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The Sorcerers in a Relationship | Choso

Word Count: 10,075

Setting: Choso x gn!reader

Content Warnings: dark undertones, suggestive themes, mentions of various abuses, touched on trauma topics, but I strayed here and there, spoiler for the series, as well as Choso's lineage, there is a moment in which we briefly cover if the reader wishes to bare children

Summary: headcanons of Choso as a relationship partner, and what the relationship would entail, from attraction, courtship, commitment, and more.

A/N: I swear I did my best to keep this SFW, but It is so hard when there are images of Choso's jaw and neck line, and just... Choso. 🥴I will go on record by saying, I understand if you feel that the elder Death Womb Painting is too soft to become a yandere, and that is a narrative that works for you, and I support that (I look forward to reading your works!), but I will not be entertaining bashing in my inbox. 🙃

[image is not mine, it belongs to Gege Akutami the creator of Jujutsu Kaisen]

To be loved by the death womb painting is to know dependability. To be loved by Choso is to know the brisk chill of fall day amiable into the depth of the sunset, hues of orange crisps delicate against the sunset and amber garnets. It’s the assurance of the crips crunch of leaves beneath the heels of your shoes. Greeted by the tinge of frigidity caught into the tips of your fingers. Tingled and ached seared past the tips of your cozy sweater, quivered as though vivid leaves flickered into the stiff autumn breeze. The early indications of winter greeted to the tip of your nose, delighted to dip your chin into the plush of your scarf. Cozy and snug secured by the knot at your collar bone. Nuzzled into the knit fibers, tranquil to the delicate hushed tones of autumn ushering summer from its throne.

Eliciting a smile from the corner of your lips. Cultivated memories of pumpkin pastries fresh from the oven. Warm and gooey nothing compared to the thrill of your senses as his palms clasp over your own. Enfolded from your fingers fondled delicately as though he were clasping hand blown glass. Brittle and breakable caught between his powerful palms. Your back warmed secured to the grasp of his arms that enfold around your shoulders, the phantom touch of his defined jaw dragging against the crescent of your neck. Desperately seeking warmth from his neck. Exposed to the rasp of his husky breath rousing hidden desires. Gnawing yearning that blossoms at your breast and settles in the pit of your stomach drawing the heat to your cheeks. Hitches in your breath rattled to your ribcage that expedites warmth from the tips of your ears to the cusp of your existence. Eases your bones, and the exhaustion from your heart. Weariness lifted from your features; your thoughts hung only on the warmth of the man who cultivates your heart. Choso’s love is like that of a hot shower in the cold of winter clinging to the scent of sweet basil. As light and sweet whip cream subtle to the note of his sweat. Warmed earth, the hidden entice of his gaze as it means your own. Fingers that tenderly whisper inveigle into your skin. Muted spices that ignite in the steam of the shower dared to tase your senses. Dangled in a way that leaves a comforting linger of fragrance upon your skin as welcoming as diving into soft bedding. Snuggled into one another’s embrace assured of the safety of your home. To be loved by the enigma placed between curse and sorcerer is to bask in simple pleasures. Dates nights with board games savored between sips of hot chocolate. Delicate grazes that sooth the end of your hair faint to the touch that lull you to sleep. Toyed as his eyes trace your features, committed to memory. Giddy to detect the pale touch of a fine line traced at the corner of your mouth. Vestige of the joys of your relationship leaving its mark upon your essence. Drowsy mornings, the meet of your toes beneath blankets as the light of the day begins to seep through sheer curtain kissed upon the highs of his cheeks. To be loved by Choso is to know his heart is with you. Captivated at the bat of your eyelashes and cultivated at the elicit of your sighs. To know that his heart will remain with you regardless of where you may wander, or the time apart. Tended to by envelopes pressed with kisses reminding you to take care upon your voyage. To be loved by the Death Womb Painting is to know that he eagerly awaits your return.

To be loved by Choso is to understand that you will have to be veracious. You will have to approach the relationship with authenticity and ensure that all facades have been slipped from your soul. Pure and clean with no traces of shadow upon your soul.

Let’s be clear, he does not in fact expect you to be innocent. Depths of depravity is not a guaranteed deal breaker. It’s your ability to be forthcoming that he adores. The ability to approach him with authenticity is necessary. More so, you will find that he will need a little bit of patience alongside it.

It’s a bond born of sincerity. It’s one that is cultivated in kindness, and steadfast loyalty. Undying commitment, one that will not fold with the passage of time, nor the sway of the tides. Its devotion is wrapped in gentle touches, and soft gazes. The touch of his hand through your hair and the silence of the night.

It’s unwavering. One that cannot be swayed, bathed in integrity. Assured by the warmth of his larger hands enfolding over your own, marveling at the size difference between yours as he plays with your fingers. Toyed in the plush of his lips as the smile spreads across his lips, and his eyes peek at you through thick eyelashes.

To be loved by the Death Womb Painting is to know the safety of a gentle companion. A phantom that lingers over your shoulder, curiously peeking at what has caught your interest. A faint presence that is aways within reach tender as cashmere. Soft words whispered into the snug of your neck. It is simple pleasures dressed in adornment.

Free of pretenses and forced stuffy extravagance. To prefer simple delights such as a teaspoon of honey dipped into your afternoon tea as you dare to bundle into a blanket under the security of the veranda. Sipping upon the fragrance sweetness as crisp foliage is carried through the breeze. Happiness that lands upon a bed of leaves, content to delight in the crisp of earth beneath you.

His love is not one bathed in cologne, nor can you expect lavish gifting. Rather, Choso’s love is that of handpicked flowers, the soil snagged beneath his nails. Boyish joys that form at the high of his cheeks as he offers them to you, clueless that his generous selection is composed of weeds.

It is to be honest when something is on your mind. To understand that he has very little experience with the world, and to adjust your response as such. Though, he would rather endure a truth wrapped in barbed response than welcome a lie wrapped in beauty. To respond with sincerity and to respond to his tender touches with returned warmth.

Know that an embrace for him especially at the beginning is bold, dangerously so for his entire world, and that the very brave endeavor is one that rattles him to his core. His soul will sing upon you returning his grasp, and reveal the quiver of certainty hidden beneath his stoic façade. Delicate and winding as the smile that responds as you peer up with him out of curiosity.

The reality is, regardless of where you are in life, you with almost all assurance, are the experienced partner, but do not mistake this as a lack of interest in learning on the false Kamo’s part. No, rather, you should press just a little further and delight as he comes undone.

Choso is attracted to individuals who are reliable, and it’s without surprising that the sincerity in which you approach life and relationships is a significant turning point that will lure him to your side. He did not become the oldest of the death womb paintings without being the product of cruel games at play and has no desires to relive the atrocities of his upbringing. We don’t blame him for unresolved Daddy issues.

Because of this, you will find that the cursed dipped sorcerer yearns for someone lighthearted and sincere. The world of jujutsu is not a simple one. It is a world poised in bleak obscenities. Curses birthed upon nightmares enridged upon insanities, and he was ripped from his mother’s womb abandoned amongst the wastelands of existence. His mere being is a mockery of life one that other forces desire to lock away from sight.

It is not a surprise that the older brother desires a lover that tips into daydreams. Soft and sweet to take him away from reality. A bright energy that breathes life into his existence separate from his willingness to die for his siblings. A joyful smile that allows his shoulders to loosen, and arms that embrace him upon greeting.

Though, don’t be confused, while one would suspect that Choso seeks a partner that is dependent, that leans up on his touch and is not far from reach. As faithful as a pet that desperately awaits the door-- he may find such a rare occurrence adorable, he loves to see the sparkle in his lover’s eyes upon the slip of words between their teeth. Unable to deny the pleasure of sharing passions.

Truthfully, he would find a partner that is not without their own pursuits and lack of free thought… a mere imagery of his parents. A chained relationship, loyalty bonded only due to the forced state of the relationship, tethered, and bound for fear of reprehension. A shadow of his mother locked away from sight subjected to endure onslaught of morbid curiosity, and the distant sound of her tears tucked away by a false smile.

I dare say he would cherish your sass and backtalk. It reassures him that he is nothing like his “fathers”.

No, the blood wielder is attracted to independent partners, one that can stand alone and wander as they will. One that will remain steady despite his absence when his pursuit of Itadori has forced him from his home.

He needs someone who will approach him with tolerance. Accept his unfamiliarity with social expectations, how he shies away from touch, or becomes confused at common phrases. Choso has not had the opportunity to be properly introduced to the world and its adventures, even as simple jumping in mud ridden puddles. The death womb painting has a deep desire for encouragement. He desires security, and comfort. Perhaps a deep seeded craving that neither he nor his brothers ever received in life.

A partner who can provide emotional intimacy, tender words, and carefully soothe the lines of worry from his brow would be everything to this man.

There are two scenarios in which I can imagine Kamo meeting you.

The first would be something simple, perhaps a human existing outside the jujutusu universe, not from a lack of abilities but as born of your disinterest in dealing with the double-edged sword of the community. Opting to stay out of the crossfires.

Dipped in the slowed hues of the day paled by the languid shades of blue. Stale shades of blue mimicked pale water that conceals turbulent undertow. The deceiving calm of the sky crackled soft clouds that somehow seemed dreary and hung upon the silent still of the dim of the day. The small knit playground near abandoned, shadows by the trafficked by the busied of stores, venders, and schools. Slipped from existence, forgotten amongst the passersby. The silent of a day, an opportunity to slip away from the mundane just to discover the motionless silhouette of a man nestled into the set of a swing. The knit of his brow he managed to sit upon the seat. The catch of sunlight between the sway of trees, and yet wrapped in an adornment of what you could only conclude to be priest robes or unfamiliar cosplay, he remained still. Befuddled dark eyes that stayed stagnant, glued to the blades of grass that flickered beneath the playground equipment. As though a frozen phantom, unacquainted with the intentions of the equipment leaving you to place your belongings quietly at the bench. Your hands that caught at the chains of the swing before daring to whisper into his ear, “hold on,” the quip of his head. His brow creased at the press of your hand at his back. Attempting to hold your composure rather than marvel at the firmness of his body as the swing caught to your force. His ponytails caught the shift of the movement, swayed beneath the chortle of your giggle as his body jerked briefly from shock.

The other way would be a sorcerer of the jujutsu world that has strayed interests. Neither falling into full bend of the expectations of the elders or the three families like a result of falling out of aligned goals such as Okkotsu. Unable to properly mask your dismay for the judgmental bags that wallow fear and cast away children for fear of the unusual. Barely kept in the loop as punishment, save for Satoru’s sense of humor and blurred intentions. The occasional babysitter for Megumi.

The burden of his weight pressed into your back. The ache of carrying the added weight for so long as you attempt to maneuver throughout the ruins of Shibuya. The last minute impart of information—you could kill Satoru. You really could, and least of all, you had not expected to be toting a bloody man’s form through the rubble. Dear god was that Todo terror right, have you grown flabby? Ah, none of this had been apart of the agreement; you had accepted the role of ensuring Okkotsu had access to Sukuna’s vessel, a young man. Not that the esteemed blight of the Satoru had bothered to share. While parts of the plan had followed as anticipated, Okkotsu was accompanied by failproof guards warded by the higherups, although you hadn’t expected that one of the prized Zenin born children would have been deployed, but had truly caught you off guard was the cursed dipped sorcerer you bore on your back. Intercepted the threat with no hesitation capable of going head-to-head with the famed asshole. The depths of his depravity was an unexpected surprise, and you could chastise yourself for not having guessed he was a ticking timebomb. No, you had not expected for your entrusted role would be claimed by well…. Whoever—whatever this was, or that you would be carting him to safety. Yet, witnessing Okkotsu’s capable abilities first hand--- leaving this person exposed to the night air felt wrong, a sacrificial distraction for the higher ups to pursue.

It will take some time for Choso to realize that he likes you as he often a natural affiliation for taking those within his vicinity under his wings. Especially those that feel almost close knit to him, because of this, it will take him time to separate the part of him that is willing to help a friend, from the version of him who is willing to go to extreme and uncomfortable measures to be within your vicinity.

Again, this is fairly uncharted territory for the man.

While it will be quite a bit of time for him to sort out why he is drawn to your side, and understand that there is no underlining hidden familial lines that have been buried. No one can blame him for being worried after discovering Yuji was his little brother! Yet, the moment that it dawns on him that it is not some instinctual big brother senses, you discover that he is far more adamant about pursuing you than he was before, and with intentions.

He’s confident.

“confident”.

The death womb painting is not entirely sure how to go about pursuing you, or if he has even wandered into your gaze or a time or to. Rather, he is assured of his decision. He has no doubts that he is interested in you, and even less concerns that his heart is not anchored to your own.

Really, he’s just uncomfortable with the concept of courting. Again, bear in mind that the closest thing he has witnessed to a relationship is the mess of his birthright. He’s unsure of what is considered an appropriate approach to engaging you, and the concept of attempting such things from the movies that he has witnessed in his little brother’s reclusive cave his sensei had set up is… embarrassing at minimum.

Grand gestures, stopping airplanes, and shouting your desires in a public place not only feels humiliating, but insincere. Choso cannot connect how his willingness to shout your name from Tokyo Tower coincides with years of devotion on his part. Is there some way that you can detect that a partner will remain loyal throughout the years because they are willing to engage in such grand gestures.

No, flirting for the blood wielder will be one that is indirect. Subtle to the point of madness. A desire to get to know you would be an indication, though it’s understandable why it would be difficult to differentiate his interest in you from others. The way he leans forward and listens to every recount detail, he wants to know the depths of your being, your interests, your childhood, and all that you can offer.

He puts forward a great effort to talking and refuses to settle for anything dry or mundane like recent television shows or how your day was prior. More so, you’ll find that he has a concerningly willingness to engage. Downright unabashed at approaching conversations with the intention of seizing your attention for hours on end. He wants to know everything.

The false Kamo is the type to reach out with out a second thought. There will be no games in waiting three days or refusing to make the first move in this aspect. He is more than excited to reach out to you as you cross his mind.

In a silly way, your best indicator that that the curse user is interested in you is his overtly polite stance in how he engages you. Yes, he has a tendency to be considerate of those he is fond of such as the way he hangs on Yuji’s every words, or the way he listens to Tsukumo speak, but there is a near formal way that he regards you…

Truthfully, he’s depending on his enthusiasm to enter your orbit and remain in your pull as the way that you will realize that he is interested in you.

Choso approaches courting with extreme caution, and at his own pace. He cannot be pushed to expedite his intentions. He’s not the sort to just take your hand because the mood fancies him, or to kidnap you from your work to visit a carnival. Rather, he’s much more secure with sentimental gestures at are committed to building a stable foundation. It’s not that he won’t engage in romance, but that his approach is far more practical.

It’s in the way he values your time. The high significance of actions ahead of words. There are those who will depict their desires to spirit you away to Rome or Paris, but then there are those who would much rather await the day the opportunity affords it—Choso is the later.

He proves his affectiosn with subtlety, and boundaries. If you have brought up a favorite treat, he will pick it up on his way to meeting you for work. He can remember that you always sip a specific brand of coffee/tea/juice, and as he secures a beverage for himself and Itadori, you will find that he has also slipped your preference into the bag as well without a second thought.

It will be the small things that he has noticed about you in his observations that are a testament to his affection for you. His idea of romance is practical; small touches offering you his sweater when it is cold or allowing you to evade his space for warmth. Far too embarrassed that he wishes you would linger just a little longer.

It’s small moments.

Small moments that build meaning, that equate purpose and ensure a foundation in which you will always be linked to one another, but if you are wanting any progress to occur why else are you here, the odds are… you will have to make the first move. Unless by some choice you are fortunate enough to make him jealous more on this later to enforce a confession from the man, you’re just going to have to take this step first. It’s better this way because the alternative route will result in a rather bitter start.

Choso would never forgive himself for starting off a relationship that way.

So, you will find it easier to just be up front. Don’t play games, do not dance around the topic, or have him wondering if there is a chance you will like him, or do not. If you are the sort to depend on body language, gentle touches, or small tokens of affection, he enjoys the attention, an opportunity to seize your eyes upon him for a bit, but he will NOT have the slightest clue that this is you expressing your interest.

He needs you to outright say it.

And not by dragging him an expensive, lavish restaurant that serves impossible small portions. No, it will need to be something small and without the pressure of him needing to immediately respond. Such as a break between snubbing out curses, or from assisting him to navigate the grocery store he wants to take care of his little brother so badly, but he does not understand the concept of a modern store. One that your smile is natural, warm to the moment. Just at peace to be in his presence, how your eyes wander to his own as he sips from his vending machine tribute. As you pretend you are not looking at that defined neckline. Before simply stating, “I like this. I like you.” Leave no misinterpretation to chance.

Dating can be a bit uneasy to differentiate between your established relationship and your courting phase. Again, this is nothing that he is accustomed to, and as the party that has the most experience, it will be your duty to ensure the shift is one that you are comfortable with. Because truthfully, Choso is low maintenance.

The curse born has content to simple sip tea along your side, wander through gardens from time to time, or share in one of those horrible movies his little brother recommends. However, it’s understandable that on your end, this may not be enough. I mean, you want to hold his hand eventually. So it cannot hurt to be prepared!

The first few dates, Choso will lean upon your willingness to take the first steps to understand what qualifies as dating, or significant developments in your relationships. Though he would be prone to utilizing what feels natural for him. Inquiring if you would like to go for a walk through the neighborhood. Accept your excitement about a limited edition pudding, picking it up on its way to your house bag in hand.

The elder brother enjoys dates with an intent. A clear itinerary is one that is bound to spark his interests. Some part of him enjoys being able to look through the expectations for the day and mentally prepare for the demands of the day. Emotionally prepare for moments that will be loud, and work up the courage for the moment in which he will take your hand in front of everyone.

If you feel the need for extensive dating, one s that have an itinerary such as approaching a fair with a laid out plan of which booths to hit will be interesting for him. Especially with how unfamiliar the concept is for himself, but the best dates for Choso are simple in nature.

Ones that require no prior knowledge and are simply born of your desire to be with him.

Dates that are sweet nights together watching a meteor shower from your veranda. The roll of dice in cozy clothes as you dare to lean across the table, risk obscuring game pieces to plant a kiss upon his nose.

In a relationship with Choso, it’s important to note that your partner has no desires to burden you with expectations or demands. He has no desires to burden you with his struggles, and often times struggle to balance the sacrificial martyr position he often places himself in. Far too willing to give of himself to others, you may at times feel like Choso is playing tug-a-war with his desires to be a lover and a brother.

If you can find it in yourself to remain a patient partner, and allow you to chase after his familial duties, you will find a bit more peace in your relationship, but there will be times in your relationship that you will have to put your foot down on his behalf. He struggles with saying no to those under his deemed care. Not that I can imagine Itadori taking advantage of his older brother, but individuals like Satoru would definitely capitalize on the opportunity.

In a relationship, you should expect that Choso’s patience for emotional drama and continual misunderstandings is lacking in comparison to other potential partners. It’s not because he is not a patient man. He is calm, and extremely composed in most of his day-to-day affairs. However, he finds the concept extremely overwhelming. Draws out bits of anxieties out of him from his lack of upbringing, and further poisons insecurities he has buried deep down. All Choso wants in his life is stability, an on concept amongst the word he was created.

He desires something that is natural, that flows with one another.

Choso yearns for a relationship that is peaceful as elders rock quietly on their unassuming rocking chairs. Commitment that will devote to lifelong devotion. The unmovable force in his life that does not yield to the higherups, or the press of morals.

Though his expectations of the relationship are nothing that he is not willing to give of himself. The sorcerer is well committed to preserving your comfort in the relationship and is certainly not the type to stray. He’s as devoted as the sun is to set at the end of the day. Truthfully, he is extremely firm in maintaining a healthy relationship with equal grounds for both partners so much so that at times he can appear very demanding.

In love, Choso is a deeply committed partner. He is concerningly loyal to the point that the existence of another person in this world that could exist in a romantic perspective. Just as he pursues his little brothers, he is one tracked mind. Literally, in Choso’s world, there is no one in this world who can take his place. None that can compete with your beauty. He will be completely oblivious to any advances from outside forces, far too eagerly awaiting your arrival.

Choso poises honest and mutual respect into his relationships in ways that often border into near confrontational attempts as he wants the reassurance that he is not in fact forcing you into anything. It can almost be maddening how considerate he is at times. The blood wielder is highly devoted to developing emotional intimacy and solidifying his bond with you. At times, it can be difficult because in some ways it appears as though he may not be ready for these steps.

He’s almost childlike in how unfamiliar he is with such things.

But, he’s not deterred. Choso is the sort to seek out advice—I can imagine him fidgeting with a scowl fixed to his brow as he twists to and fro with his poor little brother Yuji becoming increasingly uneasy with the elder’s obvious fixated glower in his direction. Mangled to approach the topic, inevitably coerced by Yuji’s inquiry as to what it was he wanted to talk to him about. Yuji is equally inexperienced, and the discombobulated way he flips Choso’s world upside down when he expresses that he should just “go with it”.

Because of the likely areas that Choso will extract relationship advice from, he will intentionally seek environments that could inspire vulnerability between the two of you, and ensure that you are progressing your relationship in a secure way, but while this at times can seem odd—and they are, it will conclude fairly quickly.

He can only endures so much of the obscure approach to bonding a relationship before you will realize that he is forcing himself through these motions and set him right at the clasp of your hand over his own. Expressing that really, all you desire is to pick up a pizza on the way home.

Struggles to maintain composure when he witnesses you in his robes, cozy and lazily stepped to the side.

Choso’s devotion is not without consideration. He is a devoted man, one who will make far more sacrifices than you can fathom. There are no gestures that will be wasted on him. A packed lunch will set his cheek and heart on fire, and leave him a little sputtered when someone inquires about the pink bundle he has hidden within his sleeves.

Touches of extra fabric scent in the way you added his laundry to your own will leave him to snuggle his nose into his collar, the scent of you still touched upon the fabric. His stomach almost in knots at how intimate the implication is. Some part of him wishes someone would point out that you smell the same.

While Choso desires a mutual ground for relationships, he often leans towards more traditional values. Now don’t worry this does not mean that you are condemned to a life of a stay-at-home parent—though if this is a future desire of yours he will iron out the details. Because the implication scares the shit out of him. But, he’s not confined to the concept of you having to succumb to these traditional standards.

Rather, he’s fairly attached to more traditional relationship values. Two partners, committed to one another, but he is respectful of your beliefs. It may take some time, but Choso is committed to working things out even if it means trying to navigate nontraditional relationship standards.

Though, I can’t say that it will go well as time goes on.

His familial background with a nontraditional relationship was horrendously toxic. Spoiler the whole his human mother he cared for + Kenjaku+ the OG Noritoshi Kamo that utilized his mother and all of her children for his entertainment. So, it’s fairly understandable that Choso is weary of any relationship standards that stand outside of the norm.

He does however, remain adamant to respecting your desires so long as you are mindful of his own.

Choso will remember everything, absolutely everything. He’ll remember what you ordered from the little shop o the square the one time you went there. Choso can recount even the smallest of details between the connection of how your eyes floated to the gentle blossoms in the florist window, or the way your eyes light up at the prospect of a new weapon being unearthed.

At times, his dedication to remembering every detail can often appear obsessive in his pursuit. Down to the exact point that he is aware of exactly where you will be on Thursday at 3:14p.m. The level that he is in tuned with your day-to-day is almost frightening, and if it does bother you, you will need to reassure him. Push back at how he probes.

Choso could easily dip into the yandere territory, and it would take time for us to notice because his sincere concern and affection for his partner is just so damn genuine.

Though it’s important to know that in this relationship, you have the spotlight. The man will worship every fiber of your being, kiss upon your brow, to blossom mark upon your collar, through your bones. You dreams are his own, your passions are his.

In Choso’s world, your world will take precedence. In all sense of the word, you are just short of the reason why the sun rises in the morning. I’m only short of exaggerating there is that minor competition with Itadori.

The Death Womb Painting takes his commitments with sincerity. Just as you have witnessed with his brothers, Choso takes his word as devotion, his commitment is his voice, and his sacrifice is his love.

It’s important to note that if for some reason you thought that a casual relationship was in the cards, you will be highly disappointed. Attraction, relationships, love are occurrences that Choso takes lightly. In his life, stability, security, and reassurance are everything that takes precedence in his desires. A casual relationship leaves room for wandering, to explore alternative choices, and welcome new opportunities.

And while I can imagine him engaging in a one night stand, I cannot see him remaining a float in such a relationship. In many ways, the commitment in itself is half the attraction, the lure of promise forever on the tip of his tongue. He craves that touch of eternity, and a casual relationship threatens everything for a short fleeting fling.

No, for Choso a relationship that has no end line for commitment is not one that he would openly pursue. For him, the sincere connection, the loyalty displayed between the two of you is all he yearns for.

It’s important to understand that in approaching Choso, the intent for eternity is heavily implied, and one that he will not easily part with.

That being said, I imagine that a family with the curse bound spirit would be a topic that bears significant turbulence. On one hand, we’re not entirely sure if he’s capable of bearing children in the even that you are capable of conceiving. The barriers in which his own conception is a unique concoction, and one that will take into consideration if you wish to start a family this way.

In many ways, you’ll find that the dynamic that Choso holds towards his little brother is almost what we can expect from him as a father. A tad overbearing, consistently hunging on every word, and eager to follow the child’s lead. Consistently worried, and always on edge, worried over every potential threat that his child could endure. But in this word… is that an unfair worry? If he could allow himself to release a bit of the inherited leash, Choso could make a wonderful and attentive parent. We have seen the love and devotion for his siblings—he would be willing to do so much more for his children whether adopted, fostered, or carried.

I can’t imagine him turning down an adopted or foster child, but I can see him having a few more concerns because they are not bound by his blood senses as a biological child would be.

However, truthfully, Choso holds so much resentment, and burdens bound to his soul that threatened to drive him under at every turn. It’s a tether that connects him to a damning sentence that holds him a choke hold, and the moment he sees your eyes wander to smaller children. It will seize his thoughts, panic his senses, and horrifies his cores threatening to send him into depravity. It is everything he fears rolled into a receiving blanket.

Really, I feel like for his personality, he would do best with one child, but for how heavy his bonds are with his brothers, I just cannot imagine him staying at one child…

For how devoted of a individual Choso is, the odds of him cheating are specifically low with no real interest. He truly craves stability over novelty, and is not the type to be lured away from a a set of pretty eyes and tender words. Especially with how inclined he is to naturally having distrust from those around him. In a healthy relationship with respected boundaries, and free of tension, he is not the type to share a bed with another.

Now, let’s be clear, he is a surprisingly vengeful man should his boundaries be pressed, and unresected to passerby. More later. Under the right pressed and toxic concoction, Choso would use sex as a way to enact revenge if he saw it necessary. Though he would prefer alternative routes, it’s not entirely cut off.

In many ways, communication with Choso is often gentle, and amicable. He is a natural, warm communicator that is used to tending to the needs of others. It’s not surprising that he can listen to disgruntled complaints, even those directed at him. Really, I imagine that the majority of people feel comfortable initiating conversations with him against his will. He has a peaceful aura that will be comfortable and leans itself into random people, sharing far more than he is comfortable to accept.

Save. Him.

It is his own fault though—he has a natural way with words that are flowed and comforting that, anyone can fall into his honeyed orbit and drown in its sincerity. It’s that part of him that is considerate of others, and succumbs to the conversation. He’s empathetic, far too willing to allow himself to be dragged into conversations with a stranger, and even validate their grievances and attempt to offer assistance in resolution.

But I would still recommend that you keep your expression constructive, and gentle. He carries such a burdened sense of self, that truthfully I can see that approaching the chosen topic of tension from a negative, and aggressive state will only lead to fighting. A fueled pumped of angst on both ends that is not likely to end well. At the same time, I imagine that unless you remain peaceful and considerate of his feelings…

You will need to monitor his actions rather than his words as the older brother, the one to carve the path on behalf of his siblings, Choso is accustomed to burying his emotions. Snag them behind a stoic expression, and allow the onslaught to continue well pass normal breaking points. That truthfully, I cannot see him approaching an issue between the two of you of his own conviction.

Rather, I imagine that he would seek to maintain the peace misunderstanding that silence does not symbolize an olive branch. Choso is in able to mask his concerns with busying himself. Attempted to distract himself from tasks that are waying on him, and the nagging feeling of tension budding into his relationship. Something he does not know how to navigate, and has never faced before.

Because of this, it’s best to approach your discussions with precision, and sincerity. While the approach at times can be a little… hurtful, the sorcerer is far more accepting of blatant honesty than sugar coated truths. It’s apart of what attracted him to you, and is a selling point in your relationship. Really and truly what assured him to take the steps to take the dive.

Overall, he’s near dynamic in his responses. Assuming nothing touches far too close to home in which case, he is quick to fall off the deep end and allow his actions to possess his consciousness. As we have witnessed firsthand, Choso cannot sympathize with individuals with sibling conflicts—not out of bitterness. I think to some extent he can be considerate and empathize with the common familial battles such as the limitation of hot water, that one sibling always demands more attention, or the grubby fingers that always take the last dinner roll, but nothing so deep seated as intentional strives to hurt one another aside from petty sweater borrowing.

No issues that intentionally subject siblings to unnecessary injury, physical, emotional, absolutely none of it--- he will not be able to hold his composure. And he may end up adopting the afflicted sibling.

I can see him butting his nose into any of your family problems more than you may like. All of it is sincere, and not intended to come off as judgmental as it often does, but for Choso, it’s easy to blur boundaries when it comes to family. His lines are not clearly defined within his own family, and its certainly easy for him to expend more than he should.

So it’s to be expected that his borderlines are fuzzy when it comes to your own family ties. You will likely have to save him from overtly demanding laws as he is likely to sacrifice far too much of himself to help. On the same end, you’ll have to rescue your family from him if he detects underlining themes of abuse.

His pressing into family affairs whether his or your own can become intense and a little rigid. His standards at times can be downright unforgiving, and this applies to how you handle your family as well.

Fighting with the Death Womb Painting can be a very emotional tinted affair, and you will have to be forth coming about how your behavior has contributed to the source of strife. Anything short of admitting your fault in the verbal dispute will leave him with the impression that you are genuinely unaware of how you have played a part in the dispute, or that you are trying to manipulate the perspective. Neither of which will end well. Not because he is likely to outright reengage.

He’s more likely to back off the entire affair.

Choso has such a difficult time processing emotions in general let alone when they run extremely high. As a natural born protector, he has a deep seeded fear of hurting loved ones, and will go to extreme lengths to avoid conflicts. He’s a natural peacekeeper as the older sibling, and quick to simply sort things out, or burry them with lock and key.

Not only does this run the risk of extreme health issues and eventual combustion that will be downright vile and vengeful, but it also places an extreme strain on the relationship that will open itself to a multitude of miscommunication. The reality is that in attempting to keep the peace, and bite his cheek, the curse wielder is likely to appear extremely cold and detached. To the point of bordering into insensitive that can leave you with the feeling of emotional abandonment.

During these times in which he believes he is preserving the relationship and defending it, he is completely unaware of how you have grown silent during dinner, that his shoulder recoils from your touch.

Dead bedroom ahead.

It’s because of this that owning your part in the conflict is the preferred route to voyage down. Withe he will still attempt to safeguard the relationship and stuff down that little bit of conflict, with a gentle approach, he’s likely to come undone. The concept that you would handle him so delicately is foreign to him. He’s putty.

I’m not joking. While the Death Womb Paintings care and would die for one another, as the oldest brother, Choso has always bore all of the responsibility. Has entrusted himself with the task to carve a path to the future whether it was a course that was a painful duty or not. He always took the responsibility, and a part of him wishes that he had the inner strength to do so in a relationship, especially in the beginning. He very will try to fake it, but it’s not going to be… successful.

Choso grapples with self-doubt. Just as he claims responsibility, he also bears the burden of all failed attempts and conflicts. Even the smallest of infringement will leave him with the impression that he has failed his brothers, and all others within his vicinity.

Though he will never admit it, it’s evident in the way he carries himself. How he lingers on every word, expresses the knot in his throat as he mulls over every detail. The sorcerer craves validation. Reassurance that he has done the right thing, that he has always done the best with what he was provided. More so, he is especially delicate when it comes to criticism.

An unexpected people pleaser, I mean I don’t blame you for being surprised at how his mouth draws a natural line, but for those he cares about, he cares so deeply for the opinion of those within his circle. So much so that any slipped comment can bruise his ego, and create a small wedge between the two of you.

Though if you were to adjust your input into something constructive with ways that he can improve, or ways that you would prefer how he approaches something in your relationship, you would be amazed that any anxieties will be nullified. He’s leaned into every word you utter, an advice you have to offer.

Especially if this is bedroom talk, he is taking mental notes if not actual physical notes for him to recite. He really does want to learn, he wants to do his best, to be his best for you, and if you are willing to offer the road map without any pretenses, he is ready to set sail.

Truthfully, for Choso a bit of patience in arguments or disputes can approach everything with more ease than you would expect. Especially as time goes on and he feels secure in your relationship, he will be much more forth coming. Choso is a deeply passionate man who can allow his inner desires to drive him, and to know that he has ever come off as uncaring is devastating. He will do everything within his power to ensure that this never happens again.

Another reason I feel he could be a candidate for a yandere.

Jealousy is a delicate topic for Choso. On one hand, in the early stages of a relationship, it is as natural as breathing. It is as simple as the fold of his fingers through your own as he clutches them tightly, anchoring you to his body as his teeth meet at unforgiving at the slender curve of your neck, and the bruising of ownership that follows.

Coupled with his natural self-doubt and the circumstances of his birth and the treatment of his siblings, it goes without saying, Choso is not a trusting man. He is cautious, and takes every movement with sincere disposition, ready to withdraw at the slightest detection of something lurking beneath the surface. Trust is not easily earned for the Death Womb Painting, but his scorn if he feels he has been wrong certainly is. Ask Itadori.

In the beginning, he has the tendency to become jealous over small little things. Such as the joyful flit of your laughter that meets his ears as your giggle at another person’s joke. He can feel his nose wrinkle, the arche of his brow, and the clench of his teeth. Though it does not occur to him that he is angry until he has nearly ripped you from your seat. Oh, gods does he feel remorseful for it later, but for now... his priority is separating you from this threat.

How a name keeps dripping from your tongue as you discuss your day-to-day, a repeat customer, a friendly co-worker, all of it has him clutching his fists and biting his teeth, but the moment you dare to praise him. To admit that you found this person’s work ethic commendable or dare to express that you find this individual reliable, he can be quite vengeful in his handling of you that night.

Remember how I expressed how he can be especially vengeful? You dare to flirt with another, you will find that he will do everything within his will to remind you who you belong to, and if it has strayed further.

He’s toying with how he will enact his revenge.

However, I don’t feel like this would last forever. Truthfully, in the beginning he is weary, nervous, and frightened. It was so easy for others to become manipulated and danced into schemes that they never intended. He just doesn’t trust this perpetrator, even if you do so yourself.

If you haven’t guessed, it’s not materialistic offers that elicit his jealousy. A person offering lavish bouquets or gaudy jewelry is not likely to attract his interest. Rather he’ll meet them with a stale, dead pan stare as he tries to fathom why they thought this would ever work on you.

You can expect that as time goes on, Choso is more subjective, a little more tamed than he was in the beginning stages of the relationship. He feel secure in your reassurance, in your sincerity, and the tender reminders you sprinkle to the kiss upon his cheek only furthers his safety. Reaffirms the security in his life, and eases all of his fears from his shoulders, and so, he can for the most part, laugh at any who dare to attempt flirting, knowing fully well that he will savor the elicit rejection your return to such offers. His smile is tucked into the palm of his hand.

No, it’s the simpler approaches. The man who leans in close to whisper into your ear, the way his hand grazes your own, how his eyes meet your own, these are the type of things to have him boiling in range, a lethal aura radiating off him.

It comes without saying that Choso is fiercely protective of those he deems worthy.

It’s not intentional to be resource guarding. Even though it has flitted over to that area. It is in many ways, the genuine side of his nature. He is guided by his concern, by his love, and is rooted in all of the best intentions. He adores you, he worships you. The curse dipped sorcerer yearns for security, to know that all is well in your world, and that you can live without fear—and he will make sure of it.

So much so that, Choso’s protective nature can seize all of his thoughts, and can kidnap all of his senses to a place far out of touch, allowing his desires to shelter to run rampant in its wake.

He will go to extreme lengths to protect those around him and will sacrifice everything to ensure your and those he cares for’s safety. At all costs. He will not hesitate to safeguard what he deems precious.

And because of this, any infringement can be especially ruthless.

In love and a committed relationship, physical touch will be explored with great consideration. He did not dare to approach Yuji with the more explicit stuff, but took the advice for the beginning stages, before being pushed more explicit material by Tuskumo. Oh she delighted in giving him everything in her inventory as well as suggesting specific paragraphs. Yet, you will find that for all of his research, he is almost sloppy in his initial approach.

He’s touched starved, desperately yearning to wrap his fingers around your own, thread his fingers through your hair. To press promises, lifelong promises to your lips as they meet his own. Etch his soul int the press of your skin and succumb to the depth of your cry as everything he has read is out the window. Guided by lust and devotion.

Though at times it can be easily to believe that Choso is only committed to physical touch as a love language because of the sexual nature, and way he gets far too carried away, it could not be further from the reality. He is guided by his deep need for connection. The implied depth of intimacy that comes with this step.

The poison blood wielder is not the sort to simply entertain someone’s bedroom because the need has arisen within him. He’d rather just take care of that himself. The yearning is not something he is unfamiliar with and can easily fend off if need be. Though he wouldn’t dream of spending time alone when you have all his yearning. No, it is the weight of your hand in his own. The significance of causal embraces, the ability to trace the lines at the high of your cheeks.

There is nothing that contents him more than to simply snuggle against you in the dead quiet of the night. The sense of pride and assurance he feels as you tug on his hand in the public streets, or cozy up against him during a winter stroll.

Words of affection do not come naturally to Choso in many ways. The most familiarity he has with the concepts is that of an older brother consoling a younger sibling, and for obvious reasons, this will not fit the bill in a relationship.

Choso is a man of action and believes strongly that the way he handles everything--- the meaningful approaches he takes to pour himself into the other relationship is proof of his devotion, and the concept of having to verbally express this can cause him pause.

There’s a stall as he attempts to navigate the concept of unabashed praise. The first round of attempts will result in muddled sputtering that in no way bears any resemblance to speech. His ears bathed in red, and the way he averts his eyes. As time goes on, he will successfully articulate broken speech patterns to thread together some form of praise, compliments that are sincere, but mangled. Small cracks in his voice, the shy touch of his knuckle against his cheeks as though masking his reaction to his own feeble voice.

It’s extremely difficult for him to articulate his feelings, to offer sweet nothings without pause, and though it may not seem it, he truly is trying. It just may not be as fluid as you desire in a partner. Maybe one day he’ll get there. But he may not.

To be fair, any word of praise you offer him will be delicious, but oh will the response be even more so. If you have a kink for blushing, lay into him.

Gift giving will be… comical.

I’m so sorry, but…

You can imagine that the only experience that he has with gift giving is buying small gifts for his siblings, little pinwheels, stuffed animals, and toy cars that he had witnessed small children playing with on the street. He has no idea what constitutes as a good gift for a lover. He certainly knows what others Tsukumo would recommend in the adult content. But that doesn’t feel right, by any means, and so he is left to lament staring at packages.

Package within each hand, the knot of his brow as he struggles to understand the implied meaning behind each gift. The significance of either, befuddled as he struggles to understand why Tokumo would suggest such options, or what it is they do. Yet, despite the sensual images plastered on each package, he cannot fight the gnawing feeling that this… isn’t right. He can feel the knot that has begun to settle in the base of his throat, choked in frustration as he struggles to determine what would be a good option. Until the pat of a hand meets his back happily, unaware that he had drawn the attention of a sorcerer, Takuma. The grin from ear to ear as he pats his shoulder nonchalantly, never quite grasping the necessity of space in greeting before his eyes fall to the items in his hand. The forced smile of the younger has simply assured Choso, that this isn’t it. And as Takuma muddles through the awkward expression that is fitting on his brow, an inquiry of what he’s up to settles the matter fairly quickly and erases the extreme discomfort from the interaction. Allowing Takuma to simply settle into a reassurance figure that simply nods when Choso expresses his intentions, and pauses with a soft smile. “I think you should pick what feels right.” Easing the explicit images from the man’s hand, and encourages Choso to think on the gift rather than follow another’s suggestion. Following the older being to wander vender to vender, and welcomes the smile that forms on his face when Choso shows what he has found. “I think [LN] would love that.”

It’s always going to be good boy Ino, but were’ here for Choso.

It’s a bubble wand.

His gifts will be small tokens, composed of everything he can recount you sharing with him, small things with a bit of assurance in the beginning that you would never turn down, such things as candy, bubble wands, paint kits, little things that almost seem childish to an extent, but are placed in the sincereness.

In receiving a gift, Choso will keep everything you offer him, even if he doesn’t understand why you would gift him, whatever this is, but he is pleased none the less to accept it. A small smile as he accepts the gift, and holds it with delicate fingers. He’ll treasure it, even if he never uses it properly.

With Choso’s natural care taking tendencies, it’s no surprise that Acts of Servie is not an area that he struggles in. He is in many ways far too devoted to it that he often comes off more micromanagement than affectionate. Yet, the duty he takes to take care of your every wish and need is not one that should be overlooked. He is affectionate, and thoughtful. Quick to pick up extra creamer for your coffee, or your preferred milk [dairy, goat, almond, or even oatmilk], he simply knows you need it for your afternoon tea. I also imagine that he will do his best to try to learn how to navigate this electric kettle, but it will definitely be a few go rounds until he has it right. Maybe a few fires, again he is not accustomed to this modern world. Give him time.

Quality time is Choso’s preferred love language, and one that comes naturally. Any free time he has, he is content to drift into your orbit. Just to remain at your side. Whether you wish to go on an outing, to explore some zoo in the area or theme park, even a movie date, but for Choso, he’s honestly content to just linger nearby as you finish work, or are engulfed in a recent game release. Low key is amazed at your ability to control that little box with blue and red on it. Becomes excited when you offer to teach him, and the press of your front to his back as you guide his fingers.

There really is no struggle to have him spend time with him—he is so eager and forthcoming to gift you every moment he has to offer. Regardless of how you desire to use it. He’s just happy to be near you.

The reality is, to be loved by Choso is to know commitment. It’s to know unwavering devotion that will not fade as eternity claim you. It ‘s sacrifice, it is long hours placed in one another’s care. It is the stern of his voice, a light reprimand as he tenderly cares for a laceration at the side of your cheek. It is adoration verified by the dedication of his presence. The relentless hours he pours himself into the vow of your relationship. It’s gentle touches, the way his fingers curl around a strand of hair as his gaze lingers to your lips. It’s the late hours as his eyes wander your figure, the gentle way he tucks the blanket to your sleeve, and whispers sweet nothings at the marks of his admiration that lingers upon your exposed skin. It’s simple pleasures, small moments of intimacy, and of innocence. To be embraced for childish delights such as playing on a swing, or the meticulous way he weaves arbutus, azalea, orange blossoms, and daffodils into your hair all bearing significance. Strands carefully tucked behind your ear. To know the security that there is no other in this existence for him, to know that an existence without you at his side is meaningful, to know his affection will never stray. Nor will it be claimed by another. Its loyalty laced in every fiber of his being, evident in how his eyes stay upon you. Trace your figure, memorize your laughter, and lean into your touch. It’s love that knows truth, and valor poured into his blood and bones, and bent to security. Into love, into you. To know that you are the son, and he is the delicate sunflower that seeks your gaze.

He will remain by your side.

Regardless of what dangers he faces.

His life is yours to claim.

#choso x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #choso kamo x you #choso kamo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x you #thesorcerersinarelationship

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helloescapist · 1 month

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In Case You Haven't Noticed...

I'm back!!! 🥳 I cannot express enough how HAPPY I am to see it so full. I am grateful, and am working my way through the inquiries and requests. I am also going to be picking up my routine schedule and checklist while I do this. I am so excited!!!

I have included what I'm currently working on, and intend to release soon! Order to be determined. Please note that Content Warning(s) are subjective to change at my discretion.

See you soon,

Tsuyo

[none of the artwork listed below is mine, all original credit goes to the artist.]

The Insect Pillar prides herself in maintaining her composure, but in rare moments, her tongue can be as lethal as any of her concoctions, and in the wake of her wrath, she must piece together the shambles of ruins her scorn left in its wake.

Content Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, lover's spat, planned as SFW, rage, a little compulsive, and obsessive undertones

To dance with the devil in the moonlight is to submit one’s will, soften words that tantalize the spirit, and dull the senses. Whispered nothings drifted to shore, and hushed oaths that distract from lingering depths. Tainted promises threatened to drag you under, a love that you can only wish to survive.

Content Warning(s): dark tones, gaslighting, horror, angst, intended to dip into yandere territory, manipulation, various abuses, cannibalism, themes may be triggering for some viewers, caution is advised.

Within Reach sequel, the shatter of ice, and the pause of breath, small glimpses of life slipped between fingers, siblings torn a part by fate offered a moment to reunite, but to love something is to let it go. With the hopes that it will one day… return.

Content Warning(s): spoilers for Infinity Castle Arc + Shinobu and Doma's battle, mentions of death loss, depression, angst, hurt, eventual comfort.

The Hashiras with a Family |Obanai Iguro's installment

Content Warning(s): spoilers of Obanai's background, themes of abuse, PTSD, emotional and physical neglect

The Hashrias in Bed | Obanai Iguro's installment

Content Warning(s): NSFW, Kinks, depictions of sexual themes, libido, foreplay, absolute notes, etc

Kicking off the Sorcerers in a Relationship series, Choso Kamo. Depictions of what Choso as a relationship partner entails from attraction, courtship, commitment, and more.

#demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #choso x reader #🍡tsuyospeaks

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helloescapist · 1 month

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Full disclosure I got lazy and called it a day after looking at hand references. This is also finger painting because I have yet to replace my stylus.

Just sharing what I imagine the reader for The Secret Life of Chachamaru looks like.

#Because why not #I think he's cute though !

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helloescapist · 1 month

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Request: Yushiro x male ENTP Reader

Format: I'd like a mix of headcanons and short fic, if possible

Lady Tamayo gets a new demon assistant (y/n); a grinning trickster who seldom takes anything seriously and often uses his blood demon art to mess around. This infuriates Yushiro, who doesn't understand why Tamayo even keeps y/n around. And why on earth does he have to complete tasks and go on errands with him?! Yushiro was doing fine on his own, thank you very much.

However, as he gets to know y/n better through work, Yushiro realizes the two actually have a lot in common. Y/n lived a normal life with a family who loved him until he fell terminally ill. Tamayo offered to turn him into a demon, an offer y/n accepted. However, his family didn't accept the change and attempted to murder y/n, no longer seeing him as a member of their family. With nobody to turn to, y/n attached himself to Tamayo.

Yushiro and y/n grow closer, and after Tamayo's death, retire to live a peaceful life together.

Hello, hello,

I want to express a genuine thank you for your requestion, and initiate a sincere, sincere apology. Your request, well, it became a little derailed from what you asked for. It just screamed, Cheshire Cat, and I sort of... made an OC of you/your request. One that I do intend to visit in future shorts for Yushiro, but none the less, I sincerely hope you can forgive this. I am sincerely sorry Anon, I hope you are still able to enjoy this, and it isn't too far removed from your request.

The Secret Life of Chachamaru

Word Count: 6062

Setting: Yushiro x male!reader

Content Warning(s): malexmale, yaoi, Chachamaru AU (possibly a little out of character for the beloved feline character), character is actually Chachamaru, a little rushed, SFW, mentions of gore, small spoilers for Yushiro + Tamayo in the Infinity Castle/Sunrise Countdown Arc. mentions of sickness, depictions of lead poisoning

Summary: following the fall of the infinity castle, and the triumph of slayers over demons, Yushiro is left to face the loss of Lady Tamayo. Muddled, smeared with blood and gore, it is only through the comfort of his old friend Chachamaru that can ease his burdens, and allow him to look to the future.

A/N: I placed the reader to be born towards the end of the Edo Era, but just younger than Yushiro as I wanted for Yushiro and Tamayo to have an established bond.

You could feel the touch of his calloused fingers. Cracked, and broken skin that remained gentle and warm despite the number of fine lines and abrasions that lined his palms. The dried flecks of onyx blacks and oxidized browns clung to his fingertips, blood buried beneath his nails. The faint scent of sandalwood laced in the gore that littered his clothing.

Horror touched upon the flesh of his hands; brain matter strewn to the linens of his clothing. Draped across the lines of an unfamiliar uniform, a sad attempt at masking his nature. The heaviness of his eyelashes burdened, as the small touches of devastation touched the edge of his eyelashes. Drawn downwards as delicate lavender eyes trembled as his fingertips gently traced the orange patch across your forehead. In all the ways you preferred, years of training petting techniques into the demon before you evident in the way his body submitted to autopilot. Delicately allowed his fingers to trail along the pink of your nose at the quiver of his bottom lip and the hitch of his lower lashes. Naturally evaluating the care of his beloved companion. Pained by the state of his beloved Chachamaru held between his hands, mangled, and marred. The devastation of your state, a righteous blow to your pride though the smallest part of you enjoyed the obvious concern it elicited from the stoic man. He had worried for you, of course he had. Faintly responding to the blink of your golden eyes as you peered into his moonlight kissed features. The touch of pink of his own nose, rubbed raw in his state of misery. The bags that had accumulated beneath elegant orchid eyes, aware of the rattle of his shoulders, and the tightness of his breath hitched at the ache of his breast. Yushiro’s snivel caught, choked back as he forced the corner of his lips to curl. Delicate, and soft as he regarded the touch of your fur, luscious despite the circumstances of your body. Far too engrossed in the gesture to acknowledge the way your large ambered eyes followed the smallest of his movements. Committing this moment to memory, his movements detailed, and evaluated. The way your heart ached as his fingers tipped strolled through the high of your right cheek, delicately traced the orange patch tenderly allowing his finger to trace from your tear duct danced across the top lashes of your left eye.

Faint in this touch, careful to remove the debris that had gathered across your features. The rubble that clung to your whiskers dragged across your sensitive sinus. Snapped at your buccal cavity through your nostrils. Throbbing drenched in blood, sweat, and gray matter. The dirt that had clutched to the ends of your fur, muddied the whites of your pelt, an infringement of the beauty of your coat. Bits of gravel snagged into your ear tufts, agitating the pinna. The delicate way his fingers ticked across your features, sensitive of the abrasions that littered your state proof of your valor. Though the sentiment did not seem an act of brilliance to the man who stroked your cheek sweetly. The ache of his heart danced upon his fingers, eliciting the faintest of purrs from your soul. Warm, he was always so warm. Rubble between your eyes, traced upon your nose. A favored place in the last two decades often sought by Yushiro to nuzzle against “Chachamaru” during times of stress such as the mid of day hidden amongst the shadows when his sprawled talisman had grown slappy. When exhaustion would cling to his features, akin to a security blanket. Though in this moment there was no usual sign of the clip of his brow. Nor were his eyebrows drawn, and his lips did not pucker into a scowl. Rather, a tremble stimulated his expression, strangled. Twisted from the tight expression a vague recollection of the times in which he had to entertain the public at the clinic. Yet, this was… different. Mournful. An… expected display vulnerable despite the wandering eyes of kakushi at his side. The rare expression without fear of exposure as his smile faltered, and the tears begin to gather at the corner of his sharp eyes. Chocked back the bitter vile upon his expression that pained your heart in its silence. The tender regard as his hands caressed your heart, allowing extra attention to tracing circles at the corners at your large feline ears. Such intimate care is usually offered in the silence of night, at the flip of a page as his warm voice echoes in your ears. Enticed you to take advantage of circumstances, beckoned you to curl into his lap. “C-C-Chach,” his voice cracked. Ached as it struggled and rumbled beneath his breath as he fought for the words pressed between the sobs that threatened to spill through the cracks in his pride. Anguished to hold his composure through the rattle of his bones with each tight breath as his fingers relentlessly traced circles to the edges of your right ear. The familiar gesture, comforting and poignant, “a-amaru, L-Lady,”.

You knew.

The rattle of your own bones, the clutch upon your skull at the moment of her death, rattled as though claws had dug into the pits of your temples, wracked and harvested the essence of thought. Sunk to the pit of your stomach, you knew, and yet, yet in his consideration, Yushiro pressed as though a shattered being that endeavored to consoling a child. To hear him this way. Broken, and battered amongst the wreckage of the Infinity Castle. Topsoil exposed to the surface; bedrock shattered across the carnage. The scent of death that clung to the air, crumbled beams, and exposed wood. Sundered from its security, secrets exposed at the loss of their beams, craftsman, and paper shattered and torn from the layers of sediment. A testament to Yushiro’s will, to his rage. A testimony of his love for the mistress of his strength. The escape of rodents, and the fleeing of insects that sought suffrage. The lull of their security robbed and devastated as the demon who was renowned for his lethal tongue’s armor disintegrated before your eyes. The sharp of his canine devouring his bottom lip as he fought for the words that could not rise in his throat. Salt that poured from his cheeks and choked to his shoulders. Yet, yet he continued to allow the delicacy of his fingers to work their nostalgic comforts at the edge of your ear. The hollow of your breast touched upon the kindness Yushiro expressed despite the shattered emblems of the life he had known littered his features. The medically trained illusionist before you delicate as he worked to assist your regeneration. The crack of your four paws beneath the attachment of your severed head. The blood that trickled from your fur ached across the curve of your spine. The tingle of nerves realigned, and splintered bones that formed callous. Joints that caught to the clip of your skull as you regarded the roll of his tears.

The comfort of his fingers, and the delicate scent of saffron. Nostalgic, and vulnerable so alike and yet unfamiliar. A shattered husk of, and yet, he continued to rub his fingers. Mask the horrors of loss and devastation. Ached at the touch of his fingers as they danced across your patterned fur. Delicate as the day you had met him.

The comfort of his fingers, and the delicate scent of saffron. Nostalgic, and vulnerable, so alike and yet unfamiliar to the man. A shattered husk, and yet, the rub of his fingers masked the horrors of loss and devastation. Ached at the touch of his fingers as they danced across your pattered fur. Delicate as the day you had met him.

The candles flickered, casting shadows across papered doors. Danced and dwindled, captives of the stagnant. Their flame stifled to the close quarters and clutched its luminosity. Threatened to snub its light from existence. Shadows that appeared hollow against the shoji, robbed of their salvo. Their once joyful illumination forced them into small rooms. Stuffy and stripped of ventilation coerced into silence by doctors and white cloths. Ghosts of laughter, and shadow puppets lost against the grain of the exposed beams. Incenses to mask the sickness, that dripped into the fabric of your linens stripped from silk. Stale and clothed in antiseptic that burned the senses. The air dripped amongst medical sutras, tainted with intentions. Stark against your sensitive, rubbed raw and denied of familiar comforts, friendly attendants, and the sheltered security of your former quarters. Loneliness bathed in the confines of an inner sanctum of your family estate.

Memories of a former life haunted the ebbs of fraying ends of your recollections. A time when you were playful, age had little meaning. One so free to explore, unbound by poverty, and bathed in riches. A family title for you alone to claim for the future, a wash in the confines of your quarters now. Back then, it was the movement of your name, the purpose of your birth. The benefactor of your freedom, petals of a camellia to frolic amongst abandoned lessons. The shadows of trees conceal your midday naps of deserted duties. Grand heists of robbed pastries, and angry chefs. Scandalized maids at attempts to parachute from the rooftops past the security of the castle walls, an adventure elicited from the tales of western men in ridiculous outfits and dipped in foreign language. Dolls crafted from the finest of silks intended dull the boredom of instructor, the one such time tucked into your bedding to take your place in the dead of night when your heart desired to gaze upon the stars at the festival of commoners past the trenches of your home. Pieces of sword play that decorated the callous of your palms, the rage of retainers that struggled to navigate your natural pension for footwork, and the expiration of your lazy swings. An insult upon their pride, the bellow of laughter it would draw from your father, languid strokes that were reminiscent of kabuki performances your nursemaid Haya had accompanied you to many times. Days spent wreaking havoc upon her mundane days, the only woman who dared to accompany your antics with a lecture of manners and etiquette. The only confidant who dared to share the confines of the innermost sanctum. Subjecting herself to the risk of infection or the curse that threatened to diminish the household.

The memories of the caretaker she had been so many years ago dipped into the linens of a basin. The distinct drips of water that echoed amongst the stifling hush of the space. Her long fingers posed, the tales of age in her movements. Fine lines that had begun to wave to faint colors as the fingers wrangled the linen. The faintest of white marred flesh caught the back of her left hand, a scar she had received so many years ago. When you were playful, when you roamed rooms heedless of the décor. A physical a testament to the loyalties she bore for you though you were far too young to understand the significance of a woman disfiguring herself on your behalf.

Fought the confusion of the phantom that slipped into her place. Recollections of a woman with chestnut hair who had yet to be claimed by time. Her features that dared to coincide with the older woman before you now. The touch of a lavish hair pin that bound grayed hair unlike the one the younger illusion bore. Far more detailed, delicate, and weaved. Far more cared for than the ghost of the past’s simplistic design that reflected war of abuse. Muddled, and tugged on the lines of memories you struggled to place together. The hazy reflection is a mere mockery of your current state. Joy robbed from your lungs and sank to the pit of your stomach. Ached and dower, the nausea pooled at the strong odors that fanned every corner of the room. Gargled sickness that met the coolness of the cloth at your back. An old figure of Haya, who’s mouth did not budge from its sedative state attempted to rub the fatigue from your form. A cusp of who you had once been, no longer capable of bearing your own weight, let alone a blade. A mere rasp of breath that trembled your form as her fingers now well practiced at bearing your weight and the task at hand. Haya’s eyes as poised as they had always been despite the white lines that had touched at the corner of your eyes. The draw of your brow as you struggled to understand when the woman had grayed. The touches of frustration that caught your consciousness. Only growing more present as she tended to the shell of a child incapable of tending to itself. Robbed of life, hostage by an unknown illness. Far more victimized than you dared to admit, more than Haya would dare to coddle.

Days of illness that claimed the weight of your muscles. Husked your consciousness and rattled your gastric. How quickly the symptoms had claimed your entire being. How quickly you had succumbed to the loss of appetite, how quickly your body yielded its abilities, and gave way. Days that had succumbed to weeks, weeks that drew your conscious, and slipped into months that robbed you of prior capabilities, before giving way to years that locked you deep into the center of your home. A plague locked away from fear of exposure, oblivious to how long it had been since Haya had sworn herself to your service. Of the dangers she exposed herself to time and time again to care for you. That remained dedicated to your education despite the unfamiliar touch of tomes between her fingers. Wielded a paintbrush when the weight became far too much for your fingers to bare, delivered notes from child to mother in the dead of night even when the responses had begun to fade. Continued to show though the remainder of the castle had since grown silent and bid reasoning when your mother’s presence slipped between your fingers. Continued to share news of the state of affairs at your request, even when it decimated her heart to share the news of a child when all hopes of an heir had passed with your confinement.

A topic Haya had not approached with the same enthusiasm as you, much to your disapproval. The fade of her hair appearing even more faded from her features. Soured at the line that drew to her lips as your voice trembled despite itself. The condition of welcoming a child having claimed what remained of her own health, and naturally the return of your letters. Quickly seize the moment to her dismay, the traces of the child she had cared for throughout the years reflected in your timing, “How is mother?”

“Young master, please save your voice,” she hummed. The touch of dryness and hesitation posed on her tongue.

“H-haya,” you weakly mewed, “h-has she been unbale to eat?”

Silence pressed between the knot of cloth rolled in circles that cusped at your rigid shoulder blades. “It is to be expected. Childbearing claims a toll, all is well.” Clueless of the twitch of her right nostril, or the way your large eyes caught the tale of her fib pressed into her cheek.

“Mushrooms, s-send” you rasped with each breath. Unmet with a response to your words just as stern of the bath cloth that rubbed at your sweated state weak against her hold. “send, the merchant. T-Taka? Tama? H-he knows how to find mushrooms. I-in the mountains.” Struggled pieces of memories, touched upon years of stark air at the wiggle of your eyebrow. “D-dango. Mother is fond of the dango sold by the stationer. W-we could go—”

“YOU will do no such thing,” stern and frigid. Quick to catch the threads of your strategy. The shatter of glass that touched upon the cool of winter, and the howl of the estate’s roof tarnished against your will. Haya always had a talent for detecting the touch of defiance, and in your fragile state, she had become especially gifted in sniffing out antics. Far harsher in her reprimands than she had been so many years ago, quick to anchor you to this sorry state of existence. Shacked to the confines of your room, her eyes as sharp as any blade you had ever been capable of drawing as she depicted the fine lines of your imprisonment. Her steady hands making quick work of the fresh linens, secured the corrupt discards into the folds of a basket. The faintest of tremble in her routine eager to leave your side. The realization drawing bitter contempt in the pit of your stomach and a scowl upon your brow. The grit of your teeth as the handmaid’s expression mirrored your own. Firm, and unyielding as the winter night save for the break of a soft sigh as she drew herself to her feet. The hem of her faded kimono barely in sight. An oddity form her usual cared for state. The small touches of rayed ends, perhaps the result of her old age as her thin frame leaned forward just enough to cusp the thick of your bangs. Her hand far smaller than you could recall, gently rustled through the strands. A pressed smile in her tone, “Lord [YN], sweet child, your mother… requires rest. As do you, please. Understand.” Her fingers drew the softest of circler motions from the arch of your nose to your forehead before falling to your ear. Just as she had done in your toddling years, how she would sooth the tears from your eyes so long ago. Though the gesture was delicate, you could not fight the sense of abandonment. The wound of pride that refused to settle upon your brow, rejecting her gaze. The track of the door sliding behind her, and signaling that once again.

You were alone.

Left only with the company of gossip that seeped through the cracks. Rumored that passed from maid to maid in the depths of the sanctum. Dipped from view and believed from ear shot. How long had it been that you had been confined to such an existence, that not even the help did not remember your presence? All evidence of their praise, of their longing for approval washed from the estate, and identified by loose tongues. Fearless of reprimand the bitter understanding of how far you had fallen from esteem. Forced reclusion, holding little more cards than a fallen daimyo. Uttered whispers of an early arrival, uttered about a frail creature. The tolls of labor that had taken far more than expected by the physician, the lady of the estate in duress. Utterances of the shame of the fall of the young master, accusations of a curse that had befallen the Head of the Household. Damned to lose those he cared for, and the tug of your fingers at the collar of your nemaki.

Your lungs burned I the dead of the night, struggled to heave in the frigid air. Muscles strained from unfamiliar exhaustion. Unaccustomed to roaming as it once had freely, the heave of your shoulders pressed against the mon. The structure lavishes, and commanding. Far more than enough to conceal your state of fatigue. The rare state of peace drawing lazy shuffles of guards, unbothered by the dark corners of the estate in which you begged for air. The dark of the night, and the faint touches of the moonlight as you struggled to manage on your feet. The pads of your feet ached against the stone walkway. The tips of your toes screaming in agony as you forced your skeleton forward. Winter rattled against your bones, the hakama you had worn so many years before the fateful day you had been confined to forgotten quarters. Snug against your hips, the difference in your height inevitable, the cut of the fabric no longer bearing resemblance of a proper hakama attire befitting of a firstborn son of the samurai class. Rather, resembling a jinbei of the lower classes hiked just above your knee exposing you to the crushing winds of winter. The snow beneath your feet crunched painfully with each step you forced at the rasp of your lungs. Exhaustion threatening to crush your resolve as your grasp on memories begun to dwindle. Having exhausted recollections through your navigation of former escape attempts had faded into the present of the day, distorted and confused at the shift of buildings. Taller than you remembered, new? No, maybe? The turn of your head struggled and rasped slow to comprehend the shift of your surroundings as your form folded into the snow. The light slipping from your eyelashes.

He had found you back then. Face dug into the snow, practically frozen, and struggling for air. Younger back then than he was now, and unaccustomed to medical practices. Left only with the uncertainty of bearing your weight upon his back to seek assistance from his mistress. Why, you had never thought to ask. Though when you had come to grasp the scent of calendula. Sweet and floral notes that clung to the fingers that adjusted the cloth upon your brow. The unusual scent, and the warmth of youthful fingers. How long had it been? The joy of company, of one your age drawing you to clasp his hand in the dwindle of candlelight. Forgoing practiced manners as you cupped his hand to your cheek, to savor it for just a moment, clueless to the grin you bore, or the horror the response had elicited in your savior. Brought only to realization to the way he howled to his lady’s aid though it prevented very little of your own complaint as you attempted to lean upon his retreat. Beckon for just a moment longer pressing further even though he had anchored his padded sock to your cheek to ensure distance between the two of you. The slew of insults he had yowled to the beams, to the floorboards as you had attempted to pursue his company.

You, you had been so naïve back then. Youthful, and naïve, or perhaps, it was your optimism that had led you a stray. The desperate attempt to cling to mortality though Lady Tamayo’s diagnosis had confirmed the worst. Her offer to extend your life through her own force was enticing. The opportunity to live once more amongst the household. To greet your father in practice swordsmanship, to earn his praise once more at the dip of your quick toes. Her vitality uttered in the dark out of Yushiro’s ears, quick to wash his hands of you after such close contact, had brought back more energy than you could have dreamed. Ensure the return of the son. Of playfulness, of laughter, and of joy. Of mischief that danced upon the gardens. To deliver the sweet treasures from town for your mother, to bright up her existence once more. TO return her appetite to her side, to meet the child she had born. To know its name, to greet its first smile, and to witness its wandering amongst the corridors as you had once done. It was all so… wistful than what had happened. Your return, a phantom of what you had once been—Lady Tamayo had warned you. She had expressed your life was tied with her own. A mere figment of the child you had been, The consequences of your return marred as possession. A baneneko amongst the gardens a manifestation of the curse that had claimed the first-born child. A mocker of his form, adorned with cat ears, and flickered hair that had been dyed orange in the candlelight when you had accepted Lady Tamayo’s grace. The crass of your once black hair, bordered into the paleness of phantoms, struggling to comprehend why your mother had screamed upon the sight of feline features born upon her child. How she had clutched an infant to her breast, mournful rattle of curses for the child she had lost.

The explanation had died upon your lips, the shatter of priceless vases shattered amongst the pillage of her room. Desperately seeking to defend the child at her breast. The maids that had elicited hushed horrors. Shattered the waters of your return and stripped away the illusion you had fed yourself after so many years. The scuffle of retainers, bound by ropes and akin to the blade of your father. Haya’s scream, All of it, was a blur. A faint figment of a past you had fled in the night hours, scrapped from the approach of dawn, your exhaustion or perhaps, the trauma had resorted you to the state Tamayo had warned. Submitted to four paws once more, and collapsed into the snow. Found only by your mistress, and her attendant. The careful hold he had met you with back then. So tender, and considerate. How bitterly he had sworn curses at those who would leave scars upon such a beautiful creature, and the lower of Tamayo’s eyes. Her silence regretful, and to bear the responsibility for your loss. For your life, the slips she had allowed. Offered to tend to you, regain your form, and carry the weight of your burdens. Though, you did not hold her to such a claim. Rather, you submitted to her side. Accompanied the duties amongst the sunlight as her familiar that she could not bear. Delighted in Yushiro’s care when your words could not emerge. Days confined from daylight to be spoiled in his care,

When your form had greeted you once more, you hadn’t the forethought to consider how it would impact your relationship. Rather upon your return to his side, you had been quick to fall into old habits despite the way his horrified reaction had met your ears. Confused at the grabby, death bound boy he had met so many years ago defying the odds at he flicker of a cat’s ear as he dared to force yourself upon him once more. Some part of you enjoyed the touch of horror in the pitch of his voice and sought to keep what he knew as Chachamaru separate than your state. Rummaged havoc upon a clinic, free to go as you pleased, held together by Lady Tamayo’s silence, and the adorable way the scowl drew upon the spell weaver’s face at your antics. Misplaced bottles, touches of flipped books, targeted customers that dared to press further than they should. Seized upon the opportunity to test a younger man’s will, utilizing abilities to slip from view. Free to shatter the peace of the night clinic, delighted to shoo away ungrateful inquiries. Delighted in the uttered antics that Yushiro would confine in Chachamaru of the wanderer who drew his ire, oblivious way his lips would betray the ghost of a smile.

Yes, long ago, you had made the choice to keep the two separate. To delight in the joys of your life as you once had, to return upon mission in the dead of night at his side. To ensure his comfort, to ensure his warmth, and when Lady Tamayo had offered a more… permanent arrangement, all too aware of what fate awaited her. You had accepted without much consideration. The chance to remain at his side. To stay within his touch. You told yourself that if it was Yushiro’s desires, you would live the remainder of existence as Chachamaru To submit yourself to a life upon all fours, to relinquish the freedom of your form. To chain yourself to an existence as a mere condolence of his loss, of Lady Tamayo’s care. You had accepted the terms, though she had never damned you to such a fate. Take care of each other, she had whispered leaving no implications of what such destiny entailed.

It had been so much easier to bound yourself to such conditions.

Until the tears slipped from his eyelashes. As the snot caught upon the top of his lip, and his eyebrows quacked as though he were a small child that desperately missed the comfort of his mother’s sleeves. The rattle of his bones that robbed you of your own breath. The witness of his stat, mournful and destroyed. Confined to a fate he had not agreed to. Alone. Confined to the light of the moon, kept locked away from the presence of day. From people. From warmth, from comfort. From the touch of another, no such creature to remain at his time to catch the tears that spilled from his cheeks as Yushiro’s forehead met your own.

The quiver of his brow struggling to comprehend the shift in form. The weight upon his lap, and the arms that enveloped him within their hold. Caught upon the back of his head. Attempting to sooth the ends of his hair as though consoling a small child. The flutter of his eyelashes, caught between his tears. The wordless acceptance of a troublemaker’s presence drifted from Chachamaru’s place that regarded his loss with delicate understanding. The unsure flip of your ears to pinion against your head as your gold eyes gazed upon his. The bit of his lip, fumbled into his heart. Grasped at the situation, smart as he has always been. The relief that followed at the ache of his breast that trembled within your hold. Relinquishing his weight into your arms as the depths of his despair became your own, the soft way he whispered your name into your neck as the tears met your skin, allowing you to embrace hm as you had attempted so many times throughout the year. His breath to become your own in the dwindling of the night, drifted into eternity.

A few Yushiro+ SFW Relationship Headcanons with a ENTP Male!Reader

An unexpected relationship that one would struggle to understand. Though with patience and time I mean you have more than enough of that. It’s a relationship that can bear wonderful results.

Where Yushiro hesitates, you are bod. Where he is practical, you are adventurous.

In a mutual relationship where respect and trust has properly been cultivated, communication will never be a problem between the two of you.

You will find that in many ways, you think alike.

And while Yushiro is more often than not detailed oriented, he finds your ability to adjust to the big picture a comfort that can help him to release his clutches on your existence.

In doing so, you are the answer to a happy future for Yushiro, one in which he is less bound than he would otherwise have suspected. One in which his paintings of the late Lady Tamayo are not held in anguish, but in faint recollections in the clip of your large eyes.

Reminiscent of her own. The way small little bit s of herself have been adorned into your existence both as Chachamaru and bled into your own habits. The way you hold your chopsticks as you ponder something he had whispered over dinner. Thoughtful at the way you gnaw at the tip of the utensils. A small pout as you do so.

Little traces of her slipped into your existence the result of your lives having once been bond together.

You help him to remember her, to touch upon her existence, but at the same time, you are not her, and as such, it can come up from time to time how he regards you. Often times more stiffly than he should, far too willing to offer a hand in walking as a means to assist your navigation of paths. Just as he used to for his lady. The immediate abrasion of those who would dare to greet you pushed back at a bitter tongue, just as he used to do for her.

Oblivious to how you desire engagement. The opportunity to socialize amongst the night streets with curious passerby who are intrigued by your “cosplay”.

The realization often sends a bitter wave through your core, and results in a level of push back. It is an unintentional source of conflict in your relationship.

Though you may wish to snap at him from time to time, irritability can at times be a part of your personality, it is not something that should be approached harshly. Yushiro’s own temper can get the better of him more than not, and you will end up in quite the lover’s spat if you allow your tongue to lash out.

Rather, the issues of your connection with the deceased bleeding into your relationship should be addressed with appropriate discussions. A level approach in which you lean upon his logical thinking will land far better than asking him to consider your perspective. You are not Tamayo hurts, but it’s impactful.

Though Yushiro is a meticulous individual, you may also find yourself frustrated from time to time at the speed in which his brain works, and how quick he is to dive onto topics at hand—I mean you’re already fighting, now seems like a reasonable time to draw up all grievances and air them out.

Though I know it can be difficult in the light of day, be sure to allow each other as much space as you possibly can. It will certainly be easier in the depths of night. He will not fight your escape through the window to the roof, nor to the neighborhood night market to banter with grocers or enjoy visiting a noisy bar. So long as you understand that during your escape, he has claimed your home to give himself time to proceed with the fight.

The reality is that you two are in many ways different than one another in terms of how you process information, feelings, and your environment, and it will require a bit of patient to fine iron each other’s quirks. It WILL require give and take.

Yushiro is dedicated to preserving his relationship, but he also has a tendency to believe he is right, and often unbudging. He will not yield easily, and the bright side is that you do not have the tendency to take things to heart.

You would have to learn to savor moments huddled into one another on a night in, and other times, Yushiro will have to swallow his pride, and allow you to parade him through a night festival and delight in where you will lead him. Which, he is far more willing to follow where you lead if you allow his trust to properly bloom.

He requires consistency and reliability.

If you allow yourself to be as flighty as your heart often claims, you will find the progression of your relationship not only rocky, but incapable of submerging. Though understand, he has no desire to change the manners in which you approach life—he is adjusted to the usual antics you depict, and your habits to be carried away with the wind.

He wouldn’t change it by any means.

Yushiro secretly delights in the comfort of time alone from time to time, but finds reassurance that some things never changes.

There is no need for excuse, nor a verbal sparring match.

Just. Leave. A. Note.

It’s really that simple.

I can imagine you utilizing the ability to shift into your Chachamaru form more often than you should-- especially when you realize that it is a near instant win in arguments. shame on you.

More so, I can imagine that this revert form is often a great way for you to save energy, and so I can imagine that you find yourself in this form when you are feeling fatigued, or sick.

Imagine Yushiro taking care of your little fever and whiskers.

He takes satisfaction in rubbing your ears just as he used to. More so, he can see the way you still lean into his touch when his fingers graze by your right ear. Putty in his hands, and it's the familiarity of the gesture that has him petting you (cat form or not) more than he is willing to ever confess.

He melts when you take him to a night cat cafe. Though he will never openly admit how happy he is. Such inquiries are sure to elicit a dower mouth pucker, but you are far aware that the kittens in his arm, clung to his pants, and resting upon his head are proof that he is enjoying himself.

Though part of you is jealous that others are cuddled up against him.

Don't be. Yushiro is a dedicated man, not that you need to be told. He takes his commitments very seriously, and with Lady Tamayo's approval of him to remain at your side, as the last piece of her that roams this earth, he is bound to you. His heart will never stray.

The worst you will have to prepare for is the doting I mentioned earlier.

Life in the modern future with you will make his existence far brighter. There is comfort in your willingness to adventure. On his own, Yushiro is willing to confine himself to a small apartment on the edge of existence.

With your free-spirited warmth and curiosity, he is likely to discover that there are few who would suspect his circumstances than there were so long ago. More so, you will find that there is a kindness in the wanderers of the night.

You’re accompanying him is comforting, and if you have given him time, given him the space to come to you as you know to do—you will find that Yushiro will very happily take your hand. Allow you to lead him into the adventures of the night.

#demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny x reader #kny yushiro #yushiro x reader #kny yushiro x reader #🍡tsuyospeaks

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helloescapist · 2 months

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Hey, sorry for disturbing, but I got a notification a while back that I was mentioned in a post you made, but cant find my name anywhere, so was wondering if theres been a mistake?

Hi!

No disturbance here. I'm back! ❤️❤️❤️ it seems there was a mistake. I had for sure expressed my thanks for wishing me a happy birthday, and invites you to play in a tag game. I'm not sure why tumblr isnt showing you the post, but No pressure! You dont have to respond to any of them. ❤️

#🍡tsuyospeaks

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helloescapist · 2 months

Note

Happy Birthday! Today is all about celebrating you and the incredible person you are. I'm sorry for not replying to your ask during the holidays but I really appreciate it and I hope it's okay with you that I keep on supporting you in the background.

Anyway, I'm here to spread some birthday cheer your way! May your day be as bright as your smile (I have a feeling you can be quite jolly), as joyful as your laughter, and as heartwarming as your presence. Here's to many more wonderful years ahead. Enjoy every moment, you deserve it!

🥹 Thank you Anon. Of course it's okay, your comfort comes first! I am so grateful to have you, and I hope you know I am always here for you.

#🍡tsuyospeaks

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helloescapist · 2 months

Note

hi there

girl how are u doing? i'm missing your writings 😭😭 however, i hope u are doing great and not overworking yourself during this time off

anyway, i have a request and i hope u can make time to do some hc about the hashiras and how they deal with gossip. i mean, if they do like spreading them or just hear and add some more information or like start to spread misinformation without the intent. i just think it would be really funny and interesting to hear your thoughs about this topic

that's all xoxo

Hello anon!

I have greatly missed being here, and interacting with everyone. I am happy to say that I am back! I hope you are doing well, and I have to say that I am especially grateful for this ask. Leaving my classroom at the end of my course was heavy, and I really miss those kiddos, but this was such a fun ask! It was a wonderful distraction <3 Thank you!

The Hashiras Workplace Gossip

Word Count: 6700

Setting: hashiras x gn!reader [platonic, but could be romantic if you squint.]

Content Warning(s): mentions of gossip, suggestive tones, calls of chastity, rumors, he said she said, topics may be triggering for some readers. please read with caution.

Summary: just a few headcanons about how each of the Hashiras approach work place gossip, and rumors.

The Water Hashira

Gossip is not something that Tomioka is particularly fond of.

The swordsman views such idle chatter as a waste of time that serves no real purpose. It is a mere distraction from work tasks, drawing mizunoto astray with its every posed word, distracting kakushi’s duties, and results in oversight.

There has been a time or two in which he pretended to remain unresponsive and even more in which the cackling hens did not realize he had risen when retrieved from the battlefield, battered and bloodied, the drawing of his consciousness and the slips of whispered words in hushed giggles. Kakushis that spoke brazenly of relationship statuses, of advancing ranks by tasteless tactics, undermining abilities in favor of some grandiose promiscuous gestures that signified short skirts and revealing uniforms. Shameful accusations of limitless wealth for higher ranks squandered from the lower tiers, doubts of capabilities drawn due to age and flighty tendencies, and depictions of monsters born from scars.

No, he has lost count at the amount of times the rumors passed between kakushi despite his obvious state of awareness. Last known recorded number was 31.

This is not to say that Giyu has not attempted to lay such banters to rest. Many times he has tried, and rather than success of imparting enlightenment to the naysayers, it would appear that he merely added rapeseed oil to the fire.

Tomioka’s reassurance that Shinazugawa’s scars were merits of his bravery became morbid despite the self-assurance of his stride away, convinced his righteous lecture had landed.

It had not.

Passed from mizunoto to kakushi, and back again, it was only a matter of time before the night sky of his eyes met that lavender bathed in rage. The writhe of his scar wrinkled and furrowed as his brow, wreathed venom, and poised lethality at the claims that had met his ears.

The Water Hashira had misread the dip of the mizunotos’ chin that met their color bones, the crease between their eyebrows, and the exchange of glances. Oblivious that the state of his “scolded” subordinates had only reached the natural conclusion… the Water Hashira lived in fear of the Wind Scourge.

Kocho expressed that Tomioka deserved it—his face has such an effect on people. Pity.

Tomioka has high standards, and he holds himself in high regards. He is not the type to seek out gossip, and to an extent places himself above such drivel.

He’s lying.

Let’s be clear, Tomioka does not actively seek out gossip, and he certainly isn’t the sort to take part willy nilly. He does not crave the drama and meets a majority of the social aspects of drama with severe tension. I swear he has digestion issues. Yet, despite his unwillingness to participate, there are moments in which he is just as a likely victim as others.

I mean, he’s always a victim of topic, but anyways…

Small tidbits here and there are likely to pique his interest, and he truthfully may not even be aware that such secondhand information is gossip. The small mention that Tanjiro has become smitten with the Butterfly Estate tsuguko will have him pondering how he may be of assistance to his subordinate. He can’t, but such endeavors come naturally to him. He is loyal, and despite his inability to properly socialize, he really does want to help.

And so,

Tomioka has entered the world of gossiping.

He is wandering amongst the mizunoto, inquiring of interests. Pocking around amongst the kakushi who often frequent the Butterfly Estate, picking up details of interest, favored snacks, and preferences. All for the sake of providing assistance to Tanjiro in a letter, he would never say this to his face.

Blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil his curiosities have elicited amongst the Demon Slayer Corps. The majority of members horrified that a superior officer has taken an interest in his clear protégé’s lover, the even fewer pleased to see a bit of warmth crack his icy surface—not realizing this is not the look of a man in love, but rather a proud older brother.

Sir is genuinely confused as to why the young trio of butterfly estate attendants are in tears upon the sight of him, urgently waving him away, or the horror that afflicts Aoi’s features as she demands to know if he is in fact, stupid. The rampage of flipped sterilized medical supplies, and the casualties of kakushi who found themselves in the way, as the small woman pillages all in her path.

Only Aoi can save him from being strung up by his toes and left to freeze beneath the winter moon.

Truthfully, the Water Hashira’s ability to either elicit rage amongst his peers, or go unnoticed is an ability to be reckoned with, and yet, he very rarely utilizes such underhanded tactics to his advantage. Like distracting from the allowance of a new member of the corps to keep a pet demon sister. Though if your name has been gathered into the gossip seis pool, Tomioka will do his best to clear his name. Completely unaware that he is about to make matters worse.

His stickler tendencies can often be suffocating, and when he does utilize common workplace gossip to distract from something major, the target is more than often easily distracted. For all of his open disdain for gossip, he has a fairly soft spot for his partner, and can turn a blind eye for a bit of venting.

Let me be clear, VENTING.

Bits of frustration slipped through your teeth as you racked your fingertips through your nails, determined to find a solution, but first to sponge the memory from your thoughts. For the most part, venting leaves him… a little displaced. Does he help, or would intruding with suggestions just… make things worse? Do you wish for him to only listen, or even tune you out so that you can take a deep breath of air, and rejuvenate from the occurrence. Everything in him wants to help, but in most cases, venting is… really intended to clear the slate so that you can start a fresh. And so, he’ll bite the inside of his cheek, allow his brow to meet as the worried pause steals his breath away; the cup warm against his fingers as he prepares your own.

Just, don’t stay in this place.

Or cute, joyful gossip. Such as the gleeful way you squeal, your cup of tea warmed to your fingertips as you share soft details of him, having just returned from a mission in which you aided the Love Hashira and the Snake Hashira. Unable to contain the kick of your feet as you recant the tender scene in which Obanai offers his hand to Kanroji beneath the moonlight, holding only the softest gaze. He had absolutely no clue that the two were intertwined, or even interested in one another, but hearing your delight at their progress. the small melancholy that fits at his chest as he listens.

The Insect Hashira

The dribble of fools.

Kocho isn’t dimwitted. She understands that the idle banter is a mere means of escape from the day-to-day horrors experienced by the Slayer Corps. It’s a means of normalcy passed from grocer to mother, spread throughout villages. She can remember briefly how her mother giggled at small snippets of daily life in her childhood. At the time, it was a slight annoyance. An obstacle at best, designated to bring her mother entertainment, and derive the young Kocho of running amuck. Far too much time spent at the grocer.

From her mother’s hem to the clutch of the tweezers between her fingers, the white of her knuckles revealing her impending rage. Her vein throbbed against her forehead as the pinches of her lips elicited pain at the clutch of her jaw. Kocho’s smile is deceptive to the untrained eye, a false sense of amusement at the celebratory of a mythical relationship coined by mizunotos desperately clutching at invisible fine lines.

Only Aoi can detect the flicker of her bottom eye lid in time to remove sharp objects from the medic’s reach.

Shinobu has been more than forth coming of her opinion of Tomioka in what world would she ever---- Gossip is nothing more than idle idiocy that blossoms from a lack of intellectual pursuits.

Truthfull, the Insect Hashira is far more than aware of the significant emotional impact that gossiping can project on the wellbeing of others, and is begrudgingly accepting of its existence as a means to ensure the continued care of the Demon Slayer Corps.

But she’s still bitter that anyone would dare into the relationship status between the Water Hashira and herself. The even rarer accusation that her affections has begun to cultivate fondness for Shinazugawa. The accusation alone to bare enough dishonor against her sister. Her blood boils to know these dimrods would dare to drag her family name through the mill for entertainment.

It would be more accurate to say that it is not so much that Kocho condones the utilization of rumors for socialization, but rather, she refuses to acknowledge the passage of whispers in the Butterfly Estate. Only turning her sharp gaze at those who utter her, or her sister’s name. For the most part, she allows it to pass. Refuses to muck herself with hearsay when there are far more productive duties to attend to. Those that would bear far more merit than determining Kanroji’s breast measurements. Clearly 32D.

Yet, there are rare… opportunities that present themselves from time to time.

Small little pieces of information gathered amongst the medical ward that align with observations she has accounted for in the past few weeks. Details that cannot help but become interlocked with little intentions on her part. Shinobu’s brain works fairly quickly, and she cannot help but notice the links between certain Kamado and the way his eyes float to her little sister.

Then, there are far more delicious attributes she picks up from time to time, and Twhile Shinobu is by no means once to actually share what information she has picked up along the way, that does not mean that the less intelligent specimens *cough Inosuke cough* are aware. As sharp as the grin that drips with her lethality, and knowing gaze. Heightened senses of pray all too aware that they have been caught in a predator’s clutch.

She has been known from time to time threaten to allow her tongue to slip details to Aoi that has Inosuke running for the mountains like a truffle pig after rare medicinal herbs.

Kocho is especially delighted by the state of duress upon his return. His boar mask shaking from side to side, unaware of the state of him as grass catches from cloth and fur, to the ends of his luscious hair. Clueless at the scratches that mare his flesh, or the likeliness he has obtained internal bleeding from plummeting from cliffs to return, frightened at the sight of her whispered against Aoi’s ear. The indignified squeal that erupts as steam furrows from his nostrils.

Oblivious that she had merely asked Aoi to clean the herbs he had retrieved.

His adverted eyes, and veins at his cheek as he dodges the trainee for the remainder of his stay in the medic ward as satisfying as any ginger sukodani.

The Flame Hashira

His gaze was as steadfast as the blade at his hip, a symbol of duty and honor. Loyal to his master, and the calling of the code, dedication etched in blood, sweat, and sacrifice. Solemn, composed and practiced at the bend of his back, the willingness to press his forehead to the ground beneath the master’s feet. Determination to duty, called upon by the flame, and etched in smoldering temperatures the epiphany of a Pillar.

A samurai’s honor.

One would never suspect Kyojuro of passing fancies of the flesh, of the tongue, or even the ones of entertainment.

But they would all be so, so wrong.

Let’s be clear, Rengoku is after all, a man of dedication. Of devout faith to his cause, to the slaying of demons, and stoic to his own nature. This is the same man who hindered his own auditory capabilities to ensure the completion of his liege’s command--- but this is the same man who cannot help but greet everyone that he meets.

The Flame Pillar’s generosity knows no bounds, and his smile is far more forthcoming. He is not the type to shy away from casual conversation, often delights in sharing little tidbits with grocers, and is even more pleased to savor what advice they may pass on.

Because of this, Rengoku is far more in the know than the majority of the Hashira. Unlike a few of them Tomioka and Obanaij, the kakushi who tend to his needs are far more willing to engage in conversations. All too eager to bask in the warmth of the sun, and in reality, speaking with Rengoku is akin to releaxing beneath the rays on a bed of spring grass.

Thus, when the Flame breather happens upon two kakushis busied with chores, whispering amongst themselves, the small snippet of a sorted love affair amongst Hashiras spoken far louder than intended how else would he have ever heard them. Rengoku cannot help but drop to his knees, wedged between the two of them. An eager puppy to join in the kinship of work place discussion, even doing his best to fold the laundry as he makes his inquiry. The muddled state of folded linens pressed between his calloused battle fingers, and the warm smile as he regards them.

Who can blame them for sputtering it out.

Both of which are left with a searing, overwhelming pit of regret as his fingers meet the cloth at their heads. Reassuring as his warm voice echoes across the gardens, expressing with his fullest intentions, that he will see this matter properly attended to, and thanks them for sharing with him. Both far too guilty, knowing that the Flame Hashira has absolutely no concept of differentiating hearsay from facts.

Only furthered as they hear his external monolgued, expressed he had no clue that the little Kocho sister had an affection for the Water Hashira, he must assist him immediately. No, wait, he knows nothing of women. He must consult Uzui, and then speak with Tomioka.

They will soon learn from the head of the Rengoku caretakers that such gossip must not reach the Flame Hashira’s ears, their little flame must be protected at all cost. Though, they had suspected upon his departure they had made a very, very poor decision.

To be clear, it’s not so much that I doubt Rengoku’s intelligence and his ability to eventually determine rumors from evidence. In time like a dog with a bone, Kyojuro will have realized that he has been duped. More often than not, the hard way Kocho’s grin seems to press him in a haunting fashion.

Rather, it’s that I feel like the Flame Pillar was brought up in a fairly traditional family dynamic, and gossip is not something that would have been common place amongst his parents. More so, both of his parents appear to have rather stern dispositions when it comes to their moral compases, and I just cannot imagine them being the sort to discuss the latest topics passed along the Ubuyashiki Main House.

Because of this, I imagine that this is a fairly new skill set that he is working on.

Know that Tengen has not provided as much assistance as he should in such matter. Partner in crime, I know it.

As a man on a mission, the Flame Pillar has unintentionally allowed rumors to start as mere sparks, small kindles that would be abandoned in time, and lost to the night air, a new life. Kindled, and spread across ashes, and nurtured as the woodchips that feed the tale. Rengoku is the sort, to spread gossip in all of the best intentions.

Such as his willingness to provide assistance to the Water Hashira in his blossoming youth, to the abundance of pride he expresses in his tsuguko only providing circumstantial evidence to the manner in which Kanroji has climbed the Slayer hierarchy. Never once intending to insinuate deeper meaning than the words uttered between his grin, and the beam of his praise.

He is truly, by nature, a social firefly.

When the news of an elicit rumor passes his ears, threaded together from details from one kakushi to another, or admittedly, the shamed loyal ones within his service aware that their master is the source… there is no more a devout remorse than Kyojuro.

The heavens will know of his tarnished honors, of his remorse, and self inflicted servitude to those he has unintentionally wronged.

The Sound Hashira

There are few things that entertain the former shinobi. He has lived many lives, and shed far more skins than a single man has ought to, and as such, run of the mill workplace gossip is not at the top of his concerns.

Information elicited in scandalous ways, extracted, and exploited whether the rumor bares merits, or not.

It reeks of shinobi business.

A life he has long since shed, and abandoned with little remorse to leave in his wake.

There are far more entertaining activities Uzui can pass his time with, maneuvering through the redlight district, dancing across waterfalls, encompassed in the throws of passion with his wives—there is very little that the dull conversation passed between mizunoto and kakushi can do to garnish his attention.

As such, he is very rarely entertained, let alone an active participant in gossip for the most part. It’s something he just finds bland, and boring. NOW, to be the center of the gossip shines and peaks beneath the sun. to leave a trail of rumors in your wake, and to be the topic passed amongst the subordinates.

That’s the sort of flashy business, the Sound Pillar can get into.

These little glimpse of a third person point of view are what provides him with delight. A moment beneath the sun, and small amusements. Regardless of how drastic they may be, or down right shameless, Uzui will do little more than to laugh at the concept of bloodied battles left in his wake, or to hear that he has apparently seduced a princess from her jewels. Although, the idea sounds tempting, Hina would never forgive him.

However, do not be fooled. His lack of involvement is not born of moral merit, nor is it pressed by duties or other attributes. We have seen first hand that Uzui is quite the connoisseur and far more than capable of retrieving what information suits his needs. Rather, it’s more the incentive. Other people’s lives are far more boring than his own. They are dull and lack any sort of luster, unlike the brilliance of his own existence, and as such, he is more than not—bored to tears by the concept of what is scandalous in the lives of subordinates.

A scantily clothed woman as a means to climb a hierarchy later is nothing to snub your nose at. Rather, it’s to be commended if such approaches were in Kanroji’s arsenal.

In part, it is likely his own existence that has made such rumors lack luster. His former life has given him more than enough insight into how such things can take on a life, but even more so, his intellect, it takes very little time to pick fact from fiction. Truthfully, he almost pities those who would fall for such little tidbits.

Almost.

Uzui cannot help himself when the Flame Hashira visits him in these times, engrossed in the duty to assist star crossed lovers. The sincerity, sparkliy and delighted to assist those nearest and dearest to him. Tengen cannot resist himself regardless of Mako’s warning. It is the similar delight Suma approaches him after a trip to the grocer, brimming with joy to share that the grocer has landed himself a lover. He is committed.

A willing victim of circumstance and delighted to greet an old companion. It is far too easy for the Sound God to be spirited away in such conversations. He delights in fun, and discussions over drinks, and dinner are likely to allow his tongue to slip far more than they should.

It is only when he is face to face with Kocho’s wrath, and Rnegoku’s self-castration, that Uzui is aware--- it was entirely within his capabilities to stop this.

But, that would not have been as much fun.

The Love Hashira

Like her master before her, there are small tidbits that the Love Hashira cannot help become intrigued with. For one thing, little small things such as the rumors of a little boar in love with a medic is certain to send her reeling to Obanai’s side. Kicking and squealing as she does.

Her heart is a flutter, and her hopes are high, if there is anything she can do to support Inosuke, she will find a way!

These small little snippets of love in the air, and passion a foot is sure to draw her interest, and she cannot help but watch spring fever hit the mizunotos. At times, her own intentions can get the best of her, and she allows herself to read a little more into rumors than she should permit.

It’s nothing that is malicious—the Love Hashir has simply lived up to her title and seizes every opportunity she can to assist the seeds of connection amongst the intrigued.

However, she is far more emotionally aware than her teacher. Where Rengoku has the tendencies to miss over social cues, Kanroji is far more in tuned with those around her and is quick on the uptake. While her heart pounds at the opportunity to assist in love affairs—she is also aware that not everyone is ready for that step and will never push where it is not desired.

Rather, she will simply offer her love and support on the sidelines and pray to all the gods that the relationship will work out. She is rooting for them. And keeping tabs.

Aside from will they, won’t they relationships that are running amongst the Slayer Corps, Mitsuri meets the majority of rumors with ill ease.

There is obvious discomfort that spread across her face as her knuckle meets her rouge lips. Delicate eyes that are reminiscent of the first bud of spring fall to their eyelashes as she ponders the gossips amongst the halls of her estate.

Conflicted at the matter at hand. As the Hashira of the estate, she cannot simply condone the ill placement of idle chatter.

While the Insect Pillar may be able to identify the social connectivity that workplace gossip may bring, Kanroji can only see the wounds that can be afflicted on the unwilling spoken participants. Details of private’s life spread over dinner topics, passed between the rustle of sheets, or the lining of linens upon drying racks.

Delicate threads, pulled at one by one as they gently unravel. Stranded from one another, until a single thread remains untouched. Unbound.

Alone.

The Love Hashira is no stranger to the under belly of gossip. The small chatter spoken amongst housewife to mother, to housemaids, and shared with gardeners, and is painfully aware of what repercussions such implications may cause. Such as the loss of a proposal.

No, she cannot turn a blind eye to such words whispered in her presence, and Mitsuri is not the sort to join in especially if there is harm that can come of such thoughtless words.

No, she will banter back and forth with her internal monologue. Do her best to sort out emotions, from tact. Mitsuri will commit herself to the concept of strategy, depict herself with the clearest of intent, and as soon as she is confronted with the idle chatter once more.

It’s out the window.

The Love Hashira is somewhere between embarrassment, upset, and tears that follow her outburst as she begins to scold, and reprimand. All at the expense of a wounded party.

The outburst was one for the books, and Kanroji is hiding her head in shame.

She meant what she said, she does, but oh… what she had practiced versus what came out… is the difference between grace and word vomit.

She will hide for weeks to come.

The closest that the Love Pillar will ever orbit gossip, is likely to be in the form of tears as she expunges the day’s events, the horrors in which she burst out in a fur of vomit without being able to cap the explosion. Her sobs will fall between the shed of tears as she clutches your kimono. Horrified to allow you to see this part of her, but left with little choice but to pour her heart out to you.

Kanroji is likely to be a victim of a venting session from time to time, but this is as far as she will dip her toes into the rumor mill.

The Stone Hashira

Gossip is not a common place amongst Himejima’s childhood. The torn of incense, the sanction of rites, candles, and the gentle guidance of man’s will. Brought up in a monastery, the Stone Pillar is without attachment to such concepts. Drawn from the necessities, and Buddha’s guidance, such behaviors are not befitting of his upbringing.

Though truthfully, such concepts had never truly drawn his attention. Even when he was a boy amongst the visitors of the temple, wishing to better themselves in their lives, and light. He had recognized the early whispers. Small slips of the wandering eyes of mothers that held their children close, pressed one side by side. Intent upon requesting talismans for their young, interest caught at his presence a ward of the temple.

A source of curiosity, rumors pressed between fingertips, and hummed at the taste of tender gossip.

Age has worn him, drawn his concepts of such social topics, and idle chatter. Strained his relationships, the soft giggles of kakushis tender and soft. A mundane life, and delicate. There are parts of him, that hears small slips of a forgotten life.

Scorn pressed at the twists of the passage between mizunoto and kakushi.

The Stone Pillar can only force a smile to his wide lips, allow the sorrow to settle to the pit of his stomach, dredge in the depths of his soul. Tug at mirrors of forgotten sentences, and hummed to his being. Inescapable, and unavoidable.

Only touched upon in moments such as these, with only the rueful smile Gyomei can press to his features as he swallows the knot that forms in his throat. There is no ill will in the hearts of those that surround him. No intentions lurking beneath the surface, and yet, there is a knowing to his being.

A deeper understanding of the threads that his environment desperately clutches. Connection to the earth, and to those around him. Desperate to sink roots into their circumstance. Warned by the concept of ties to this earthly realm. A concept often robbed amongst their average day to day, buried beneath the depths of the façade of peace.

It’s desperation to feel normal, to feel a part of the world. Touched to those around them, clutched to shreds of normalcy that is greatly underappreciated by the citizens in their care.

Himejima is wise, far more Intune with those around him, and the pull of the wind, the song of birds, and the hum of the soil beneath his zori. It is because of this, he is self-aware. Conscious that the distinct pulls of the whispers of a past best left forgotten is not what is intended to be called back. Rather, it is his own ability to self-reflect, that makes him aware that this is none other than his old wounds bearing their fangs, not the reflection of those around him.

It is with this, Himejima can only smile.

Listen to the soft voices around him. To the lives that try to I’ve amongst the peak of clouds, to dare to reach for normalcy.

But, they are never conversations that the Stone Pillar will take place in. There has been one or two old members of the corps who have pressed such conversations, dared to engage the Hashira in conversation. Though, they never made traction.

Though there is merits for others in the social banters, to Himejima, such conversations are superficial at best, and for the axe wielder, he desires more. Soil beneath his nails, warm by sunlight, and to touch the soul of another. To hear their laughter, to know their dreams.

Just because he does not speak, does not mean that he cannot hear things.

The Mist Hashira

One would think that as the youngest member of the coprs, Muichiro would be the most likely to succumb to the lure of the rumor mill. His lack of social interactions outside of his familial bonds, and emergence into the world, makes him a likely candidate, but not as likely as Rengoku.

Though his interactions are as unintentional of that of the Flame Hashira.

As a wanderer, Muichiro is flighty. Curious, and easily distracted by the winds of change. He is a drift amongst the Corp members, and often guided by his wanderlust. His presence is spotty more often than not, and while he is bound by his sense of duty, the swordsman is not prone to remaining in a conversation long enough to truly absorb the discussion.

For the most part, he doesn’t care to.

There are rare discussions that will warrant his attention, and for the most part, they are centered around those closest to him, such as Tanjiro.

The iridescent of blues that flutter and saturate into the black of night, touched upon the flutter of a butterfly’s wings that catches amongst the sunlight. Dreamy, and curious as he wanders after it. Only pulled from its lull at the mention of his comrade.

Similar to a moth to flame, the peak of his ear caught upon the familiar name, Muichiro’s attention has been pulled and tugged, snug as he draws to the end of the side. As though a siren has whispered its sweet tune, he is unable to deny its call.

He is a wrecking ball.

Forcibly interceptive between the conversation, blatant and abrasive as he announces his interception. Unpacified by the kakushi’s clear reeling. Horrified to have drawn his attention. Terrified they have been cursed by a spirit. As he roars his obscenities, called to the honor of his commrades.

Muichiro has little remorse, and gossip often brings up the worst in him.

While he often struggles with remembering certain subordinates most of them, gossipers and chatters have landed a special place on his list alongside a round of snide remarks that accompany their appearance within his sights.

The smallest slip of rumors amongst pressed lips caught by the Mist Hashira, is met with a bitter response, and has likely landed you on his bad side for years to come. Little will right this wrong.

Young, and brand new to the world, Muichiro is not the type to fold to those around him, and clings to his idealisms. Gossips are not welcome in his company, and in truth, he finds the majority of it to be a huge waste of time. He desires to connect with those around him on a deeper route, much like the Stone Hashira. Perhaps to sooth the wounds of his heart, but…. Not all gossip is bad gossip..

The open praise of growth amongst the subordinates, the pride in which some declare their pride in their comrades is likely to elicit the opposite response… Muichiro loves the opportunity to sing praises of those who have earned it. Rare, far and few between, he glows at the opportunity to glisten. He practically comes giddy and offers one of the sweetest smiles as his words flow with affection. Happy to share cute little fun facts, down to the snot bubble that the older Kamado develops when he is especially exhausted.

Growing with each word.

Tanjiro. You know I’m talking about Tanjiro.

Ironically, it is in these moments of unelicited boasting that draws the touch of placed rumors. His glowing affections, unabashedly provided to the one recruit, and Kamado alone. Muichiro has single handedly fueled the fires.

Not that he cares.

I promise Ginko has written more rumors than the entirety of the main household kakushi alone. Little prim feathers has an agenda, and it’s putting her boy at the number one. At. All. Costs.

Obanai Iguro

Gossip has little concept to Iguro.

It is so low on his radar, that he cannot even constitute it as a waste of time. Truthfully, I think only small parts of it even catch his attention from time to time.

Equipped with luminescent star-crossed eyes, mixed matched eyes that contain galaxes, and depths unexplored. The cut of his eyes is sharp, and threatening, and it is without surprise that… Kaburamaru has more of an understanding of what’s going on.

I cannot make this up.

I can imagine the little moonlight touching serpent enjoying teatime with Kanroji and Rengoku, delighting in a treat or two as they catch up over their absence. The occasional mizunoto greeting Kaburamaru, often venting completely unaware of the depths of his comprehension. Or understanding why he flares when they complain about Obanai.

That being said, the Snake Pillar is not particularly interested in the social ongoings in the Demon Slayer Corps. The congregations of bodies pressed amoangst one another, desperate to depart useless information, he can understand why it is Kaburamaru may seek out the chatter amongst the winter, but for himself, it reeks of… contact.

The close courters, the touch of elbows against one another. The eagerness of maids to press into him, to touch his hair. Whispered appreciation of it’s luster, the wander of his eyes. Shamelessly seizing the opportunity to snuggle up to him.

No, absolutely nothing they are discussing is worth that.

For the Serpent Hashira, the only time he will meet gossip is when he slips between the corridors. Praying to remain undetected across the lavish décor, pressed against furniture. Doing the best to navigate narrow spaces, as the words of slander slip from pressed lips, a mock show of dusting a vase that only further elicits the swordsman’s rage. Master Ubuyashiki deserves respect, and… did they mention Kanroji?

Let’s be clear, Iguro has protective tendencies, as any snake with a possession worth safeguarding. Only those who have earned his recognition, his attention will warrant his protection. Regardless of where they may be, and what way the threat has been imposed. Physical, or otherwise.

Obanai has been known to snicker at the rumors that flow over Tomioka.

However, insults warded against Shinazugawa’s scars, or the question of Kanroji’s chastity are sure to illicit wrath, and none have been able to escape his punishments without scars.

I promise he has strung up a mizunoto or two for daring to insinuate that Mitsuri would dare entertain the idea of a relationship with the Kamado boy.

Obanai is intelligent, and in some aspects, he is likely to be able to seize the utilization of weaponizing information from time to time, but truthfully, he does not have the patience for such sorted behaviors.

Or rather, it’s that such topics that bristle him, such as the hinting that Kanroji has begun a relationship, or that the new recruits have witnessed Kanroji in the baths during their stay at the Swordsmith Village has him seething.

Quick tempered, and vengeful, he has not the time, nor the means to reel his emotions back long enough for a well thought out plan of revenge. His only objective is to devour everyone hole. Whether the rumors have merits, or if the target of such gossip is even aware.

The Snake Pillar has no forgiveness to offer.

Truly, the least likely to engage in gossip in my opinion. He’d really only listen to Kanroji’s vents/word vomits, or perhaps Shinazugawa imparting information from time to time.

The Wind Hashira

The Wind Pillar holds himself to his duties, has subjectifies himself to the life that he lives, and relents his wellbeing for the sake of others. The moment that he realized his marechi blood spelt death for those around him, Shinazugawa released what little hold he had on a normal life.

Like threads slipped through his fingers, Sanemi did not refute their loss, and refused to morn his place amongst the common folk. Rather, he accepted his duties without complaint, assured himself that to live this life in service was to ensure that his little brother would never know the pains of the night.

With such dedication, the Wind Pillar has quickly become a pillar amongst the Slayer Corps, and though often the topic of rumors that press amongst new recruits, his scars have stories that have taken lives of their own.

Yet, rare is the time in which he will intercept such conversations. Rather, he has submitted to such claims. Allowed gossip to run amuck, dedicated himself to his training, to securing lives. What he has will be proved in battle, in servitude, and protecting those around him.

What offers them, even the briefest release from their realities, Sanemi is willing to turn a blind eye to what he may say.

Perhaps because he too, misses normalcy amongst the sun.

Yet, there are rare slips in which the rumors can guide his temper. Flare his wrath, and break his façade of silence. Such as the times in which the mizunotos whispers sympathies for that Water Hashira bastard. Warmed, honey words bewitched by his pathetic sniveling, and convinced that it was none other than the Wind Pillar who bullied sympathies from the little shit’s mouth.

The mere notion that Shinazugawa had gone out of his way to threatened, not to even see the Water Pillar was enough to elicit his rage, and often times, sent him reeling. Storming through estate after estate until he had found the swordsman. Allowing his rage to guide the interaction with little remorse or thought.

For all his moral compass, like Rengoku, there is a crack in direction.

A small swivel of the compass, distracted by an attractive magnet. A small sip of conversation, the sweet whisper of curiosities, and hummed warmth. Such as the shy mumblings of a maid amongst the Main Household.

Pressed her fingers to her cheeks as an older retainer probs for details. Shamelessly engaging the conversion in the light of day, an inquiry of attraction for a particular gun wielder amongst the units.

Oh yes, small tidbits of loved ones is sure to peek the Wind Pillar’s interest. Though negative slips will react in elicited rage, Shinazugawa is fiercely protective of those who he deems worthy, and even so of those he is less than concerned for. Unwilling to allow those in his estate to act as perpetrators of others happiness.

Sweet little slips such as these, are impossible for him to ignore.

I mean, he’ll try. He will convince himself he is above such matters, scoff openly at the shameless topic in the daylight. Despite finding the way his ears naturally turn to hear more, chastise himself once more, before uttering bitter curses as he resigns himself to the task at hand. Information gathering.

The wind breather needs details. Needs to know more about this maid, about her inquiries, about how it is she has come to know his little brother, and what it is that has drawn her interest. Metts when she shares that it was that he helped her with her fallen zori. Someone in love with his little brother can’t be all bad right.

While I cannot say Shinazugawa will intentionally take an active place in gossiping, I can see himself involving himself more than he should. Such as in the case of his little brother’s love life.

especially when the life that he dreamed of for Genya is just within reach.

#demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny x reader #shinobu kocho x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #gyomei himejima x reader #tomioka giyu x reader #🍡tsuyospeaks

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helloescapist · 2 months

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You always fine such fun games, thank you for tagging me @@starryknight565 !

Get to know you game, answer the questions and tag (9) people you want to know better.**

Last song I listened to: "Almost (Sweet Music)" by Hozier

Currently reading: shaaamelessly catching up on everything @peachdues has dropped while ive been away, and catching up on Kusuriya no Hitorigoto/ The Apothecary Diaries.

Currently Watching: Welcome to Samdal-ri.

No pressure, and I'm not sure who is active... @amayre @archer-fb @strawberry-lemonade-kisses

Get to Know Me Better game

Answer the questions and tag 9 people you want to know better. Thanks for the tag @deliciouskeys !

Last song I listened to: "Alive!" from Death Takes A Holiday. I've heard so-so things about the show as a whole, but I really enjoy the cast recording. The show also has a very "Phantom Fugue"-like song called "Death is in the House", which isn't too surprising since Maury Yeston wrote both this and Phantom.

Currently reading: Oath and Honor by Liz Cheney. Christmas present/recommendation from my dad.

Currently Watching: I learned The Gilded Age is a thing! About halfway through season 1 now.

Tagging with zero stress, but I'd like to know: @horrorgirl4life, @christinedaaeunofficial @starryknight565, @sunshine-for-serotonin, @waistcoatntails, @lilyrosegold, @ollifree, @kosmochlor

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helloescapist · 2 months

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Enjoyed everyone's comments on the last one so much, here's another.

#I think youre an apple tree in may #Soft pink blossoms against the vibrance summer sky #Just about to blossom into something beautiful and unexpected to the untrained eye

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helloescapist · 2 months

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I pulled from across my life, and can't help but notice a theme...

Haruka Tenoha [Sailor Moon], Obanai Iguro [Demon Slayer], Gin Ichimaru [bleach], Kikunojo [One Piece], Toy I Fushiguro [Jujitsu Kaisen], Keisuke Baji [Tokyo Revengers], Ling Yao/Greed [Full Metal Alchemist], Riza Haekeye [Full Metal Alchemist], Momiji Sohma [Fruits Basket].

I've been out for a bit, am not sure who is active. Whoever wants to play feel free!

Expose your fictional crushes

This is life long top 9 (no particular order other than I’d push them all in front of a train to save Mando)

Han Solo (Star Wars), John Wick (John Wick), Joel Miller (The Last of Us), Hawkeye (The Last of the Mohicans), DIN MOTHERFUCKING DJARIN (The Mandalorian), Jorah Mormont (Game of Thrones), Darkness (Legend), Boromir (Lord of the Rings), William T Riker (Star Trek the Next Generation)

I’m new to Tumblr and don’t have any friends, but I can tag you if you want

#How did a tumblr game get so revealing #I have no regrets

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helloescapist · 2 months

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Psssst... it's almost April!

And so many drops are on their way. I'm so glad your still here; I'll see you soon!

Also, just literally me, surrounded by flowers and more flowers(weeds), lollipops, drawings, and a cookie cake. I am sitting on a bed of goodies, enjoying a few well earned comforts.

In all seriousness, and trigger warning+emotional dump, I have struggled with my mental health so much in my life--- to even thoughts of "disconnecting". I had never thought, I would be happy to say...

Today is my birthday.

I made it.

I started the day with soothing tears of one of my students (her pet passed this morning) asked her too tell her me funny stories about him that ended with the biggest hug, and her telling me, "your one of the bestedst things in my life". Yes, I cried.

Then the realization today is my birthday spread throughout the school with little kids (some even from other classes) bringing me little things all day, and weaving flowers into my hair. 🥺

I'm here.

I made it.

#🍡tsuyospeaks #Have so many goodies in store #Thank you for your wait and time #Drops to come

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helloescapist · 3 months

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bell! Why is this so CUTE??

good morningggg pls do this cute lil elf picrew ♡

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helloescapist · 3 months

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Don't say sorry! I absolutely loved the three parts you made for the "Sincerely" fic. Having more than one part made the dynamic between Daki and y/n seem much more natural and gave their relationship a slower-paced progress. And I know it's hard to find girlxgirl reader stuff these days 🥲, so I don't blame you

(Viper is officially my new nickname for Daki)

-🐼

I'm so glad you loved it! The idea --- a shy and patient reader for Daki just feels 🤌, this ask really wrote itself.

Confession, as soon as I saw Daki from her striking chartreuse eyes to her luminescent hair like the ventral, she reminded me of the Bamboo Viper. Viper is an adorable and fitting nickname for her!

unnecessary fun fact, I love snakes.

#🍡tsuyospeaks #sincerely

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helloescapist · 3 months

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Exams 👀

Lord, if its my time.

@lovelyless-fiction anyone who wants to try!

Zoom, the first thing you see is how you die👻

Sexual violence 🥲

@flamingblinglove @birinboom @mylovelyreblogs @demonbanger @devilsrose666 @desi-the-blue-eyed-kakushi @tenko-qai

Annnnnddddd anyone who wants to zoooommmmm in

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helloescapist · 3 months

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Sincerely, | Daki Headcanons

Word count: 2073

Setting: modern!Daki x fem!reader

Content Warning(s): girlxgirl, yuri, opposites attract, modern!AU

Summary: relationship headcanons for a modern Daki with a shy, introverted partner who is patient and affectionate.

Dear 🐼, I'm so terribly sorry for how long I've allowed this ask to drag on. The truth is, requests for a female character with a specifically female reader is far and few between, so I indulged a little bit. I hope this wrap up finds you well, and meets your expectations. Thank you 🍡 Sincerely, Part I + Sincerely, Part II

No one would blame you if you were to call it love at first sight. Kissed by an ethereal being, hair as fair as snow, and lips painted to shame even a rose from blossoming, fearing to pale in the presence of her beauty, Daki is bold where others would shy. Dares to tread where others would falter. No, no one would blame you for having your heart stolen by the goddess, but to say that Daki returned the sentiment would be a lie.

The first time Daki ran into you, literally, she could hear the other girls’ chattering. Whispered rumors and plunging into question of her chastity. The upperclassmen was already bristled by the early morning hour—she is by no means a morning person, but to have begun the day off with immediate call to her virtue followed by probing eyes by a curious, and clearly perverse gaze, Daki was quite ready to throw hands.

She’s not stupid and having grown up the way she has even in the modern world, Daki has always been exposed by the immoral gazes of grown men, debauched murmurs of hopes and exploration despite her age, she was used to being the object of affection for deviants and creeps a like. Although a girl was new for her, the most that often occurred were the result of prompted jealousy.

Women whose husbands had strayed, offered the younger girl gifts, and clearly questionable invitations, they had never considered their husbands as the orchestrators of immorality. Rather, they often allowed their envious hearts to turn a blind eye to how their eyes followed a child, she had been the object of their scorn. Swore her attentions, insisted she had enticed their husbands, begged for attention, and strayed from their marriages.

All orchestrated by a child.

Others felt envious of the alignment of her unnaturally pale hair. Light by the moon, or the early blossoms of her curvature when a majority of her peers had struggled to fill a B-cup. She had been abundantly blessed. Though none had considered how early her back had begun to ache.

Yet, as you collided into her. Straddled her hips, the clear quiver of your eyes, the heat of your blush that tipped from ear to ear, it had occurred to Daki, that none of her prior experiences applied. Her suspicions only verified by the clear retreat, the horrified quiver of your eyes when it had occurred to you how—excite you had become by the implication of her embrace amongst the crowded train area.

Coward.

As someone who has witness where weakness can lead, Daki does not offer any hint of kindness initially. Rather, she scorns your behavior. Find she nose wrinkling at each shiver of your shoulders, the way your cheeks ignite over the smallest things. The sadist in her is delighted, enjoys causing your heart to strum against your ribs, the rattle of your teeth against one another as you struggle to form an articulate sentence.

Yet, as clear as the hushed cackles of your classmates, she’s quick to catch on that she is not the only one to delight in your misfortune. The girls of your class has found entertainment. Noticed the curiosity of your lingering gazes, small slips of your sexual preference having drawn their ire, and as time presses on.

The way you continue to smile.

The nervous giggle as you pass the issue off, and insist on pushing the conflict to the side.

It. Pisses. Her. Off.

Open kindness, empath that draws and attracts to others, shielding weakness is not directly in her nature. Such open displays of feeble behavior attracts predators, and yet, yet you continue to stumble Rattle shy responses, with draw into your hidden world, so unaware of the whispers of those around you.

Opening up willingly was not an option, and having been met with the safety of your embrace, the quite acceptance, alongside your silence… you’ve never asked her about that night. Not that she would every speak to you of it, well, perhaps one day, but at the time, you were tender. And gentle.

Yet, you never hesitated to intercept.

Nor did you ever hint a touch of blame at her door, rather you simply… remained.

It’s ironic, the one shred of sympathy she had held for you, was empathy that you had repaid her. More so, it had drew her attraction. Cultivated an affectionate for you.

Really, Daki is likely to be attracted to the thoughtfulness of your nature. She is not prone to desiring the chance to open up, and I nfact, you may find it difficult to get her to do so. It will take a long time for her to unfold, allow you to seep into the cracks, and as time passes, she will allow you to see small sights of her if given the opportunity.

Daki requires a patient partner, one that can give her the time to blossom. To allow deeper part of her aspects to draw forth. The slips of herself she had long since hid in a desperate attempt to survive her upbringing.

Daki is a caring partner, and desires to dedicate herself to her partner.

Though she can be pragmatic, Daki is not satisfied with a relationship in which she cannot be her authentic self, nor is she satisfied only skimming the surface of her partner. She’s affectionate, painfully so, and terribly committed to her partner. In doing so, Daki can be driven to questionable lengths for her lover, drawn to questionable behaviors, and going so far as to deny darker aspects of their personality.

She will not hesitate to defend you. In many ways, she has inherited aspects of her brother’s personality. Daki can and will harm another for your sake without so much as an apology.

Harmony is a priority in her relationship, and truthfully in an attempt to maintain the relationship, Daki runs the risk of sweeping a lot of issues under the carpet in the hopes of preserving the mental picture she has of you—she does not focus on the future. All of her hopes, her dreams are in this moment. It can and will lend itself to risky behaviors, only reeled in by your concern.

Do not mistake this as Daki becoming a door mat, or a pushover. She is firm in her own desires, and her thoughts, and will not be swayed.

Daki will allow herself to be swayed by a majority of things, the sweet nothings that you utter, the fall of your words, but in the same regards, Daki will not take slights to her pride willingly, nor will she allow them with kindness. She can be biting when she feels her ego has been bruised, and will attack the issue on sight, regardless of the time or place.

For obvious reason, this could be a hint of issue in your relationship.

More so, you can expect that as a reserved individual, there will at times be a source of conflict in your relationship when it comes to social duties. Your outright continual rejection of experiences will illicit her ire. She can be patient, understanding even of your refusal to join, but if you are not willing to meet her half way and experience life at her side from time to time, she will become bitter.

Daki is however, a fairly affectionate person, and as long as you are always willing to meet her half way, she is willing to approach you to the same ends. If you have gone out with her a time or two, she will embrace your willingness to join her with open arms. Well, with the understanding that she will not be staying for a night in as well. Daki needs flexibility, but more than anything she resents being tied down.

Confinement will draw the fullest extent of her wrath, and you will find that its during these times she may stray.

Ultimately, as long as you remain a akind and patient partner, you’ll be rewarded with warmth.

The Hot Cheeto girl will adore playing with your hair, shopping with your complexion in mind. Go to great lengths to ensure that her girlfriend is dressed adorably, even if you shy away from her cooes.

I can’t justify it, but Daki screams Hot Cheeto girl to me, and I just can’t be swayed.

Being Daki’s partner means that you will have to subject yourself to intensive snuggles. One that secures your soul to her own, anchors you, and claims you as her own. Practically determined to knit her essence onto you, as though someone how the fragrance of her distinct perfume will deter all competitors.

Makes a point of showing up to your classes, and your work as you grow older—makes a big show of bringing your lunch to you. She’s not the best cook, but she cannot allow the opportunity to claim her territory for all to see is not something she can pass up.

Daki is playful, and often times dance son a fine line of childish and sadistic. The way she toys with your hair, or allows her finer to trace down your neck. Captures your cheeks, and quips a knowing gaze.

She lives for your blush and makes a game out of coaxing its existence.

Daki is snarky, her comments can be sarcastic and even biting, but all of them are drawn from love. Affectionate at its finest, sort of like a cat that demands attention, and upon receiving x amount of pats, realizes it appears domestic, and snips at the hand who offered love.

You can expect that despite how boldly Daki declares her love, and adoration, she also has a tendency to suffer insecurities. Likely the direct result of her upbringing, and at times, you’ll find yourself listening to her placing you in bizarre situations. Inquiries such as, “Would you still love me if I were a boy? What if I were a lizard?”

Will ask multiple times if you still love her, despite the fact that you took two trains ,and a bus to fetch her favorite snack.

Shamelessly drags you to the oddest dates. Such as intentionally spiriting you away, purchasing a ticket to no where she knows, and challenging the two of you to survive in the unknown area.

Loves the opportunity to spoil you, to purchase a variety of clothing. Guilty outfits that she knows you would never wear out in the world, but just knowing that they are tucked in your wardrobe, where only she knows—a coy smile tucked at the glimmer of the item in your closet peeking out at her. You hadn’t thrown it away after all.

Daki has a variety of social medias, and probably thrives as an upcoming influencer.

Despises kids.

She hates the competition, and struggles against the concept of splitting her attention with you. Even for a babysitting job.

So much so that Daki can become bitter at the concept of having to allocate part of her attention to another, and because of this, you’ll find Daki childishly tugging you—mad glaring at anyone who takes your eyes off of her even for a moment.

Literally the type to do the “watching you” symbol, openly.

Will impulsively bring home a dog.

Seizes opportunities to wrap around you in public, to captivate your waste, pull your back into her and hear your squeal. Clings to opportunities to remain in physical contact with you.

At times, it’s strictly because she enjoys teasing you, hearing your adorable squeals, the shy way you bat her away in public, or in private, but mostly, Daki is in all forms of the word, touch starved. She craves the contact, the connection.

More than anything, I just feel like Daki would just delight in teasing you, even going so far as to openly taunt you before your relationship has established, but at the same time, I think she would balance this out with being a genuine simp.

Praises everything you do with open adoration, brags to any who will listen.

Yet, to the one who needs to hear her voice most, you’ll hear biting remarks brought on by her own embarrassment.

#🍡tsuyospeaks #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny daki x fem!reader #kny x reader #sincerely

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helloescapist · 3 months

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Sincerely, | Daki

Word Count: 5052

Setting: Daki x fem!reader

Content Warning(s): suggestive, ecchi content, reader is a low key perve (but like, who isn’t in their teen years), will have mentions of assault, girlxgirl, yuri, modern AU

Summary: the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach, the press of your heart that pounds in the moments you see her. The soft of her sigh, the tender moments, the way her fingers thread through your hair, despite how hard you tried to deny it, you knew what this was.

Part I , Headcanons

Neon lights glowed in the distance, luminescent reflections amongst the glimmer of snow that touched upon the ground. Stowed away between narrow buildings, stairs escape that rusted and groaned with age. The distinct glow of night life echoed amongst the buildings, revealing slips of images plastered amongst brick walls, slips of wood that gave way to age.

Chipped wood against aerosol paintings, graphic images. Some acts of vandalism are well composed and detailed, others simplistic scribbles reflecting childish images reminiscent of rakugaki drawings upon school desks. Etched into shaky lines, and faulty work. Nightlife bustled amongst music, clatter of heels against sidewalk. Lovers intertwined and boozed squeezed between giggles, enticed by liquored promises. Late hours attract illicit workers, flirtatious and loud, beckoning onlookers. Interdicted mixed amongst the foot traffic, drawn smiles evoke false security in victims as they danced amongst the interlopers. Rouged lips and enticing fingers, honeyed words pressed to those who dared to stray close to entrances.

Daki’s fingers wound playfully through her lover’s hair. The rouge upon her lips roughly smeared between teasing lips as the glow of neon lights lit aflame in her chartreuse eyes. Emeralds that toyed dangerously as she allowed her nails to graze across his shoulder as he burrowed his nose into the nape of her neck. The exasperated gasp that lit her lungs as her nose began to wrinkle. The jerk of her shoulders pressed into the building that supported her weight, Daki’s temper began to flare at the biting remarks slipped from her tongue met the stray of his hand up her skirt. “Enough,” she ordered, slapping his hand from her thigh. The hiss of a threat posed as a knife against his neck as his insistence led him to invade further. The push of her hand against his shoulder blade met with his larger hand, how had it never occurred to her the significant difference in their size until this moment. Tangled his grasp around her writ wretched above her head in a way that forced the air from her longs, anguish whine that snapped. “S-Stop it,” she hated it. All of it. Daki could taste the desperation upon her tongue, the way her words quivered and the shiver of her body as his fingers traveled further and further with each wiggle of his digits. The heat of his breath pressed between her collar bone and the nape of her neck, the small hitches indicating the delight he found in the way her body trembled against the press of his knees.

“Go ahead, cry,” he purred in delight. Allowed his chuckle to beginning to resonate against her bones. The tear of his teeth against her flesh, sharp against her shoulder blade. The fear blossoming into her senses, wretched her body as much as she could, the difference. Oh shit, how had she never noticed how big he was? Clutched thighs, knee caps that struggled against one another strained at the press of his knee. Forceful as he coerced his knee between her legs. Allowing his free hand to fondle the buttons at her breast. Delighting in the tremble of her cries, fright beginning to seize Daki’s awareness. The flit of her eyes traced upon the alleyway. Abandoned and empty, a fun escape from their night on the town gone awry with a fiend that danced upon her daydreams. Toyed with her in way that threatened bile in the bae of her throat. Struggled to choke down sobs as the tears formed in her large eyes. Dismay at her surroundings, each moment falling on a life time as she became painfully aware—no aide would be coming. Tucked away from the main street, slipped behind a dumpster, her cries drowned out by the tumult of the escorts, lost amongst the music of bars and night clubs. The realization drawn upon understanding, the preconceived notion of what the night had in store.

The pop of buttons, torn from their secure threading exposed to the night air. Bites that littered her flesh, teeth that bruised her skin, drew blood at each press of his teeth against her bone. The smug shitful delight he hummed into her flesh. As though determined to leave all traces of his essence.

Daki bit down upon her tongue. Clenched her tongue, willed her tears to sremain. Swallowed cries and fought back the bile that threatened to sear her soul, wretched her head from sight. Refused to allow him to savor her tears, pressed her eyelashes together, determined to keep fallen prayers tucked to her cheek as her jaw strained to contain her terror, her rage.

I will not beg.

Exhaustion hung on your shoulders, another failed lesson, you thought with a sigh as you pressed your head to the vending machine. Willed your fingers to find the coffee cans displayed in a ray of colors. Each promise of concentrated caffeine is more enticing than the next. Struggled to catch the yawn that threatened to slip past the back of your hand, as you pressed against the cold display glass, fingers fumbling over the controls. The late hours were beginning to wear on you, fatigue close to claiming you, and with it intrusive thoughts—what were you even trying to do? Daki had openly expressed weeks ago that she had no desire to continue tutoring. As if her open rejection that day had not been an indicator enough, she had gone so far as to write her withdrawal from college exams in bold pink ink, her resignation detailed between curse words and insults directed both at the instructor who had put her up to the notion, and well… you. Her contempt fully captured by her utilization of dedicating yourself to studying in the hope that you could escape to a place where people liked you. In as few words as possible, Daki had properly articulated that she did not believe such a place exhisted, but she hoped you would stay there. Rest assure, she had not intended any of the blows to be insult, rather, she considered them an appropriate description. Her depiction having gone so far that you had considered requesting a funeral rite by the local monks in honor of your self-confidence. What little had been concocted when you had been requested to tutor in the first place, evaporated into the night air. Rest in Peace, self worth. The press of buttons, really any at this point would bring forth the promise of caffeine regardless of concentration. Anything to spark a sense of life into your bones, just enough to see you home. The rumble of joints interlocking, the shifting of product from within the vending machine that drew the small pause of your breath, the silent utter that whatever you had managed to conjure would be enough to ensure safe travels. Pressed the prayer between your lips as you fished the item out, and giving it a tactful pluck upon the tab, a content sigh that was not as satisfying as you had hoped.

Yet, despite having buried your dignity alongside Daki’s resignation from her college entrance exams, you had yet to give up. Why, you could not place into words. Rather, it was as though your feet had a mind of their own, heaved your weary bones up the top of the stairs before the sun had risen, paused only for classes, and then to remain in the room you had agreed upon, left with little more than to wander the library’s selection long after the sun had set. She had made it clear—painfully clear that she would not be joining sessions once more, and yet, you had remained steadfast. Optimistic, and absolutely oblivious to the bristled regard she had for education, or perhaps yourself. Rumors had circulated that she had dropped out, Daki’s presence on school grounds was rare and fleeting, and yet… yet, each time your hand met the door, pressed between the track and the panes. You would find a whisper of a wish pressed to your lips, the flutter of butterflies within your stomach, and the pause of your breath in the hopes that garnet eyes that captured the riches of the earth, passioned and confident would meet your own. Welcomed the snide remarks, her playful teasing at your tardiness, longed for the days when she would mutter over your stumbled words. Painfully aware that such days were over as you pressed the can to your mouth.

Allowing yourself to acknowledge the exhaustion you had placed upon yourself, early hours, and later nights strewn across studying, and hopeless wandering of encounters that would not come had taken its toll on you, and some part of you had begun to wonder if it was not time to let this go. What were you even thinking? Daki had made it clear, you told yourself time and time again as you tucked the stray hair behind your ears. The touch of sorrow, a loss of what you could not place as your fingers captivated your cheek, grazed over the bottom frame of your glasses in a sigh.

So many people in the world, each passing you by even on nights like this. All busy, and going, and for a moment you found yourself watching the bustle of the night streets. The enormity of the foot traffic pressed against your skin, lovers intertwined in an embrace cooed and shameless of their surroundings. Though, some part of you wondered if it was perhaps, you who was in the wrong. The lude way in which the woman peered over her lover at you, pressed kisses and a near enjoyment at your baffled state as you stumbled to give the pair space, pushed amongst the crowd. Tossed as though you were a mere leaf amongst a stream, scattered to the side of the building, jostled to and fro before plopping on your bottom. The scatter of your belongings that met with the ground, and all awareness drooped. The thought of lovers, so close and entrusted to one another. Regardless of whereabouts, careless of who may see, and just delighted in one another was foreign. Odd, and… well empty. The sigh you burrowed into your lungs as you fought together your belongings, stuff them into your bag, and retreat for home, an empty apartment void of life. Alone. Again. The drop of your shoulders, and the knot in your stomach. Pained and chilled, alone was something you were familiar with, and it was not expected to change. Studying… studying had not changed that. The crunch of papers that pressed into your bag, forced, and scrapped into one another. Soothed on edges, reprimanded yourself for treating them so callously. Clutched your drink to one hand, threaded your bag securely once more, and attempted to dust of--- oh god, please say it wasn’t urine—from your knees that had caught on your stockings. “Oh, god,” you whispered to yourself,

Pungently aware of the unidentified liquid pressed into your stockings, Eyes that wandered the area, an alley way caught between one of the buildings. Toyed by the whispers of street workers, and delighted in their coos to potential customers, dreaded searching for the answer, prayed to discover a beer bottle as the source. This street had always been eventful, the fall of your shoulders, etched into neon lights that reflected across the fowl the odor of waste and garbage. Stockings hung from lines, brothels tucked discreetly from sight, and delicate waved into the night air. If anything, you shouldn’t have been surprised to witness the embrace in the alley. Rather, you should have just been grateful to discover it was not in fact piss you had landed in. Hardly able to avert your eyes at first, shocked and horrified to have discovered lovers…. Oh, gods above, you needed out of here, you uttered in horror. Eyes exposed to far more than most of your curious internet searches had engaged, the fumble of your bag far louder than intended that curse from your lips as garnet eyes met your own. Tears that dazzled amongst their gleam and the can of coffee that escaped your grasp.

Water droplets rolled down her cheek. Caught at her jawline, the trace of water revealed the bruising of porcelain flesh. The snag of flesh that delivered the baring of fangs at the trace of her shoulder lines. The drape of her luminescent hair unable to shield the wander of your gaze, nor the shame in which her frame dipped. The wrath had long since extinguished from her garnet eyes; Daki’s eyes trembled with each press of the cloth against her flesh. Flinched at the delicate fingers formed around the cloth, nor registered the utter of words that fell between your unsure lips. Cautious, and tactful to whisper your sincerest apologies and intrusions. Voiced your intentions, announced each movement before you dared to touch upon her. The mangle of her shirt beyond salvaging, though you could not imagine such details were of concern for Daki at this time. Her eyes had struggled to concentrate. Quivered at the slightest touch, and the tears that threatened to shatter at unexpected noises, the hold of her hand braced against your arm as though at a moment’s notice, she would collapse into you, or perhaps within herself.

The details were fuzzy. What little bit you could piece together, you dare not press. The rattle of her voice hitched and thick ached within your bones, and in the moment, you hadn’t fully considered your actions. The coffee can had left your hand long before it had occurred to you that you had chunked it at the creep’s head, threw caution and your term papers to the wind when you had placed the entirety of your weight into a single swing with your school bag before catching Daki’s wrist in your grasp, and fleeing into the emerging crowd. Far too aware of the bellowing way—whoever the hell that was had attempted to follow. Never had you been so grateful to live on the shadier aspects of town, his pursuit quickly deterred by the ongoing crowd of partygoers, and entrepreneurs of the night. Though, that was as far as your adrenaline had dragged you, the crash of reality had descended into your apartment. Face to face with the very girl who despised you, the tars that threatened to roll over her high cheeks, the smear of rouge that painted her features—nope, you did not dare press, and in truth, were completely out of your element. Pleads to call law enforcement had bene vehemently refuted, nearly drawing terror from her bones. Rambles of home, of a mother, a brother—details that seemed jumbled and rampant. Shook at her bones, the state of her dress, the quiver of her body as she clung to your arm unwilling to part. A bath seemed, well sort of the right step to go, told yourself you would attempt to secure evidence as much as she allowed the moment she dipped into the bath. Such openings did not occur. The moment you had attempted to guide her into your bathroom, Daki’s grasp had not relinquished, clung to what little pride she could managed that gnaws at her bottom lip. Averted eyes, and the length of her nails that threatened to dig into your skin. Swallowed the lump in your throat before accepting her nonverbal cues and aided. Told yourself that you would use swabs to collect evidence, though the horror of the marks had been more than anticipated. Sorrow at the shame that drew across her face as your eyes found the wounds. Heavy, and uneasy.

Numb as your fingers worked to carefully cleanse the area, aware of the small moments in which Daki dared to catch your gaze. Fleeting, and silent. Wordless as your fingers threaded through her moon kissed mane, removed debris of the incident from her hair, whispered each movement before you dared, yet throughout the entirety of the bath, Daki did not move. Did not dare to breathe, nor did tears fall from her lashes. The clutch of her jaw remained as you quietly toweled her hair. Bit down pride, wallowed in the pieces she had managed to sew together, and for you, the struggle to soothe her. Painfully aware that an embrace ran the risk of damage rather than comfort. Solemn to the sight of her adorned, wrapped in your oversized t-shirt, snuggled between the sheets, and pressed into your side. Wordless, as though the passage of time could not be tracked as her garnet eyes peered quietly at you before exhaustion drained from her nerves spirited her to sleep.

In the same breath that eased her to sleep, you had found any sense of slumber robbed. Left with only the small slips in which your shirt rolled from her shoulder in her sleep. Marks bared to her flesh, mournfully tucked away as you knitted Daki into the blankets.

The days to come were restless; Daki had made a return to school. Though she had yet to speak a word of that night, nor of her return to education, you had become increasingly aware of her presence. So much so that she had rattled your senses, the peer of garnet eyes between closed doors. Peeped between classroom windows, the peek of her eyes over the framing as she peered into your classroom from the hallway. Quick to duck out of sight as soon as you ponder what had encouraged the disruption from your peers. An occurrence that had not been missed, or an isolated occurrence. The upperclassmen’s aura radiated from behind trees, crept between students, scurred between classes and peeked behind doors, so much to an extent that you had begun to worry that Daki’s restoration to the school grounds was an act of an omen, a promise of death should you dare to divulge the details of that night. Caught in her glare, coaxed the shiver up your spine as you attempted to remain faithful to the mundane task pungently aware of how she stalked you like a predator. A venomous viper, entangled and intrigued by prey. Coiled, and tempted, lured to the spot outside of the classroom in which you were intended to offering tutoring. The stunned realization that you had continued your day-to-day activities led you to this fateful door—bashed yourself for remaining a creature of habit in the hopes she would grow tired of the chase.

Daki’s long eyelashes battered against the shock; her eyes traced upon your form as the blush captivated your cheeks. Horrified your senses as the internal struggle engaged, the war of your next step, tactics that had fallen in anxiety. To turn around would mean to engage the vipers in a battle of wits, stumble into her trap, and receive the shattering blow. Practically able to feel the fangs upon your neck, but to press forward. To stead the course, would mean admitting… you had waited for her all this time. Clutched teeth, and searing cheeks, stumbling, and allowing your eyes to skate across your surroundings, desperate for any retreat. Any out that could be utilized for escape. Squeezed your eyes tightly closed, lashes that gripped one another, as you willed yourself to breathe. Reminded yourself to work the problem out—anything, anything at all. The only route of escape would be to jump from the second-floor window.

I-I could make it!

The rattle of the track, swift and course rattled your nerves. Elicited the highest of shrieks that breathed in humiliation. Touched upon all of your senses, slid your glasses down the bridge of your nose. Left your hair on end, as luminescent green eyes traced your outline, and rouge lips formed a delicate, knowing smile before allowing her hips to sway with intentional step. Slowly. Into the classroom.

Hours fell to days, and days fell to weeks. The snow had lifted amongst the winter setting, the fragrant peek of blossoms caught and tangled into the chilly air as spring greeted the youth. Children delighted in playground antics, toyed with one another in warm delight. Birds entangled, greeted the growing daylight, and with it, her presence had grown on you. Daki’s attendance had grown consistent, never missing a single school day, nor falling ill. Your bond had grown over studying. Her comprehension was far more capable than you had been led to believe when you had been asked to take this task on, and more so, her interactions with you had grown more insistent. Coupled to your side, snuggled against your shamelessly on the train ride despite your obvious shyness; Daki did not mind onlookers, and openly expressed so each day she tucked into your side Never offering so much as a complaint at the press of your bodies one on one, nor the whispers of the girls who had incited this chain of events. Days spent together, pressed between the pages of a book, her fingers through your short hair as she purred odd praise. Unaware of how sensual her behavior had increased, teasingly raked against your scalp as she uttered praise after praise. Wished to see your hair grow over time, the implication enough to rattle your heart. An odd hint of a future in which she may witness. Told yourself that Daki had always been flirtatious—and after everything that had happened, you allowed her to toy with you without question. Just happy to see the small slips of who she was before begin to peek beneath her surface. Reminded yourself at the time she pressed an indirect kiss, shamelessly stole your sausage octopus between chopsticks, or how she giggled as she traced the high of your cheeks along your reaction. Delicious, she had purred.

Reprimanded yourself for allowing her to toy with you, but found yourself smiling as you had prepared a bento for her that night. The shy way in which her eyes had traced the traditional lunchbox. Confused, and bashful as her long nails broke the seal. Confused, and pressed lips as her gaze wandered your own. Almost childlike, whispered the last time she had seen bunny onigiri had been a mangled attempt by her older brother. Pleased to have placed a blush on Daki’s cheeks, and even more delighted to be given a snippet of her private life. A brother. Little bits, slowly but surely as the cherry blossoms had grown, warmed and given little pieces of herself to you. To you alone, you thought. Descriptions, details of a life none knew. Such as the time Daki had discovered you in the library. The smell of her fragrant perfume bright amongst the stark aged pages, ironic in the way it portrayed your own relationship. Her presence a welcome breeze amongst a cold day, the softness of her hands, the touch of lotion as they threaded over your eyes. The press of her lip, coy as she taunted you with a delicate, “guess who.” Or how she had leaned against your shoulder as Daki peeked at the pages of the book you had been considering. Another piece of herself gifted to you as she whispered the imagery reminded her of the moon princess, a fairytale her brother had often read to her as a child.

No, you had known far too long the weight of your breast. The sinking feeling in your chest. Her bright smiles, the eager way she waited for you at the classroom. The touch of her make up, or the small moments when she fell asleep on the desk. How Daki called your name across the courtyard, or how her hand, her fingers flawlessly entangled between yours on the train. Small snips of her temper flared when someone dared to look at you, or she noticed the shake of your body.

No, you had known, and yet, diluted yourself into denial. Told yourself that this was enough, time was coming to an end, and with the entrance exams approaching, your time together had little to offer. Slipped between your fingers and found the pride of her scores as your own. Her efforts bore merit, the small gift her brother had dropped at the school entrance to her embarrassment like a child whose parent dropped into meet her friends. Practically cooed as his hands rubbed her head like a cat, shyly praised her for a job well done before zipping off on a motorcycle, leaving only your favorite snacks in a nicely wrapped package, and the sharp remark that you had better not think for one moment she had ever told Gyutaro about you, or your snacking habits.

Or the obvious shy plush of her face, and the pout of her lips the one day Daki insisted you call her senpai.

You knew better, you did. You were smarter than this. Studious, and dedicated to a future, one secure in the hopes that… you wouldn’t be alone, and yet, and yet……. Yet, the envelope between your fingertips weighed upon this future. Frayed edges of what you had imagined. Torn asunder, and heavier than a brick between your fingers. Floral paper scented of rose petals and composed in delicate script all enfolded together in a pressed, light envelope closed with a ribbon. Girly, embarrassingly so, and the shame of how hard you had attempted to write a letter that would capture Daki’s interest left you feeling a small amount of shame. Fragrant, and feminine, the opposite of yourself as your teeth gnawed at the bottom of your lip, eyes that traced her locker. Her school mandated shoes placed upon the shelf, unmoved in the early morning hours. With this, you sighed to yourself. The burdens of your heart, questioned sanity, and threatened to uproot your life’s cause. With this, you will have burned everything to the ground. Closed your eyes as the envelope pressed into your forehead, wishing for peace. For closure, a confession wrapped in acceptance that rejection would inevitable, but with its cold shatter, she could go to school, and you, you could disappear to a world in which you could be someone else.

“Oh, what’s this?” High voice, nails across a chalkboard as swift as the hand that slipped the envelope from your fingertips. Tucked the envelope with sheer delight, cruel at the open taunt as her nails slipped across the ribbon. “Confession?” Leaned her chin forward encouraged by the giggles amongst the group. Sasaki’s grin was undeniable, your classmate found the mark of weakness, delighted in the way she flopped the envelope knowingly as her words knotted in your stomach. “But, [LN], you know who’s locker this is, don’t you? The boys’ lockers are over there, after all. Right, Fujiwara?”

The cackle that followed, “who else could it be?”

“Give it back,” you whispered.

Aware of the eyes on you, the pointed looks. Accusing, and dissecting the moment. Delighted in pray, and shook shoulders at probing curiosities as the letter circled around you. Each passed between the chorus of the entertainment, picked details amongst the clench of your teeth. “Oh god, you didn’t seal it with a kiss did you?”

“Give…”

“A ribbon is a bit cliché, what do you think she wrote?”

Bowed your chin to your chest, shattered silence. “Geez this reek.”

“Aw come on girls, it’s cute, isn’t it?” Sasaki purred before taking the envelope between her fingers. The grip lethal. “Our little [LN] is in love,” jostled, fluttered the bow you had tied repeatedly until it was perfect. Practically shredding the package in its approach.

“Give it back!”

The scowl that spread across her pursed lips and sharp as a blade that threatened to tear open your very confession, and read it aloud for all those in attendance to hear. As she did, her nail snug at the folding, “Make. Me.” You could feel your tears sear at the corner of your eyes before a bag slammed into Fujiwara. Her screaming echoed across the entrance way.

Followed by the slam of Sasaki into the ground. Daki straddled over the girl’s belly, forced herself onto the younger classmen, as her fists contacted Sasaki’s cheeks. Screamed and evident at the shake of her head. Unrelenting as the fist that made contact, bellowed as she inflicted blow after blow. Daki did not allow hesitation, offered no openings for the girl pinned below her, even despite the useless fists that attempted to catch the fistful of her hair. Regardless of how hard he had tried to use the tug of her hair, Daki’s blows did not slow. Fist after fist, blind to the screaming of the girls who could only look on at the scene in absolute horror. The sight of her, near venomous, a predator who had finally seized unsuspecting prey coiled around Sasaki. The rage evident on her behaviors, misplaced tears as you caught Daki’s hand in your own.

Painfully aware of the sharp gaze of her eyes, lethal before soothed quietly in silence at the sight of your tears.

“S-senpai, p-please.”

The sharp hiss she released, the touch of your hand against her own before allowing her weight to shift, Sasaki tore off immediately, bolted from the scene. The glare that sent the remainder of the girls reeling from the sight and horrified to be entangled in the scuffle a moment longer. Abandoning only you, with your hand still wrapped around Daki’s wrist. The fumble of realization, the blush that ignited upon your realization. Her hand felt warm, shammed and rattled. “Oh, I-I, I’m sorry.”

“Say it again.” The note pressed between your fingers to your silent demise, struggled to understand what she wanted to hear as your heart thundered in your breast. Slammed in your ear drums. “Call me senpai, when you read this to me.”

The rattle of your hands and shake of your fingers, “N-no, no I, you see about this—I can explain---”

“Call me senpai,” her smile blossomed, and the rouge of her lips met the brights of her eyes. Daki pressed the envelope into your hands before whispering in your ear, “or I won’t accept.”

#🍡tsuyospeaks #demon slayer daki x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny daki x fem!reader #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader

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