into a tree, the wood splintering on impact.

Y/N coughed, struggling to push herself up. Her mind was spinning, her chest aching—not just from the attack, but from the words.

Y/N choked, the metallic taste of blood flooding her mouth as she coughed violently. She wiped at her lips with trembling fingers, her vision blurring. Pain pulsed through her ribs, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

Then—warmth.

Not the warmth of fire, nor the heat of battle, but something familiar. Something she had lost long ago.

Gentle hands touched her shoulders, steadying her. Soft, comforting, real.

She blinked through the haze of pain and exhaustion. And there they were.

Haru, his small hands gripping her arms, his expression full of quiet determination. Their mother, kneeling beside her, brushing stray strands of hair from her face. Their father, standing tall behind them, his presence strong and unwavering.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

This wasn’t possible.

Yet the warmth of their touch told her otherwise.

Haru’s fingers tightened around hers, his voice soft but firm. “You have to get up, Nee-chan.”

She swallowed hard. “I—”

Mother smiled, the same gentle smile she had always known. “We’re here.”

Father nodded. “You are not alone.”

Y/N’s chest ached—not from the wound, not from the fight, but from the overwhelming wave of emotion crashing over her. She clenched her fists, forcing air into her lungs.

They were right.

She wasn’t alone.

With newfound strength, she pressed her palms against the ground, pushing herself upright. The warmth of their presence lingered, steadying her. The pain remained, but it no longer held her down.

She lifted her head.

Gyomei was still battling, his massive frame moving like a force of nature, his flail striking with crushing precision. But he was waiting. He had given her this moment.

Y/N moved.

With a surge of strength, she dashed forward, her blade gleaming under the moonlight. The demon, still reeling from Gyomei’s last strike, barely had time to react. This was it—the perfect moment.

She swung.

Her katana sliced clean through its neck, severing bone and sinew in a single, precise motion. The demon’s eyes widened in shock before its body crumbled, disintegrating into nothing but ash.

Silence fell over the battlefield.

Y/N exhaled, her chest heaving, her arms trembling from the effort. It was over.

But then—

“Your hair.”

Gyomei’s voice, calm yet firm, cut through the night.

Y/N blinked, confused, before reaching up. Her fingers met empty air where there should have been long strands cascading down her back. Her breath hitched.

She looked down.

There, scattered around her feet, were locks of her hair, severed mid-motion by the demon’s final desperate strike.

Gone.

Her hands trembled as she touched what remained—short, uneven, unfamiliar. The weight of her past, the silent promise she had carried for years, had been cut away in an instant.

She felt exposed. Vulnerable.

A choked sob escaped her lips.

“I promised…” Her voice was barely a whisper, shaking with grief. “I promised I’d never cut it…”

Her fingers clutched at the uneven strands, her vision blurring with tears. That hair had been her last tie to Haru, to her family—to the life that had been stolen from her. And now, just like everything else, it was gone.

Her shoulders trembled as the weight of it all crashed over her. She was gasping now, sobs wracking her body, her knees threatening to give out beneath her.

But before she could collapse, strong arms wrapped around her.

Warm. Steady. Unshaken.

Gyomei pulled her close, one massive hand cradling the back of her head, the other resting securely against her back. He didn’t say anything—didn’t tell her to stop crying, didn’t try to diminish her pain. He just held her.

And slowly… the sobs quieted.

The trembling eased.

Her breath steadied.

She buried her face against his chest, feeling the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing. His presence was like an anchor, grounding her when the weight of loss threatened to pull her under.

Y/N started to lift her head, lips parting as if to speak—but Gyomei’s hand moved first.

Gently, his calloused fingers traced along her cheek, brushing away the last of her tears. Then, slowly, carefully, they traveled lower, mapping the curve of her jaw, the trembling softness of her lips.

Her breath hitched.

Understanding settled over her. He couldn’t see her, but he was searching—feeling, learning, finding her.

And then, with the same unwavering steadiness he carried in battle, he leaned down.

Warmth.

His lips met hers in a soft, deliberate kiss—tentative, yet certain, like a silent promise. His hand remained cradling her face, his touch as gentle as it was firm.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut, her fingers curling against the fabric of his robes as she melted into him. The pain, the sorrow, the weight of everything she had lost—it was still there, but for this moment, it wasn’t all she had.

Gyomei pulled away, just enough for their breaths to mingle in the cool night air. His brow furrowed slightly, his expression unreadable, but Y/N could feel the hesitation in the way his hand lingered against her skin.

“…I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N blinked, confusion flickering across her face. “Why?”

His fingers traced the air near where her hair used to be, as if reaching for something no longer there. “Your hair… I know what it meant to you.” His voice was laced with quiet regret. “And I took this moment for myself when you are hurting.”

She shook her head, emotion swelling in her chest. “Gyomei—”

But before she could say more, his arms wrapped around her again, pulling her close, holding her as if to shield her from the weight of the world.

“Even though I cannot see you,” he continued, his voice steadier now, “I have always known your beauty. It is not in your hair, nor in what was taken from you.” He exhaled slowly, his hold tightening just slightly. “And even now… I can still sense them. Your family. Their love has never left you.”

Y/N clutched at his robes, eyes burning with fresh tears—not of sorrow, but of something deeper. Something whole

As Gyomei held her, Y/N felt a warmth unlike any she had known in years. It wasn’t the kind that came from battle, from victory, or even from survival. It was something deeper, something that seeped into the cracks of her soul and filled them—something that felt like home.

And in the distance, just beyond the veil of the living and the dead, they watched.

Haru, still small, still smiling, his eyes full of pride. Their mother, her gentle hands clasped over her heart, tears glistening but not of sadness—of peace. Their father, strong and steady as he had always been, nodding in silent approval.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she saw them—one last glimpse, one final goodbye.

Haru reached for their mother’s hand. Their father wrapped his arms around them both. And together, as a family, they embraced.

Slowly, softly, they began to fade, their forms dissolving into the night like petals caught in the wind.

Finally, they could rest.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, pressing herself closer to Gyomei as a fresh wave of tears spilled down her cheeks. But this time, they weren’t from grief.

They were from love.

From release.

From knowing that she was not alone—and never had been.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Tags: @angelbaby191

[zafill]

Waiting cutely while i wait for people to flood my inbox with fanfic requets (✿◕‿◕✿) edit: thank you all sm for the requests! ill get to them as soon as i can! please be paitent as i have also my school i have to attend! <3

[zafill]

RULES!

IMPORTANT : i will not do nsfw fanfics for anonymous people or people who doesnt have age in their bio. (i will do fluff for the minors and anonymous people. but if you get caught reading my fanfics as a minor, its not my fault.)

hi! my name is zafill. idk how to make a cutesy acc, soooo sorry :d i write for a lot of fandoms, like: mouthwashing rdr1-2 tlou1-2 mha kny-demon slayer kemono jihen Beastars Avatar(both navi and atla) squid game (plz include number) most movies (please tell me and ill see if i know them or not) and if its not on the list, still tell me and ill see if i can do smth! yes ill write: fluff, sfw, death, fighting, gore(to a degree) Oc x character, Y/n x character, female y/n, male Y/n, Gn Y/n. - No ill not write: Heavy Nsfw (i write mentions, not the sex part) r@pe, minor x adult, sadism/Masochism, piss, scat (all the underage characters i mention is meant for brother/sister x reader or Child!Character x Parent reader) -

characters i write for

rdr1-2:

Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch van der Linde, Hosea Matthews, Charles Smith, Javier Escuella, Bill Williamson, Micah Bell, Lenny Summers, Sean MacGuire, Sadie Adler, Karen Jones, Tilly Jackson, Mary-Beth Gaskill, Molly O’Shea, Susan Grimshaw, Leopold Strauss, Reverend Orville Swanson, Simon Pearson, Kieran Duffy, Uncle, Josiah Trelawny

tlou1-2:

Joel Miller, Ellie Williams, Tommy Miller, Tess, Marlene, Bill, Frank, Henry, Sam, David, James, Dina, Jesse, Abby Anderson, Owen Moore, Mel, Manny Alvarez, Nora Harris,

Mha:

Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo, Shoto Todoroki, Ochaco Uraraka, Tenya Iida, Momo Yaoyorozu, Fumikage Tokoyami, Eijiro Kirishima, Denki Kaminari, Kyoka Jiro, Mina Ashido, Tsuyu Asui, Mezo Shoji, Mashirao Ojiro, Yuga Aoyama, Hanta Sero, Rikido Sato, Koji Koda, Toru Hagakure, Neito Monoma, Mirio Togata, Tamaki Amajiki, Nejire Hado, Shota Aizawa, Hizashi Yamada, Nemuri Kayama, Toshinori Yagi, Enji Todoroki, Keigo Takami, Tomura Shigaraki, Dabi Todoroki, Himiko Toga

Demon slayer:

Tanjiro Kamado, Nezuko Kamado, Zenitsu Agatsuma, Inosuke Hashibira, Kanao Tsuyuri, Genya Shinazugawa, Giyu Tomioka, Shinobu Kocho, Kyojuro Rengoku, Tengen Uzui, Muichiro Tokito, Mitsuri Kanroji, Obanai Iguro, Sanemi Shinazugawa, Gyomei Himejima, Kagaya Ubuyashiki, Muzan Kibutsuji, Kokushibo, Doma, Akaza, Hantengu, Gyokko, Daki, Gyutaro, Kaigaku, Enmu, Rui.

Kemono Jihen:

Kabane Kusaka, Akira, Shiki Tademaru, Kon, Inugami Kohachi, Mihai, Nobimaru, Yui, Kumi, Aya Tademaru, Momiji, Raiden, Inari, Hishiki Yoichi

Beastars:

Legoshi, Haru, Louis, Juno, Jack, Gohin, Ibuki, Bill, Riz, Pina, Dom, Kai, Collot, Durham, Miguno, Voss, Sagwan, Tao, Free, Kibi, Agata, Seven, Sheila, Rokume, Melon, Yahya, Gouhin.

Avatar - Atla:

Aang, Katara, Sokka, Toph Beifong, Zuko, Azula, Iroh, Ozai, Ursa, Ty Lee, Mai, Kuei, Long Feng, Jet, Hakoda, Kya, Pakku, Bumi, Jeong Jeong, Zhao, Piandao, Hama, Roku, Kyoshi, Kuruk, Yangchen.

avatar - the way of water:

Jake Sully, Neytiri, Neteyam Sully, Lo’ak Sully, Kiri Sully, Tuk Sully, Tsu’tey, Mo’at, Eytukan, Ronal, Tonowari, Tsireya, Aonung, Rotxo, Miles(spider)

squid game:

(i lowkey only remember gi-hun, Thanos and Nam-gyu. but ill do all if u also say the number)

- this acc is on my pc, and i dont check tumbler that often due to school etc, but ill get to your request some day!

[zafill]

hellooo amazing writer!! may I request a giyu x reader but it’s him and reader slow dancing in the kitchen to like “this is our song” kind of thing? (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*: ･ﾟthat would be really cute imo but it’s up to you if you want to take this no pressure (´﹃｀)…

OMG YESSSS................YES. (you didnt specify if the y/n was female or male, so imma just use gn. and i also made it modern au :D) TITLE: a dance just for us Warnings: none. just pure fluff :3

song:

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The kitchen hums with the quiet sounds of the evening—the distant chirp of crickets outside, the soft bubbling of water as the kettle cools, the faint clink of dishes being put away. The golden light overhead bathes everything in warmth, making the small space feel even cozier.

Giyu stands by the sink, hands wet from rinsing the last dish, his sleeves rolled up just enough to keep dry. He’s comfortable here—more than he ever thought he could be. The scent of tea and something faintly sweet lingers in the air, wrapping around him like an embrace.

Then, music.

A familiar melody crackles to life from the small radio on the counter, its static fading just in time for the first few notes to drift through the air.

"More than just a dream…"

It takes Y/n a second to notice, but when they do, they grin, setting down the towel they’d been using. Without hesitation, they sway slightly to the beat, fingers tapping against the counter. It’s nothing extravagant—just a simple, unconscious movement—but Giyu finds his gaze lingering on them anyway.

They look so at ease. So effortlessly themselves. And for reasons he can’t explain, something in his chest tightens.

He turns back to the dishes, focusing on the slow drip of water from his fingertips. It’s just a song. Just a moment. And yet—

"Giyu."

His head tilts slightly. "Hm?"

Y/n turns to face him fully, their expression soft, their eyes holding something lighthearted yet sincere. They extend a hand toward him, palm up, an invitation wrapped in a smile.

"Dance with me?"

He blinks. The request is simple, but it lodges itself in his chest, catching him off guard. Dance? Him? He’s not sure he even remembers how. The idea of making a fool of himself—even in front of them—sends an instinctive hesitancy through him.

But Y/n doesn’t waver. They just keep their hand out, waiting.

And Giyu, despite himself, exhales a quiet breath and reaches forward.

Their fingers lace together, warm against his cool skin, and in an instant, they tug him forward, right into the heart of the music. The floor beneath them is smooth, easy to glide across, and when they place his other hand at their waist, a soft chuckle escapes them.

"Relax," they murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t even realize how stiff he is until they say it.

Y/n takes the lead at first, guiding him into a slow, gentle sway. It’s simple—step, step, pause, step. Their bodies move in tandem, the space between them growing smaller with each shift. The warmth of their touch, the way they look up at him with a smile—it’s enough to make something deep inside him unravel.

"You were just a dream that I once knew…"

Giyu lets himself fall into the rhythm, his grip firm but careful. He’s never been one for grand displays of affection, never been the type to seek out moments like this. And yet, here he is, moving to a melody that neither of them planned for, but somehow feels like it belongs to them.

Y/n hums along to the lyrics, their head coming to rest lightly against his shoulder. The weight is grounding, familiar. He finds himself leaning into it without thinking.

"You know," they murmur, voice muffled slightly by his haori, "this is our song now."

Giyu blinks, his movements slowing just slightly. "Our song?"

They nod, their hand squeezing his. "Mhm. The one we’ll dance to again someday. Just like this."

His throat tightens. The thought of someday—of more nights like this, of warmth and music and soft laughter filling the spaces between them—settles deep inside him, carving itself into something permanent.

The song continues, but the world feels quieter now. Smaller. Just them and the rhythm of their hearts, their breaths, their unspoken promises.

Giyu exhales, a rare, fleeting smile tugging at his lips. He tightens his hold, just slightly, just enough to say what words cannot.

"Out of my league… give my heart a brand-new start…"

The song fades into its final notes, but neither of them let go.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

[zafill]

Can I ask for a kyojuro x a girl who happens to look exactly like his mother ruka?

(this is my time requesting so I'm really nervous)

A Flicker of Flame

HII UR MY FIRST REQUEST SO IM SO EXCITED!!!

warnings: none

note: Its a bit short, if you want a pt.2 just ask :3

----------------------------------

The streets of the red light district were alive with the hum of night time activity. Lanterns hung from the eaves of the shops, casting soft red glows on the faces of passing strangers. The scent of sake and sweet perfumes lingered in the air, blending with the whispers of conversations. Y/n walked quietly through the crowd, her sharp eyes scanning every corner of the bustling marketplace.

She had her reasons for being here. Her life in the village hadn't been kind, and the things she did to survive were things she would never admit aloud. Tonight, though, her eyes were set on one particular target—a man known for his flaming red hair, his powerful presence, and his unwavering sense of honor.

Kyojuro Rengoku.

She had heard of him, of course. The Flame Hashira had been in the area before, fighting demons to protect the city. The people praised him for his strength, his commitment, and his fiery spirit. They spoke of his kindness, his bravery, and how he had saved the city on multiple occasions. It seemed like everyone was enamored with him. Except Y/n.

She couldn't bring herself to like him, despite everything he had done. The truth was, she found it hard to trust people who tried too hard to be "good."

Y/n moved through the throngs of people with practiced ease, her gaze always shifting from face to face, from shadow to shadow. She was a master of her craft, slipping unnoticed through crowded streets, her hands light as air as they lifted coin purses from unsuspecting victims. The bustling red-light district was perfect for someone like her—chaotic, filled with distractions, and yet, she always kept her focus sharp.

She had heard Rengoku was nearby, having been seen leaving a tavern a short while ago. Her target was a man who stood out, even in a crowd. His towering figure and bright, fiery hair could make him a beacon in the dark, and that was exactly what she needed. It was always easier to pick the pockets of those who were too focused on their own sense of justice to pay attention to the world around them.

The night air was thick with the smell of incense and the faintest hint of smoke. Y/n knew this place all too well—she had slipped through these streets countless times, taking what she could, never looking back. She was always quick, always calculating. But tonight, something felt different. Tonight, she wasn’t just any pickpocket. She had her sights set on something bigger.

Kyojuro Rengoku was tall, his posture rigid, as though he was made of iron and fire. His crimson hair, glowing faintly under the lantern lights, reminded Y/n of a blaze, fierce and untamable. She watched him from a distance as he spoke with the street vendors, exchanging pleasantries and leaving generous tips. The people adored him, surrounding him with smiles and admiration. He was their hero, the man who protected them from demons and dangers alike.

Y/n's lips curled into a bitter smile as she adjusted her cloak, allowing it to fall loosely around her form. She moved closer, blending into the crowd, eyes fixed on the pouch hanging from Rengoku's waist. It was tucked away in a way that screamed "easy pick," but it was guarded by his sheer presence—the kind of presence that made everyone part ways without even realizing it.

Taking a deep breath, Y/n reached for the knife tucked beneath her sleeve. She wasn’t planning to use it, not tonight. But a sharp edge was always a good reminder of what she was capable of. She wasn’t afraid of a fight. Not anymore.

Her pace quickened, and in the span of a few moments, she was close enough to make her move. As she brushed past him, her fingers brushed the pouch gently, carefully, her movements like water, silent and swift. She felt the familiar weight shift in her hand, her fingers deftly unlatching the string that held it closed. The pouch slipped free, light as a feather.

But then—

Rengoku’s voice rang out, low and calm, yet full of an undeniable power. "I believe you’ve taken something that doesn’t belong to you."

Y/n froze, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t expected him to notice, to catch her so easily. She’d been so sure of herself, so confident that this would be like any other job.

Y/n’s breath hitched, but she quickly masked it with a practiced air of innocence. She straightened, feigning surprise, her eyes wide as she turned to face him.

“Excuse me?” she asked, her voice soft, as if she had no idea what he was talking about. Her hand stayed steady, the pouch still clutched in her fingers, hidden behind the folds of her cloak.

Rengoku's amber gaze never wavered from her. His eyes were unwavering, like flames that burned with sincerity and unshakable certainty. He didn’t flinch at her act; he simply stepped closer, his presence like the heat of a fire, undeniable and relentless.

"You're quite skilled," he said, his voice calm, though there was a quiet intensity beneath the words. "But I can see the pouch you’ve taken. I don’t think you need to deny it."

Y/n’s mind raced. She knew she could make a run for it—escape into the darkened alleyways and lose herself in the maze of the district. She’d done it countless times before. But something about Rengoku’s gaze made her hesitate. The usual fear she felt when caught had vanished, replaced by a strange curiosity. Why wasn’t he angry? Why was he so sure of himself?

She took a breath, letting her mask slip just slightly. “I don’t know what you're talking about,” she said again, but this time, the edge of her voice wasn’t as sharp. Her words didn’t carry the usual bite; they felt empty.

Rengoku gave a soft sigh, not out of frustration, but as if he had expected this response. His eyes softened, and for the briefest moment, Y/n could almost see past the warrior and into the man beneath. The one who had seen countless battles, fought for people who might never know his name, and stood unwavering even when the world around him crumbled.

“You don’t have to keep pretending," he said gently, his voice surprisingly tender. "I understand why you do it, the way you live. But stealing from others won’t fill the emptiness inside. You don’t have to carry that weight alone."

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat. His words weren’t angry or accusatory—they were understanding. Almost like he knew. Like he saw through all the walls she had so carefully built around herself.

Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest, and before she could stop herself, her legs were already moving, carrying her away from Rengoku’s steady gaze. His words reverberated in her mind, but she couldn’t let them settle. Not yet. Not when she still had so much to run from.

She darted down a narrow alleyway, weaving between shadowed doorways and discarded crates. The sounds of the bustling red-light district faded, replaced by the echo of her hurried footsteps and the sharp breaths she took as she pressed herself against the cool stone wall.

Her pulse was racing, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Why did he have to say that? She didn’t want anyone to understand her. She didn’t want to be seen, not like that. She needed to forget about Rengoku and his damned kindness. People like him never understood. They always thought they could save someone like her, but they never could. Not really.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, pushing the thoughts away as she crouched behind a stack of crates, hoping the shadows would conceal her. She stayed perfectly still, listening for any sign that Rengoku had followed her.

But no matter how hard she tried to keep her breath steady, it came in sharp, uneven gasps. Her hands clenched at her sides, the pouch now sitting heavy in her palm, the weight of it a constant reminder of what she had almost done.

Her eyes flicked toward the alley’s mouth, waiting for the familiar sounds of footsteps to fade.

Seconds passed. Then minutes.

But they didn’t fade. Instead, she heard a voice—a calm, unhurried voice—cut through the stillness of the alley.

“I know you’re here.”

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat. How?

Her eyes widened, and she turned her head just enough to see the silhouette of Rengoku standing at the far end of the alley. He hadn’t even run after her, hadn’t rushed to catch up. No, he had been patient, waiting for her to come to terms with whatever it was she was running from.

His amber eyes gleamed in the low light, calm and unwavering, as if he had always known she would end up here.

“There's no reason to run,” he said gently, his voice like a warm flame in the cold night air. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Y/n’s instincts screamed at her to move, to escape before he could catch her again, but something in the way he spoke—something in the way he wasn’t threatening or angry—stilled her.

He stepped closer, his posture relaxed yet firm, like a man who had faced countless trials and was ready for whatever came next, but with no desire to force her hand.

Y/n’s chest tightened, her mind a swirl of conflicting thoughts. She felt trapped, cornered by his calm presence, unable to run or hide. The weight of the pouch in her hand felt unbearable now, its coins clinking in the silence between them.

With a sharp exhale, Y/n tossed the pouch back toward him, letting it fall to the ground with a dull thud. She pulled her hood back with a swift motion, the dark fabric falling away from her face, revealing the features she had kept hidden for so long.

Rengoku froze.

For a long moment, there was no sound, no movement except the quiet rustle of her cloak in the night air. Y/n tilted her head slightly, narrowing her eyes at him, as though daring him to say something. Anything.

But when his amber eyes locked onto her, his mouth parted in disbelief, and his voice trembled with something she couldn’t quite place.

"Mom...?"

Y/n blinked, her mind struggling to catch up. Her breath caught in her throat, a confused laugh escaping her before she could stop it. "What?!" she snapped, her hands flying up as if to shield herself from whatever madness was unfolding before her. "What do you mean, 'Mom'? Are you out of your mind or something?"

Rengoku took a step forward, his face etched with shock, his eyes wide with recognition. "I... it can’t be. But your eyes—"

Y/n’s eyes narrowed, her pulse racing in confusion and frustration. She threw her hands up in the air, exasperated, and took a sharp step back, her posture defensive.

“Do I look old enough to be your mother?!?!" she snapped, her voice rising with disbelief. “I mean, seriously, what is this? Some kind of sick joke? Do I look like I’m in my thirties or something?! I’m not your mom!”

Her words cut through the air, filled with a mixture of anger and pure confusion. She had no idea what was going on or why this stranger—this man she had just met, someone who’d seemed so calm and collected, was now looking at her with that wide-eyed recognition.

Rengoku seemed to recoil, his hands slightly raised in a gesture of apology, but he didn’t back away. His expression was a mix of concern and bewilderment, the shock of the moment still written clearly across his face.

“I—I’m sorry. It’s just… your eyes. They’re so familiar,” he stammered, though his voice remained steady. "I... I didn’t mean to—"

Y/n cut him off, shaking her head in disbelief. “No, no. No. I’m not your long-lost mother, and if you think I am, you’ve got some serious issues you need to sort out. My life’s hard enough without you adding some random, weird connection I didn’t ask for.”

Y/n’s breath hitched in frustration, her hands still clenched tightly by her sides as she glared at him, daring him to say anything more. She wasn’t sure what game he was playing, but she wasn’t about to entertain it any longer.

Rengoku, still standing there with that mixture of shock and regret in his eyes, seemed to deflate slightly under her sharp words. His face reddened, and he shifted uncomfortably, clearly caught off guard by her anger and the situation at hand.

“I... I’m really sorry,” he muttered, his voice lower now, laced with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. It’s just...”

He trailed off, the words caught in his throat as he glanced at the pouch of money still resting on the ground between them, the coins catching the faint glow of the lanterns above.

“Keep the money...” he mumbled, his voice almost inaudible now. His cheeks were flushed, a stark contrast to his usual fiery demeanor, and his eyes darted anywhere but at her.

With that, he gave a small bow of his head, and without another word, he turned on his heel and began to walk away, his broad shoulders slightly hunched, his back turned in silent retreat.

Y/n watched him go, her mind swirling with a mixture of confusion, frustration, and something else she couldn’t quite place. She hadn’t expected him to just... give up like that.

As he disappeared into the distance, she couldn’t help but mutter under her breath, “What a weird guy.”

And with that, she was left alone in the quiet alley, the pouch still lying untouched at her feet, the night air thick with the weight of everything unsaid.

[zafill]

IMAGINE MOUTHWASHING WITH SUPERPOWERS?!?!?

So ive been thinking. what if how jimmy killed yk daisuke, Anya and swansea. how about how they died is their superpower 😨😨 but like imagine, so like Anya spits toxic waste cuz she overdosed, Swansea can like see into the future bc he got shot in between the eyes, and Daisuke can like see 360, like here me out. he can open the wound wide and eyes pop out making him look really well, and curly got like fire powers :3 and jimmy... can suck my big toe, he gets no powers. PLEASE GIVE ME SUGGESTIONS I KINDA WANNA MAKE A STORY ABT THIS!!?!?!!

[zafill]

WHAT YALL THINK

What would yall think about

Six strangers awaken in an eerie, abandoned hotel with no memory of who they are or how they got there. As they explore the hotel's dark, twisting corridors, they encounter strange and supernatural occurrences—whispering shadows, flickering lights, and cryptic messages. Forced to rely on one another, they must uncover the secrets of the hotel and their shared past. Each clue they find brings them closer to the truth, but also closer to a malevolent force that wants to keep them trapped. To escape, they must face their deepest fears, work together, and reclaim their lost identities before it's too late. 

BUT its demon slayer chacters?!?!?!?!?!?!!? (also sorry for not posting for awhile, ive been REALLY FUCKING BUSY AT SCHOOL RAGHHHH)

[zafill]

DEMON  SLAYER PT.3 

note: this is very short, im sorry but i have been really busy! school and stuff. but if yall want me to contiune, just say it in the comments!! Love you guys!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ A few months had passed since that harrowing night, and life within the Demon Slayer Corps had shifted for (Y/N). Her hands, once so integral to her strength and skill as a Hashira, were now numb, the nerves damaged beyond repair by the boiling water she had poured over them. The once vibrant warrior was now a shadow of herself, burdened by the consequences of her actions. 

The physical pain had subsided, replaced by a persistent numbness that served as a constant reminder of her despair. Yet, it was the emotional pain that weighed most heavily on her, a crushing sense of guilt and isolation that refused to let go. The Corps had granted her a leave of absence, a "break" they called it, though it felt more like an exile. She was no longer fighting on the front lines, no longer training with the others, no longer a part of the life she had once known. 

The days blurred together in a monotonous routine of rest and reflection. She spent her time in solitude, avoiding the others as much as possible. The once proud and fierce Hashira now found herself in a place of deep introspection, haunted by the choices she had made and the impact they had on her future. 

Despite the break, (Y/N) was not completely alone. Kagaya visited her often, his presence a constant reminder that she was still part of the Ubuyashiki family, despite her self-imposed isolation. His visits were quiet and gentle, filled with words of comfort and understanding, though they did little to ease the ache in her heart. 

"You're still needed," Kagaya had told her during one of his visits. "The Corps is not complete without you, (Y/N). But you must heal, both physically and emotionally. Take this time to find your strength again, in whatever form it may take." 

But even with his encouragement, (Y/N) struggled to find her place. Her hands, once so skilled with a sword, were now clumsy and unresponsive. The numbness made it impossible to feel the hilt of a blade, to grasp it with the strength and precision that had once defined her as a Hashira. The thought of returning to the battlefield seemed impossible, a dream that had been shattered the moment she had let that boiling water sear her skin. 

Dinner with the Ubuyashiki family had become an event filled with a mixture of comfort and quiet tension for (Y/N). The warmth of being surrounded by those who cared for her was undeniable, but it was also a painful reminder of the role she could no longer fulfill. The once skilled and formidable warrior now felt awkward and out of place, her hands betraying her in even the simplest of tasks. 

As they sat around the table, the younger siblings chatted cheerfully, their innocent laughter a soothing balm to the otherwise heavy atmosphere. Kagaya and Amane exchanged gentle smiles, their presence a calming influence over the household. Despite the love and acceptance that filled the room, (Y/N) couldn’t shake the feeling of inadequacy that gnawed at her. 

“Big sister,” her younger brothers piped up, his voice full of trust and affection, “can you fill my cup with water, please?” 

(Y/N) nodded, forcing a smile as she reached for the jug. The simple request should have been easy to fulfill, something she had done countless times before without a second thought. But as she wrapped her numb fingers around the handle, the weight of the jug felt foreign and unstable in her grip. 

She tried to pour the water, her movements careful and deliberate, but her hands trembled uncontrollably. The numbness made it impossible to gauge the weight properly or to feel the coolness of the water against her skin. The liquid splashed over the rim of the cup, spilling across the table and onto her brother’s lap. 

There was a moment of stunned silence as everyone at the table froze, watching the water pool and drip off the edge. (Y/N)’s heart sank, a wave of embarrassment and frustration crashing over her. She quickly withdrew her hands, staring at them with a mix of anger and despair. 

“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered, her voice shaky as she struggled to maintain her composure. “I didn’t mean to…” 

But before she could finish, her younger brother reached out, grabbing her hand with his small, warm fingers. “It’s okay, big sister,” he said with a reassuring smile. “It was just an accident. Don’t worry about it.” 

His words were meant to comfort, but they only deepened the ache in her chest. (Y/N) felt the weight of her failure even more acutely in that moment—her inability to perform even the simplest tasks, the loss of the strength and control she had once taken for granted. 

Kagaya, who had been quietly observing the exchange, reached over and gently placed his hand on hers. His touch was calm, his expression filled with understanding. “(Y/N), it’s alright,” he said softly. (Y/N) forced a smile and nodded in response to Kagaya’s comforting words, but the tightness in her chest didn’t ease.  

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on her, their concern like a heavy cloak she couldn’t shake off. 

“I… I think I need some air,” she said, excusing herself from the table. “I’ll be back in a little while.” 

Without waiting for a response, she stood and quietly slipped out of the room, the cool evening air a stark contrast to the warmth she had just left behind. She walked aimlessly at first, letting the breeze wash over her as she tried to clear her mind. Her feet eventually led her to a familiar path, one that wound its way through the trees to the training grounds where she had once spent countless hours honing her skills. 

The sight of the open space brought a flood of memories, both comforting and painful. She remembered the days when her body moved with precision and strength, every swing of her blade confident and powerful. It felt like a lifetime ago. Now, she stood on the same ground, but everything felt different. 

Drawn by a deep, almost desperate need to reconnect with that part of herself, (Y/N) approached the weapon rack where a row of bamboo practice swords stood. She hesitated for a moment before reaching out and grasping one of the swords. The wood was smooth and familiar in her grip, but the connection she once felt was gone. Her hands, still numb and weak, struggled to hold it properly. 

Stepping into the center of the training area, (Y/N) assumed a basic stance, her feet planted firmly on the ground. She tried to recall the movements that had once come so easily, but as she swung the sword, it felt clumsy and uncoordinated. The blade sliced through the air with none of the force or precision she had once commanded. 

Frustration surged within her as she tried again, and again, each attempt more desperate than the last. But no matter how hard she tried, the sword wouldn’t obey her. Her muscles ached from the effort, and the numbness in her hands made it impossible to maintain a proper grip. The bamboo sword seemed to mock her, refusing to yield even the slightest bit of damage to the air around her. 

Panting from the exertion, (Y/N) finally stopped, her shoulders slumping in defeat. The sword hung limply at her side as she stared at the ground, her vision blurring with unshed tears. The realization that she was no longer the warrior she once was hit her with brutal clarity. As (Y/N) stood there, panting and defeated, she felt a familiar presence approaching. The sound of footsteps on the gravel was unmistakable, and when she looked up, she saw Kyojuro Rengoku standing at the edge of the training grounds, his usual bright smile replaced with a concerned frown. 

"(Y/N)," Rengoku called out gently, taking a few cautious steps toward her. "I saw you leave the house. Are you alright?" 

She stiffened at his words, her anger flaring up before she could control it. The last thing she wanted was pity, especially from someone like Rengoku, who always seemed so strong, so unbreakable. His concern felt like salt in the wound, a reminder of everything she had lost. 

"I'm fine," she snapped, her voice harsher than she intended. "I don't need you or anyone else checking up on me. Just leave me alone." 

Rengoku halted, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I'm not here to judge you or to pity you, (Y/N). I just—" 

"I said leave me alone!" she interrupted, her tone edged with bitterness. The anger bubbling up inside her was uncontrollable, born from the frustration of her helplessness and the fear that she was truly lost. "You think you understand, Rengoku? You don't. None of you do. You've all got your strength, your purpose. I have nothing!" 

Rengoku's expression softened, but the sadness in his eyes only fueled her anger further. She couldn't stand the way he was looking at her, like she was some fragile thing in need of protection. It was a far cry from the respect she had once commanded as a fellow Hashira. 

"You're wrong," Rengoku said calmly, though his voice held a firm resolve. "You are more than your sword, (Y/N). You’re still needed, still valued. You don’t have to carry this burden alone." 

But (Y/N) couldn't hear him. Her mind was too clouded with pain and resentment. "Stop pretending like you care!" she shouted, her voice cracking. "You're just like the others. You see me as a failure, as someone who doesn’t belong anymore. I’m just a burden to all of you!" 

Rengoku's eyes widened, and he took a step closer, but she recoiled, backing away from him as if his presence alone was too much to bear. "You don’t know what it’s like," she continued, her voice trembling with the weight of her emotions. "To lose everything that ever mattered, to be left with nothing but scars and broken dreams." 

Rengoku remained silent, his face a mix of sorrow and understanding. He didn't argue or try to refute her words. Instead, he simply stood there, offering his presence as a silent support, but to (Y/N), it felt like another reminder of how far she had fallen. 

"I don't need you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I don’t need any of you." Before she could take another step back, Rengoku moved swiftly and without hesitation, wrapping his strong arms around (Y/N). The warmth of his embrace was unexpected, and for a moment, she froze, stunned by the sudden contact. She could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her cheek, a stark contrast to the storm raging within her. 

“I’m here, (Y/N),” Rengoku whispered, his voice gentle but firm. “You don’t have to go through this alone.” 

The walls she had built around herself, brick by brick, began to crumble. All the pain, anger, and fear she had kept buried deep within her erupted to the surface. The numbness in her hands, the frustration of her helplessness, the overwhelming sense of loss—it all came crashing down like a tidal wave. 

Before she could stop herself, she broke down, her body trembling as the sobs she had tried so hard to suppress finally escaped her. She clung to Rengoku, her fingers gripping the fabric of his haori as if he were the only thing keeping her from drowning in her sorrow. 

Tears streamed down her face, soaking into Rengoku’s shoulder as he held her tightly, offering the support she had so desperately needed but had been too afraid to ask for. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to offer empty words of comfort. He simply held her, letting her release all the pain she had been carrying for so long. 

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, (Y/N) allowed herself to be vulnerable, to let someone else shoulder the weight of her grief. And in Rengoku’s arms, she found a small glimmer of solace amidst the darkness that had consumed her. 

Rengoku continued to hold her, his embrace unwavering as she sobbed into his shoulder. His hands moved gently, one softly patting her back in a rhythmic, soothing motion, while the other cradled the back of her head, his fingers threading through her hair with a tenderness that spoke louder than any words ever could. 

He understood that she needed this moment to let go, to release the pent-up anguish that had been tearing her apart from the inside. There was no rush, no urgency to pull away or to speak. Rengoku knew that sometimes, the most profound comfort came from simply being present, from offering silent support in the face of overwhelming pain. 

As (Y/N) continued to cry, her sobs gradually began to quiet, her body still trembling but slowly calming under the steady reassurance of his touch. Rengoku didn’t move, didn’t break the embrace, allowing her to take all the time she needed to find her way back from the edge of despair.  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tags: @imagineshazamlokimight @mlobski @nousija @i-hate-most-insects @fatkish @thefantasticlemon

[zafill]

Demon slayer pt.2

DEMON SLAYER PT.2 

WARNINGS!!: self-harm, fights, bad thoughts.

pt.1

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The air was thick with the scent of pine and the lingering warmth of a setting sun. Five years had passed since Kagaya Ubuyashiki had taken me in, and in those years, I had changed. I was no longer the scared, broken child who had been dragged across the cold ground by a mother who wished she had never given birth to me. That girl was gone, buried beneath layers of strength and determination that I had forged with my own hands. 

In the beginning, the other recruits had received guidance, training, and instruction from seasoned Demon Slayers. But not me. I had always been different, set apart by my past and the darkness that still clung to me. I had learned early on that if I wanted to survive, I would have to rely on myself. And so, I trained alone. 

Every morning, before the sun had even risen, I would leave the camp and head deep into the forest. There, in the silence of the early hours, I taught myself the ways of the blade. My katana became my closest companion, its cold steel an extension of my will. I learned to move with precision, to strike with speed, and to endure pain with a stoicism that came naturally after years of suffering. 

The forest became my teacher, the rustling leaves and the calls of distant birds my only company. I would practice for hours, my body moving through the forms I had observed the other trainees perform.  

When I wasn’t practicing my swordsmanship, I was honing my physical strength—running, climbing, pushing my body to its absolute limits. I knew that I had to be stronger, faster, and more resilient than anyone else if I was going to make it as a Demon Slayer 

One day, as the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the forest floor, I was deep in my routine. I had just completed a particularly grueling series of strikes against a makeshift wooden dummy when I sensed a presence behind me. Startled, I whirled around, my katana raised defensively, only to find Kagaya Ubuyashiki standing a short distance away. 

His appearance took me by surprise. His hair, a cascade of dark waves, framed a face that was both gentle and severe. His eyes, or rather, the one eye that was still unclouded, observed me with a mixture of curiosity and understanding. The other eye was obscured by a faint, purplish mass, a sign of the blindness that was slowly creeping across his vision. He was not yet fully blind, but the signs were there, a reminder of the burden he carried as the leader of the Demon Slayer Corps. 

“Master Ubuyashiki,” I breathed, lowering my sword and bowing respectfully. I hadn’t expected him to come so far into the forest, much less during my training. 

He smiled softly, the kind of smile that held both warmth and sadness. “You’ve grown much, (Y/N). Your dedication is evident in every movement you make.” 

I felt a flush of pride at his words but quickly suppressed it, focusing instead on the humility I had learned to adopt. “Thank you, Master. I’ve been training hard.” Kagaya nodded, his expression shifting slightly, as if he was about to share something important. “Your progress has not gone unnoticed, and I am pleased to see how far you’ve come on your own.  

But I have another reason for coming here today, (Y/N). We have a new member joining the Demon Slayer Corps, and I wanted you to be among the first to know.” 

A new member? My curiosity piqued as I wondered who this person might be and why Kagaya had chosen to share this news with me personally. 

“His name is Gyomei Himejima,” Kagaya continued, his voice filled with a quiet respect. “He is a man of great strength and even greater compassion. Though blind, his senses are extraordinarily sharp, and he has a deep connection with the world around him. He possesses an unmatched inner strength that I believe will be invaluable to our cause.” 

I listened intently, intrigued by this new addition to the Corps. A blind man with such strength and presence—it was both surprising and inspiring. I wondered what kind of person Gyomei must be to earn Kagaya’s high praise. 

But as Kagaya continued to speak, a knot of unease began to form in my chest. “Gyomei has faced many challenges in his life,” Kagaya went on, “but he has emerged from them with a heart full of kindness and a spirit unbreakable by the hardships he’s endured. I believe that the two of you could learn much from each other.” 

His words were meant to reassure me, to make me feel a sense of camaraderie with this new member, but instead, they stirred something dark and unwelcome inside me—an emotion I hadn't expected to feel: jealousy. 

Kagaya had always been a guiding light in my life, the closest thing I had to a father. He had taken me in when I was lost, nurtured my potential, and given me a purpose. I was the first person he had "adopted" into this strange, new family of Demon Slayers, and in many ways, I had come to think of him as mine alone. The idea of someone else stepping into that space, especially someone as remarkable as Gyomei, made me feel threatened. 

I tried to suppress the bitterness rising in my throat, but it was difficult. Kagaya had always been kind and supportive, never showing favoritism, yet the thought of sharing his attention and approval with someone else made me irrationally hostile. I didn’t want to feel this way, but I couldn’t help it. It was as though this new member, despite having done nothing wrong, was somehow encroaching on the bond I had so carefully built with Kagaya. 

"Master," I began hesitantly, trying to keep my voice steady, "are you sure... are you sure we need someone like him? I mean, with his blindness and everything, won’t he be at a disadvantage?" 

Kagaya’s expression softened, as if he could see right through my facade, recognizing the fear and insecurity I was trying so hard to hide. “(Y/N),” he said gently, “Gyomei’s blindness is not a weakness. If anything, it has made him stronger, more attuned to the world in ways we might never understand. But I can see that you’re worried.” 

As Kagaya continued speaking, my irritation grew, feeding on the sense of encroachment that Gyomei's arrival represented. The calm demeanor I had worked so hard to cultivate began to fray, replaced by a surge of anger and resentment I couldn't quite control. My hands clenched into fists, and I struggled to keep my voice steady. 

“Master,” I said, my tone sharper than I intended, “I appreciate your confidence in this Gyomei Himejima, but I don't see why we need to bring in someone new right now. We’ve been managing fine on our own, haven’t we?” 

Kagaya’s smile faltered slightly, his gentle gaze assessing me with a mixture of concern and sadness. “(Y/N), it is not just about our current capabilities. Gyomei possesses unique qualities that will be invaluable to our mission. His strength is not diminished by his blindness; rather, it has been shaped by it.” 

I could feel my pulse quickening, the anger bubbling up despite my efforts to suppress it. “But why does he have to come here now? Why can't we just stick to what we know? Adding someone new... it’s disruptive. I’ve worked so hard to prove myself here, and now it feels like it’s all being undermined.” 

Kagaya’s eyes softened with understanding, but his expression remained steady. “(Y/N), it’s natural to feel apprehensive about change, especially when it feels like it threatens what you’ve worked so hard to build. But remember, the strength of the Corps comes from our unity, from our ability to accept and support each other. Gyomei is not here to diminish your place but to enhance our collective strength.” 

My jaw tightened, and I struggled to maintain control over my emotions. “I just— I don’t want to feel like I’m being replaced or overlooked. I’ve worked so hard for this, and it feels like now I have to compete with someone who is being praised for qualities I don’t understand.” Kagaya's gaze grew more intense, though his voice remained calm and reassuring. “(Y/N), you are a part of the Ubuyashiki family. You are like a daughter to me. Your place here is not in jeopardy. No one can replace you or diminish the importance of what you’ve accomplished. You are needed, just as much as ever.” 

Despite his heartfelt words, I felt a storm of frustration brewing inside me. The notion of being told I was needed, while comforting, seemed insufficient in the face of my growing insecurity. I felt as though Kagaya’s assurances could not bridge the gap between what I had come to believe and the reality he was presenting. 

“I’m sorry, Master,” I said, my voice thick with frustration. “I appreciate what you’re saying, but it’s hard to just accept that everything will stay the same. It feels like everything I’ve worked for is being overshadowed by someone who hasn’t even proven himself yet.” 

Kagaya’s expression did not waver. He stepped closer, his voice carrying a gentle firmness. “(Y/N), I know this is difficult. Change often is. But your value is not determined by how you compare to others. It is inherent in who you are and what you’ve done. You have a unique place in this family, and no one, not even Gyomei, can take that away from you.” 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Years had passed, and with each new addition to the Demon Slayer Corps, my sense of displacement and hostility grew. The family I once thought was my own had expanded beyond recognition, and with every new face, I felt a little more like an outsider in the world I had fought so hard to be a part of. 

When Gyomei Himejima joined, his presence had been intimidating but not unwelcome. He was a reminder of the change Kagaya had spoken of, the new dynamic I had to adapt to. I had grudgingly accepted him, though it took time for me to see his value. The same could not be said for every new member that followed. 

Tengen Uzui, with his flamboyant demeanor and larger-than-life personality, seemed to clash with everything I valued. His bravado grated on me, and I struggled to understand his place in our ranks. His presence felt like an intrusion into a space that was already crowded with my insecurities. 

Sanemi Shinazugawa arrived with a fierce intensity that mirrored my own frustrations. His abrasive nature and fierce attitude seemed to resonate with my own feelings of anger and resentment. It was as if his presence was a reflection of my own hostility, magnified. 

Kyojuro Rengoku brought a fiery passion that was undeniably inspiring but also made me feel inadequate. His unwavering optimism and dedication seemed to cast a shadow on my own struggles. I felt a growing sense of competition, a fear that I would never measure up to his bright, burning spirit. 

Giyu Tomioka, stoic and reserved, was a calming presence but also a constant reminder of the expectations I struggled to meet. His quiet strength was both reassuring and intimidating, a contrast to my own volatile emotions. 

Mitsuri Kanroji arrived with a warmth and kindness that was difficult to reconcile with my own growing bitterness. Her gentle demeanor and unyielding support seemed to highlight my own struggles to connect with the others. 

Obanai Iguro’s strict discipline and unwavering commitment to the Corps served as a constant reminder of the standards I felt I was failing to meet. His dedication, though admirable, only deepened my own insecurities. 

Muichiro Tokito, with his enigmatic and detached nature, was a mystery I struggled to understand. His aloofness felt like a barrier to the camaraderie I longed for, and his presence seemed to accentuate my own sense of alienation. 

Despite my efforts to push past my feelings of resentment, I found it increasingly difficult to accept the growing number of members. The constant influx of new faces only heightened my sense of isolation, making it harder for me to find my place within the expanding Corps. 

Tengen Uzui was hard to ignore—everything about him was larger than life. From the flamboyant way he dressed to the booming voice that seemed to command attention wherever he went. He was always at the center of everything, with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. For someone like me, who had spent so much time in quiet solitude, his presence was overwhelming. 

One afternoon, as I was practicing alone in a secluded part of the forest, I heard the unmistakable sound of his voice cutting through the air. Even before he came into view, I could feel the vibrations of his footsteps, heavy and deliberate. My sensitive ears twitched in irritation. 

"(Y/N)!" he called out, his tone bright and enthusiastic as he approached. "Why are you always hiding away in the shadows? Come join us, we’re all family, you know!" 

I grimaced, trying to focus on the movements of my sword rather than the intrusive sound of his voice. Tengen wasn’t someone you could easily ignore, though. He strolled right up to me, his presence impossible to overlook. 

“I’m not hiding,” I replied curtly, keeping my eyes on the blade in my hands. “I’m training.” 

He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that made my ears ring. “Training alone is fine and all, but it’s no fun if you never get to show off what you’ve learned. You should come spar with us sometime—let’s see what you’ve got.” 

His words were friendly, even encouraging, but to me, they felt like a challenge. The thought of sparring with someone like Tengen, with all his bravado and flair, made my stomach twist. It wasn’t that I feared losing; it was the idea of being under his scrutiny, of having to endure his overbearing energy. 

“I prefer to train by myself,” I said, trying to keep my tone polite but firm. 

Tengen tilted his head, his expression curious. “You know, you’re way too serious for your own good. Lighten up a little! We’re all here to support each other, not compete. What’s the point of being so isolated?” I narrowed my eyes at Tengen’s remark, a spark of annoyance flaring up. His relentless optimism and insistence on camaraderie grated on my nerves. “Maybe some of us don’t need to be surrounded by people to feel validated,” I shot back, my voice carrying a sharp edge. “Not everyone thrives on being the center of attention.” 

Tengen raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by my snarky tone. But instead of backing off, he smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Oh, is that what this is about? You’re just too cool for the rest of us, huh? Or maybe you’re just worried you won’t measure up?” He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper.  

“You know, for someone who’s supposed to be part of the Ubuyashiki family, you don’t really look the part.” 

That was the last straw. 

The blood rushed to my face, and before I could stop myself, I exploded. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I shouted, my voice shaking with fury. “You think because I don’t look like them, I don’t belong? I’ve fought for my place here every single day! I’ve bled for it! And you—” I jabbed a finger toward his chest, “you have no idea what it’s like to feel like you don’t belong anywhere! You with your perfect family, your perfect everything!” 

Tengen’s playful expression faltered as he realized he’d struck a nerve, but I wasn’t done. 

“You have no idea what it’s like to be taken in out of pity, to constantly feel like you have to prove you’re worth the space you take up! So don’t you dare stand there and question my place in this family just because I don’t fit your picture of what it should look like!” My voice rose with each word, the frustration and pain I had kept buried for so long finally erupting in a torrent of emotion. "You think it's easy, don't you? Being surrounded by people who were born into this, who have families and histories that tie them to this cause? You think I haven't noticed how everyone looks at me, how they wonder why Kagaya chose someone like me?" 

I was dimly aware of others gathering around, drawn by the commotion. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw familiar faces—Gyomei, Sanemi, Mitsuri, and the others—watching with various degrees of surprise and concern. But I couldn’t stop now, not when all the hurt and anger I had bottled up for so long was finally spilling out. 

“And you, Tengen,” I continued, my voice cracking as I fought to keep the tears at bay, “you with your flashy demeanor and your perfect life, you stand there and judge me? Do you have any idea what it feels like to be constantly reminded that you don’t belong? To know that every time you walk into a room, people are wondering why you’re even here?” 

Tengen, who had been so confident and carefree just moments before, looked stunned. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. The others looked just as shocked, their eyes wide as they listened to me unleash years of pent-up frustration and insecurity. 

“I’ve fought tooth and nail to be where I am,” I went on, my voice trembling with emotion. “I’ve trained alone, bled alone, cried alone, all because I didn’t want to be a burden. I’ve seen how the rest of you bond, how you look out for each other, and I’ve never once felt like I was truly part of that. And now—now you’re telling me I don’t even look like I belong?” 

The silence that followed was deafening. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I stared at Tengen, daring him to say something, anything. The weight of everyone’s eyes on me only made the tension more unbearable, but I couldn’t bring myself to look away. 

Finally, Tengen took a step back, his face serious and his voice low. “(Y/N), I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I was just… I was just trying to understand.” 

But I wasn’t done. The presence of the other Hashira, the ones who had unknowingly made me feel like an outsider, only fueled the fire inside me. “Understand?” I scoffed bitterly. “You can’t understand. None of you can. You all have your places, your roles, your families. But me? I’m just the stray Kagaya took in. The one who doesn’t fit, no matter how hard I try.” My voice trembled as I continued, the words tumbling out like a dam that had finally burst. “You think you know pain? You think you understand what it’s like to be unwanted?” I could feel the tears welling up, but I refused to let them fall. I needed them to hear this, to understand why I could never just fit in like the rest of them. 

“My father… my so-called father, wasn’t even really mine,” I spat, the bitterness seeping into my tone. “He was a drunk who hated the sight of me because I wasn’t his. My mother—she had me with some man she hooked up with, and when my father found out, he made my life a living hell. He couldn’t stand to look at me, to touch me. And when I tried to reach out, to be a part of their lives, do you know what they did?” 

I held up my hands, the scars still faintly visible from where the boiling water had seared my skin so many years ago. “They poured boiling water over my hands. They told me I was filthy, disgusting, that I didn’t deserve to touch them. They wanted to destroy me, to break me, and they almost did. But I survived. I survived all of it, and for what?” 

The others were silent, their expressions a mix of shock and horror as they listened to the ugly truth of my past. But I couldn’t stop now, not when everything I had buried for so long was finally coming to the surface. 

“My real father didn’t want me either,” I continued, my voice cracking. “I found him once, and he looked at me like I was nothing. Like I was a mistake he wished he could erase. And my mother, she was no better. She sold me to Kagaya for 5000 yen, like I was just some piece of trash she needed to get rid of.” 

My chest heaved with the effort of holding back my sobs, but I forced myself to keep going. “So don’t stand there and tell me I belong here, or that you understand. You don’t know what it’s like to be cast aside by everyone who was supposed to love you, to have to fight every day just to prove you’re worth something. Kagaya… he saved me, but even now, I feel like I’m just that unwanted child he took in out of pity.” 

I finally let the tears fall, unable to hold them back any longer. “I’ve been fighting my whole life, not just against demons, but against this feeling that I’ll never be enough. That no matter what I do, I’ll always be the girl who wasn’t wanted, who didn’t belong.” 

The weight of my confession hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. The Hashira stood there, their faces pale with the realization of just how deep my wounds ran. They had seen me as strong, maybe even intimidating, but now they saw the broken pieces beneath the surface. 

“Maybe… maybe I don’t belong here,” I whispered, the words barely audible as I finally let the despair take hold. “Maybe I never did.” 

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The warm glow of lanterns filled the dining hall of the Ubuyashiki estate, casting a soft light on the low table where Kagaya and Amane Ubuyashiki sat, waiting for the evening meal to be served. The gentle hum of conversation from their children filled the room, but there was an undercurrent of unease that neither Kagaya nor Amane could ignore. 

Kagaya’s usually serene expression was tinged with concern as he glanced at the empty space at the table. “(Y/N) hasn’t arrived yet,” he murmured, his voice gentle but laced with worry. “She’s never this late.” 

Amane nodded, her eyes reflecting the same concern. “It’s unusual for her to miss dinner. She’s always been so diligent about joining us, no matter how intense her training.” 

Their children, who had been quietly conversing among themselves, began to notice the absence of their elder sister. One of the younger girls, a delicate child with soft, dark hair, looked up at her parents with wide, innocent eyes. “Where’s big sister?” she asked, her voice small and worried. “Is she okay?” 

Kagaya reached out to gently pat his daughter’s head, offering her a reassuring smile. “I’m sure she’s fine, my dear. Perhaps she’s still out training and lost track of time.” 

But even as he spoke the words, a sense of unease settled over him. (Y/N) had always been a pillar of strength within their family, someone who, despite her struggles, had always made an effort to be there for her younger siblings. Her absence now felt like a dark cloud over what was usually a peaceful evening. 

Amane rose from her seat, smoothing her kimono as she did. “I’ll go check on her,” she said softly Amane was halfway to the door when Mitsuri Kanroji burst into the dining hall, her usually serene expression now marked by a flurry of worry and urgency. “I’m so sorry for interrupting,” she began breathlessly, her cheeks flushed from running. “But something’s happening, and I thought you should know right away.” 

Kagaya and Amane exchanged a glance, their concern deepening. “What is it, Mitsuri?” Kagaya asked, his voice steady but laced with apprehension. 

Mitsuri’s eyes were wide with alarm. “(Y/N) and Tengen… they’re fighting. It’s not just a verbal argument. It’s a full-on hand-to-hand fight. They’re outside, and it looks like it’s getting out of control.” 

The room fell silent as Kagaya’s face hardened with determination. He stood abruptly, the calm demeanor he usually projected replaced by a stern urgency. “Amane, stay with the children,” he instructed. “I’ll handle this.” 

Amane nodded, her face pale but resolute. “Please, be careful.” 

Kagaya and Mitsuri hurried outside, the cool evening air hitting their faces as they made their way toward the training grounds. The sounds of grunts and the clash of limbs grew louder, guiding them to the scene of the confrontation. As Kagaya and Mitsuri approached the training grounds, the sounds of the fight grew louder, their urgency pushing them faster. They rounded a corner to find (Y/N) and Tengen locked in a fierce struggle, their movements a whirlwind of punches, kicks, and defensive maneuvers. 

Tengen was clearly showing signs of exhaustion, his breathing ragged and his stance unsteady. His speed, which had been his advantage, was faltering under the relentless assault from (Y/N). Despite his agility, he was struggling to keep up with the sheer intensity of (Y/N)’s assault. 

(Y/N) was equally battered, her face streaked with sweat and dirt, her breathing heavy but determined. Her eyes were focused, each strike driven by a mix of anger and frustration. Her movements were fierce and precise, each punch and kick a testament to her inner turmoil. 

Kagaya stepped forward, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Enough!” His tone was commanding, carrying the weight of authority that both combatants could not ignore. 

For a moment, both (Y/N) and Tengen paused, their bodies freezing mid-action as they turned toward Kagaya. The intensity of their fight still lingered in the air, but the immediate clash of fists and feet ceased. 

Kagaya’s eyes softened with a blend of concern and disappointment as he took in the sight before him. “This is not the way to resolve your conflicts,” he said, his voice steady but heavy with emotion. “We are a family, and families support one another, even in times of disagreement.” 

Tengen, breathing heavily and visibly wounded, looked down, his face flushed with both anger and regret. “I’m sorry,” he managed to say, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to push her so far.” 

(Y/N) stood there, her chest heaving as she struggled to regain control of her emotions. Her anger had dissipated, leaving behind a raw vulnerability that was difficult to hide. She looked at Kagaya, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. As Kagaya called out to (Y/N), trying to bridge the gap that had formed, she ignored him, her steps quick and purposeful. The weight of the confrontation, combined with the emotional strain she had been carrying, propelled her forward with an urgency that left no room for pause. 

Her room was her sanctuary, a place where she could hide from the eyes of others and the expectations placed upon her. She rushed through the hallway, her heart pounding in her chest, and threw open the door with a force that made it slam against the wall. 

Inside, she collapsed onto her bed, burying her face in her hands as the tears she had fought so hard to contain finally spilled forth. The raw vulnerability that had been exposed during the fight now gave way to an overwhelming sense of despair. She had always prided herself on her strength, but in that moment, she felt utterly defeated. 

As the tears streamed down (Y/N)’s face, the weight of her own anguish became unbearable. Her room, once a refuge, now felt like a prison, enclosing her in her darkest thoughts. She buried her face in her hands, the raw emotion making her shoulders shake with each sob. 

In her desperation, (Y/N) reached for a pot she kept hidden in the corner of her room. It was a vessel she had used in the past to punish herself—a cruel reminder of the torment she had endured. She filled it with water from the small kettle she kept on a low flame and watched as it began to heat. The steam rising from it seemed almost to mock her, a cruel echo of the suffering she had faced. 

The minutes ticked by painfully slow, each one amplifying her internal struggle. Finally, she lifted the pot, her hands trembling with both anger and fear. The boiling water sloshed ominously, a dark promise of the pain she was about to inflict upon herself. 

She hesitated, her breath catching in her throat. The old scars of her past—her mother’s harsh punishment, her father’s neglect—flared up in her mind. The boiling water was more than just a tool of self-harm; it was a symbol of everything she wished to escape but felt unable to. 

In a moment of bleak determination, (Y/N) held the pot over her hands. The thought of finally ridding herself of the hands that had once been subjected to such cruelty was almost seductive. Yet, a part of her clung to the hope that there might still be a way out of the darkness that had consumed her. Her grip tightened on the pot, the steam curling around her hands and face as she wrestled with the decision. The weight of her past pressed down on her with unbearable force, and in her mind, the boiling water symbolized a final escape from the relentless torment of her memories. 

With a shuddering breath, (Y/N) tilted the pot, and the searing hot water cascaded over her hands. The immediate pain was intense, a white-hot agony that sent sharp cries escaping her lips. The sensation of the scalding water was like a cruel echo of the suffering she had felt throughout her life. 

As the water flowed, the agony became a paradoxical release—a physical manifestation of the emotional pain she had struggled to articulate. The searing heat burned not just her flesh but also her heart, giving a fleeting, tangible form to the suffering she had been grappling with in silence. 

The burning sensation intensified, and (Y/N) gasped, her eyes widening in shock and torment. She dropped the pot, the remaining water splashing onto the floor, leaving her hands red and blistered. The pain was blinding, almost overwhelming, but in its brutal clarity, it forced her to confront the depth of her self-destructive desperation. 

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pt.3? anyone??

[zafill]

HELP ME FINISH THE DEMON SLAYER PT.2 STORY if you cant pick 2. pick 1 from above and coment the other

[zafill]

Demon Slayer

warning: abuse. neglect. child-abuse words: 1.678 ------------------------------------------------------------------------

9 hours. It took my mother 9 hours to give birth to me. I was breached or, as people say it ‘’born legs first’ the year is 1891, we didn't have prober medical equipment. Since my parents were poor, they didn’t have the money for a doctor, nor a child. My parents also didn't want a child. I was an accident. My parents agreed that when I was born, they would give me away. Sell me to some random person. 

But they didn’t. Not straight away. When I was born, I had (H/C). Like, really (H/C). My mother doesn’t have (H/C), she has white hair, and my father has black hair. 

As I grew, it became evident that I was a constant reminder of their unwanted responsibility. My mother, resentful and overwhelmed, resorted to harsh words and neglect. My father, drowning his sorrows in alcohol, was hardly present in my life. 

At the tender age of seven, I learned the truth about my origins. My parents had never intended to keep me. I was merely a burden they couldn't afford, a mistake they wished to erase. The revelation left me feeling adrift, like a ship without a compass, searching for purpose and belonging in a world that seemed determined to cast me aside. 

When I was 8, I tried so hard to make my parents proud, but whatever I did seemed to make them angry. One wrong move and they would explode. Sometimes, they made me watch them eat dinner, and didn't let me eat any.  

Sometimes, they wouldn't even let me sleep in my bed. But that wasn't as bad as the other punishments. The worst one is when they would put boiling water over my hands. They only did this when I touched them. They would say ‘’you are filthy! You are disgusting, you must never touch me again!’’ The reason for the Boling water was in hopes my hands would fall off. Or become numb so I couldn't move them.  

When I was 9. My mother was in the kitchen, making lunch, I was trying to explain to my mother that I wanted attention, as I had just fallen on the ground and my knee was bleeding. Nut I didn't even get my words out before she swung at me. I managed to get out of the way. My reflexes had always been really good. But she did manage to cut me on my lip.  

The sting of my mother's blow seared through me, both physically and emotionally. As I stumbled backward, clutching my bleeding lip, a rush of anger and defiance surged within me. How could a mother, the one person who was supposed to nurture and protect, inflict such pain without a second thought? 

Fueled by a mixture of adrenaline and desperation, I refused to cower in submission. With trembling hands, I wiped away the blood trickling down my chin, my gaze locking with my mother's cold, indifferent eyes. In that moment, something within me shifted. 

"No more," I whispered, my voice trembling with a newfound resolve. "I won't be your punching bag anymore. I won't let you break me." 

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of my defiance. For the first time in my young life, I dared to stand up to the oppressive force that had held me captive for so long. The fire of rebellion burned bright within me, igniting a spark of courage that refused to be extinguished. 

As my mother stood frozen, her hand still poised in midair, I turned on my heel and fled from the suffocating confines of our home. Blood mingled with tears on my cheeks as I stumbled into the unforgiving embrace of the outside world. 

I did end up walking back home. Not without consciences... no food for a week, no bed. And No sunlight. Those were some of the darkest days I had ever experienced. 

Hunger gnawed at my stomach, the cold seeped into my bones, and the absence of sunlight cast a shadow over my already heavy heart. I wandered the streets, a mere ghost of a child, desperately seeking solace from the harsh reality that had become my life. 

With each passing moment, the echoes of my mother's cruelty reverberated within me. The pain in my lip served as a constant reminder of the violence I had endured. Yet, a newfound sense of strength and determination burned within me, refusing to be extinguished. When the week finally ended, I had my first meal. Though it was cold. It was so nice to have something in my stomach. 

When I was 10, my father found out my mother had an affair with another man. He understood now. I was not his, the man my mother had an affair with was also a (Y/H/C) head. This information only seemed to make the hatred my father felt for me became even bigger.  

He became more abusive, not only to me. But also, to my mother. In the end. I couldn’t handle it anymore. I ran away. I ran into the city, in hopes of finding someone who would care for me. Someone who would take me home. The town was called ‘’the red light district’’  

In the red light district, there were a lot of...naked Woman. The red light district was known as the ‘’prostitute land’ since there were so many people selling themself, just for a bit of cash. As i was walking down the streets. I saw a man asking everyone he came across ‘’Have you seen a woman named Solji (L/N)?’’ Solji was my mother's name. 

I walk up to him, gently tugging at his Haori to get his attention. When he looked down at me, he was confused. Why would a child want to talk to him? ‘’Solji is my mother’ I said to him. He looked shocked. Thats when I realized he had the same hair color as me. ‘’Are you, my dad?’’ ‘’HELL NO!’’ he yelled. ‘’I DONT WANT A KID WITH SOME WOMAN I SLEPT WITH ONCE!’’ Everyone's eyes were on us. I felt so embarrassed. I started to cry.  

He yanked his arm away from me. Before storming off. I was so destructed. I've just met my real Father and he also doesn’t want me. I keep doing something wrong. Why will nobody take care of me?   When I walked home. My mother was outside. I just knew she had a beating for me. ‘’WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?’’ she yelled at me. My eardrums felt like they were going to burst ‘’i-ive been at the city...’’  ‘’You are such a disgrace.’’ I know my mother was harsh. But I didn't expect her to say that straight to my face. 

  My mother's words cut through me like a knife, and the weight of her disappointment hung heavily in the air. I could feel her anger radiating, suffocating any hope that had dared to linger in my heart. As she advanced towards me, the shadows cast by the dimly lit street seemed to dance with malice, mirroring the turbulence within our fractured relationship. 

Without warning, her hand lashed out, striking my cheek with a force that sent me sprawling to the ground. The sting of her slap echoed in the still night, a painful punctuation to her harsh words. I dared not look up, keeping my eyes fixed on the cold, unforgiving pavement. 

"You think you can just wander off whenever you please?" she seethed, her voice a venomous hiss. "You're nothing but a burden, a constant reminder of the mistake I made. I should have given you away when I had the chance." 

Her words pierced through me, reopening old wounds and pouring salt into the fresh ones from the recent encounter with my supposed father. I felt the familiar burn of tears, but I refused to let them fall. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing me break. 

In the midst of her tirade, a flicker of defiance ignited within me. Rising to my feet, I locked eyes with her, determined not to cower beneath the weight of her disdain. 

"I may be a disgrace to you, but I won't let your words define me," I declared, my voice trembling but resolute. "I'll find my own path, one that doesn't lead me through the darkness you've created."    ‘’YOU BRAT!’’ she yelled, as she pulled my ear. ‘’YOU WOULD BE LUCKY IF ANYONE WANTED YOU! A MISTAKE!’’  

Her grip on my ear was merciless, sending a jolt of pain shooting through me. I bit back a cry, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me flinch. With every ounce of strength, I could muster, I wrenched myself free from her grasp, the taste of blood filling my mouth from where I had bitten my lip to suppress the pain. 

I tried to stop her, but with all the neglect, and being underweight, I had no chance. She dragged me across the cold earthy ground. I don't know how long she dragged me. But when she finally stopped. She threw me Infront of someone's feet. ‘’5000 yen for her.’’ she explained ‘’very well then’’ the mysterious man replied and handed her the money. And then she walked away 

I looked up to see a man with short black hair and pale skin. He had some kind of purple mass on his forehead. ‘’what's your name young one?’’ he asked me with a smile ‘’(Y/N)... (Y/N) (L/N)’’ I replied. I've always been taught to be respectful to everyone. Even if they give you a weird feeling. ‘’My name is kagaya ubuyashiki. I'm the leader of a foundation called the ‘’Demon Slayers’’ 

If I may. I would like you to join us when you are of the right age... how old are you know (Y/N)?’’ he asked. ‘’I'm 10’’ I replied with a small voice. I wasn't sure if he heard me. ‘’then we should start now. I'll have someone teach you, my child.’’  ‘’Welcome to the world of demons’’  ---------------------------------------------------------------------- tell me if you all want a pt.2 (update: pt2 is in the working)