Giyu-Tomioka's-Wife

Tomioka Giyuu stood just inside the doorway, rain dampening the shoulders of his charcoal coat. He’d removed his mask already—something he never did at other shops—and was staring at you with those clear, startling blue eyes that always seemed to strip you bare.

Your heart did a little, helpless leap. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to the sight of him.

“…Hi,” you managed, setting your pin cushion aside. “You’re early.”

“I finished my meetings sooner than I thought.” His voice was quiet, deep. “I hope that’s all right.”

“It’s fine,” you said, softer now. “Come in.”

He crossed the polished floor without hesitation, leaving faint, wet footprints in his wake. You tried not to notice how good he looked—the crisp black dress pants, the way his coat parted just enough to glimpse the fit of his tailored shirt. You’d made that shirt. He wore it better than anyone had a right to.

“I was just prepping the jacket,” you said, gesturing to the mannequin. “If you give me a minute, we can start the fitting.”

He nodded once, but didn’t sit on the little leather settee like usual. Instead, he moved to stand beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him in the cool, jasmine-scented air.

“I…had another commission,” he said after a pause.

“Oh?” You busied yourself straightening the lapel. “What is it this time?”

He hesitated. You could feel him watching you—like he always did when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

“Something personal,” he said finally. “Not for work.”

You looked up, meeting his eyes. There was something in them—something quiet and vulnerable that made your chest tighten.

“Of course,” you said gently. “Tell me.”

He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and withdrew a small folded page. You took it carefully, smoothing it open to see a photo he’d printed. It was a simple image: a deep blue haori, traditional but updated, displayed on a plain stand. The caption at the bottom was in Japanese script you recognized—some limited-edition piece from a Kyoto boutique.

“I’d like something like this,” he said, his voice low. “But in darker colors. And…I trust you to decide the rest.”

Your throat went dry. He’d never given you this much freedom before. “You…you trust me that much?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Yes.”

You looked back down at the photo, willing your hands not to shake. “I’ll do my best,” you murmured. “You deserve something beautiful.”

When you looked up again, you found his expression softened in a way that made your breath catch—like he wanted to say something else but didn’t know how.

And then, so quietly you almost missed it: “You make everything beautiful.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. You turned back to the mannequin, pretending to adjust the fabric so he wouldn’t see your flustered smile. “You’re…very kind.”

“I’m just telling the truth.”

His voice was nearer now—right behind you. You felt him before you saw him: the warmth of his body, the scent of rain and clean soap. When you straightened, his hand lifted, slow and deliberate, and brushed a stray thread from your shoulder.

The touch was so gentle it made your pulse stutter.

“Your hands,” he said, almost to himself, “are always so careful.”

You swallowed, your heart hammering. “It’s my job.”

“It’s more than that.” His fingers skimmed the curve of your shoulder, lingering in a way that made your stomach flutter. “When you fix something…I don’t feel broken anymore.”

You turned slowly, meeting his gaze. His hand fell, but he didn’t step away. If anything, he leaned a fraction closer, as though drawn by gravity neither of you could fight.

“Giyuu,” you whispered, before you could stop yourself. You rarely used his given name out loud. It felt too intimate—too much.

But he didn’t flinch. If anything, his eyes softened further. “Say it again.”

You swallowed, your voice trembling. “Giyuu.”

His hand rose again, cupping your cheek this time. The warmth of his palm spread through you, chasing away the lingering chill of the rain.

“Every time I come here,” he said quietly, “I tell myself it’s only for the clothes.”

“And is it?” you asked, your heart thudding painfully.

“No.” He exhaled, a soft, shuddering breath. “It hasn’t been for a long time.”

Your hands lifted of their own accord, sliding up the front of his coat to rest over his chest. You could feel his heart beating, steady and strong beneath your palms. His thumb brushed your cheekbone, the tenderest touch.

“Then why do you come here?” you asked, voice hardly more than a breath.

He held your gaze for a moment that seemed to stretch forever. Then, softly, as if confessing a secret:

“Because I wanted you to make something just for me. So I’d have an excuse to see you again.”

Your heart clenched so tight you thought it might break. Before you could lose your courage, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his.

The kiss was tentative at first, just a brush of softness. But when you felt his hand slide into your hair, fingers threading through the strands, something in you unraveled. You pressed closer, your hands curling into the fabric of his coat, and he kissed you back—slow and deep, like he’d been waiting a lifetime for this.

When you finally parted, you were both a little breathless. He rested his forehead to yours, his thumb stroking your cheek.

“I don’t want to pretend anymore,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes, your smile trembling. “Neither do I.”

Which would have been easier, if you hadn’t been hyper-aware of him all day: the way his gaze flicked over you during a board presentation, how his hand brushed your lower back when he leaned in to murmur a directive, how the heat of him seemed to linger long after he walked away.

Your pulse skittered in your throat as you gathered your tablet and a stack of notes you’d prepared for tomorrow’s investor meeting.

“Sir,” you began softly, “if there’s nothing else, I’ll—”

“Stay.”

The single word was so quiet, so steady, that you almost thought you’d imagined it. You looked up in surprise. His blue eyes were fixed on yours, cool and impossibly calm. But something flickered there—something that made your mouth go dry.

“…Stay?” you repeated.

He set down his pen with deliberate slowness. The movement drew your attention to his hands—large, elegant, precise. You’d seen those hands sign multi-million-dollar contracts, gesture through presentations, smooth over tense negotiations.

You’d never imagined they could look so…possessive.

“I have more work for you,” he said, his voice deeper now, pitched low in a way that made your heart beat unevenly. “It won’t take long.”

Your lips parted, but no protest emerged. Giyuu rose from his chair in one fluid motion, crossing the room until he stood in front of you. He was tall—taller than you remembered, or maybe it was just that the room felt smaller now, the air thicker.

Your back bumped lightly against the edge of the conference table as you took an involuntary step back. The tablet in your hand felt suddenly ridiculous—like a flimsy shield against something you weren’t ready to name.

He looked down at you for a moment, silent, his expression unreadable. Then his gaze dropped—slowly—to the shape of your mouth, and the breath caught in your lungs.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said.

Your eyes widened. “I—sir, I haven’t—”

“You have.” His tone wasn’t accusing, exactly. Just stating a fact. “Ever since the quarterly gala.”

Heat shot up your throat. The gala. You’d been careful not to think about it—the soft press of his hand against the small of your back, the way he’d leaned close to murmur praise in your ear, the unmistakable flicker of desire in his eyes when you’d looked up and met his gaze. You’d chalked it up to champagne, to exhaustion, to imagination.

But now, standing inches away from him in the dim office, you knew it hadn’t been imagined at all.

He studied you, waiting. You couldn’t find words. You set the tablet down on the table behind you, suddenly aware of how fast your heart was pounding.

When you didn’t speak, Giyuu moved closer—just a fraction, but enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. His scent—clean, understated cologne and something darker, warmer—wrapped around you.

“Tell me,” he said softly. “Was I mistaken that night?”

You wet your lips. His eyes followed the motion, and something in them darkened. You swallowed.

“No,” you whispered. “You weren’t.”

His chest expanded on a slow breath. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then his hand lifted—so carefully, as if he expected you to stop him. His knuckles brushed along your jaw, tracing the line to your chin. The contact was barely there, but it sent a tremor all the way down your spine.

“I thought so,” he murmured. “I’ve tried to be patient.”

Your lips parted, but you couldn’t make your voice work. His thumb grazed your lower lip, and the contact made your whole body tighten with anticipation you didn’t dare name.

He leaned in, his mouth just over yours, his breath warm and measured. But he didn’t kiss you—he held himself there, so close you could almost taste him.

“Do you know how hard it is,” he asked, voice hushed and ragged around the edges, “to sit across from you in meetings…to watch you pretend nothing has changed between us?”

You couldn’t answer. Your pulse thundered so loudly it was all you could hear.

His hand drifted lower, sliding to your waist. He didn’t pull you forward—but he didn’t let you move away, either. The touch was firm, possessive. It made your stomach flip in a way you’d never admit.

“You’re always so composed,” he went on, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “So proper. But I see the way you look at me.”

“I…” Your voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t know what you mean.”

His soft exhale was almost a laugh—low and disbelieving. His nose skimmed your cheek, the faintest ghost of contact. Your hands curled against the table behind you, grasping for balance you couldn’t find.

“You look at me like you’re trying to convince yourself you don’t want this.” His hand slid higher on your waist, fingers flexing. “Like you’re trying to convince me.”

A shiver ran through you. You couldn’t deny it—not when you were standing here trembling under his touch.

He drew back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching. His thumb brushed your cheekbone.

“I’m not going to pretend anymore,” he said, quiet but resolute. “I’ve been patient long enough.”

His hand slipped to the small of your back, guiding you forward until your hips met his. The contact was shockingly intimate. You gasped—only for his other hand to rise, fingertips pressing lightly under your chin to tilt your face up to his.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured. “If you don’t want this.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He was so close. His lips hovered over yours, waiting. You could feel the hard line of his body against yours, the heat of him searing through the thin fabric of your blouse.

Your hands lifted slowly, curling into the front of his suit jacket. You didn’t push him away.

“I don’t,” you whispered.

His eyes closed—just for an instant, as if he were steadying himself. When they opened, the restraint you’d always known in him was gone, replaced by something raw and hungry.

“Good,” he breathed. And then, finally—finally—he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It was the culmination of every stolen glance, every brushed touch, every unspoken confession. His mouth claimed yours with a force that made your knees weaken, and his arms circled your waist, anchoring you to him like he had no intention of letting go.

You melted against him, your hands fisting in his jacket. His tongue swept over your lower lip, and you opened to him without thinking, a soft sound escaping your throat. The kiss deepened, slow and thorough, as if he needed to taste every hidden part of you he’d been denied.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless. His forehead pressed lightly to yours, his thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip, swollen from his kiss.

His voice was ragged. “We should…stop here.”

You swallowed, your head spinning. “Do you want to stop?”

His hand at your back flexed, pulling you a fraction closer. His gaze held yours—dark, unguarded, filled with the desire you’d tried so hard to deny.

“No,” he admitted quietly. “But if we don’t…this won’t be something we can take back.”

A shiver rippled through you. Your fingers tightened in the fabric of his jacket. You looked up at him, the answer already clear in your mind.

“I don’t want to take it back.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then his mouth curved—a rare, small smile that made your heart lurch. His hand rose to cradle your cheek.

“Then stay with me,” he murmured. “Just a little longer.”

His sword dripped with blood—not his, not yet. He’d been chasing this demon for nearly two days now, across rivers and valleys, always just a step behind. But tonight, it had cornered itself. Which meant it was about to get dangerous.

He could feel the presence before he saw it. The demon lunged from the shadows, faster than he’d anticipated. Giyu dodged, slashing upward, narrowly missing its neck. Its claws grazed his side, ripping through the fabric of his haori and scoring across his skin.

A sharp pain bloomed. He stumbled back a step, gritting his teeth.

Then—

“Water Breathing, Fourth Form—Striking Tide!”

A second sword joined his, and the demon was pushed back. Giyu’s head whipped around.

“Y/N?!”

You landed beside him in a crouch, your breath already coming in short pants. Your eyes burned with fire.

“You looked like you needed a hand,” you said, not taking your eyes off the demon.

He stared at you—torn between relief and fury. “You weren’t supposed to follow me.”

“And let you fight a demon this strong alone?” you countered. “You’re not invincible, Giyu.”

“We’ve talked about this.”

“Talk later,” you interrupted. “Fight now.”

There was no time to argue. The demon snarled and lunged again, and the two of you moved together like flowing water—strikes synchronized, swords flashing in the fading light.

You’d always fought well together. The quiet understanding between your styles, the way you filled in each other’s weaknesses without needing words… it was rare. But this demon was desperate. Smart. And angry.

It threw itself toward Giyu again—aiming for his heart.

And in that split second, you saw it. You moved without thinking.

You shoved him out of the way and took the full brunt of the strike yourself.

“NO!”

Giyu’s voice cracked the air like thunder. Your blade still found its mark, slicing through the demon’s throat as it pierced your shoulder. The demon shrieked before dissolving into ash—but you were already falling.

Giyu caught you before you hit the ground.

Your body was shaking in his arms, blood already soaking your uniform.

“Y/N,” he said, voice hollow with shock. “No, no—why would you do that?”

You coughed, wincing as the pain pulsed through your body. “Didn’t… want to see you die,” you whispered.

“You think I could live with this instead?” His voice cracked, eyes wide. “You think I’d be okay losing you?”

You tried to smile, but your lips trembled. “I’m still here. You’re overreacting.”

“I’m not.” His hand hovered over the wound, trembling. “This is bad.”

“I’ve had worse.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, breath shaking. “I don’t care how strong you are. You’re not allowed to throw yourself in front of me like that again. Ever.”

“You’d do the same for me.”

“That’s exactly the problem.”

Your eyes started to flutter shut. “Don’t get all emotional on me, Giyu…”

“I’m allowed to be emotional,” he whispered. “I almost lost you.”

You blinked slowly. “Didn’t think I’d get to hear you say that…”

He let out a short, broken breath. “I should’ve said it sooner.”

With that, Giyu moved quickly—lifting you into his arms, holding you close to his chest like you were something fragile. Your blood smeared across his skin, hot and sticky, and he didn’t even flinch.

He carried you through the woods, careful with every step. The rain had started to fall, soft and cold against his skin. He didn’t care. His eyes stayed fixed on you, constantly checking your pulse, your breathing.

You spoke only once more, voice groggy.

“Don’t carry me like I’m dying. It’s dramatic.”

“You are dramatic,” he muttered. “Always have been.”

You smiled faintly, and then your head lolled against his shoulder.

—

You didn’t wake until hours later.

When your eyes fluttered open, the smell of antiseptic and rain-soaked earth greeted you. You were in a small medical shelter—one of the old emergency stations the Corps kept hidden in the woods. A lantern glowed dimly nearby.

And beside you, unmoving, sat Giyu. His face was pale, shadows under his eyes, arms folded tightly against his chest. His sword was propped against the wall, forgotten. His hair was damp.

He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“…Giyu?”

His head snapped up.

In two strides, he was beside you, kneeling, his hand instantly covering yours.

“You’re awake,” he breathed, like the words were sacred.

You studied him through the haze of exhaustion. “You look awful.”

“So do you.”

You gave him a weak smile. “Guess we’re a matching set.”

He shook his head and leaned forward, pressing his lips to your temple.

“I’m not letting you go on patrol alone for at least a month,” he murmured. “And I’m not letting you lift anything heavier than a chopstick.”

You chuckled, then winced. “Ouch.”

“I mean it.” He cupped your cheek gently, voice thick. “I almost lost you, Y/N. I—” He broke off, swallowing hard.

“…I’m sorry,” you whispered. “For scaring you.”

“I’m not mad,” he said. “I’m… just scared. Of what it would’ve felt like if you hadn’t woken up.”

You looked at him for a long time, then touched the side of his face. “I’m still here. For you.”

His eyes closed as he leaned into your hand. “Good.”

And for the first time in a long while, the weight in Giyu’s chest finally loosened.

You were safe.

He was safe.

The Hashira were gathered in their usual formation, kneeling with calm reverence before Kagaya Ubuyashiki. His pale features were bathed in soft sunlight, a serene smile touching his lips as he welcomed them.

And you—seated just beside Giyuu—felt the weight of anticipation settle in your chest.

Giyuu’s fingers brushed yours subtly beneath the folds of your sleeves, his silent way of asking, Are you ready?

You took a quiet breath. Then, with a small nod, you gently pulled your hand away from his and stood.

The attention of the room shifted almost instantly. You didn’t speak often during these meetings, and certainly not before Ubuyashiki-sama himself. Giyuu turned his gaze to you, ever-stoic but undeniably present, ready to support you in whatever came next.

Kagaya’s soft voice broke the quiet. “You have something to share with us, don’t you?”

You bowed deeply. “Yes, Ubuyashiki-sama. With your permission… I’d like to speak.”

He gave a gentle nod. “Of course, dear one.”

You swallowed softly and turned your gaze across the room—at the warriors who had faced death more times than anyone should. They looked at you not with judgment, but curiosity. Trust.

You placed your hand over your lower abdomen, fingers trembling just slightly.

“Giyuu and I…” You paused, the words catching in your throat, not from fear but from the weight of them. “We’re expecting. A child.”

The silence that followed was unlike any other. Not heavy. Not tense.

Just quiet—soft, sacred.

For a moment, no one moved. Then—

Mitsuri gasped, her eyes already brimming with tears. “You’re going to have a baby? That’s the cutest thing ever! Oh my gosh—congratulations!!”

She leapt up and nearly ran toward you, only to remember where she was and sit back down, hands clasped over her chest as she practically vibrated with joy.

Kyojuro beamed, his eyes shining like a sunrise. “What a glorious thing! A new life is the greatest celebration of all! Truly, this child will be a symbol of hope!”

Shinobu chuckled behind her hand. “I must say, I didn’t expect to hear this at today’s meeting. You’re full of surprises, Giyuu.”

Giyuu, still seated, let out a small sigh through his nose. “I’m not hiding anything,” he muttered. “Just… wasn’t the time until now.”

“You dog,” Tengen drawled, smirking. “Didn’t think you had it in you. Quiet types always throw us off.”

Even Obanai blinked once in surprise, and Muichiro—usually lost in thought—had actually turned to look at you with curiosity.

Sanemi scoffed, crossing his arms. “Hah. Never thought you’d be the first among us to start a family. You’re so damn serious all the time.”

Giyuu rose to his feet beside you at that point, his expression unreadable to most, but his hand found yours again.

“I wanted to tell you all before the battle,” he said. “In case… something happens.”

At that, the room stilled again. The reality of war hung in the air, just beneath the surface. You knew every single person here had accepted that risk long ago. And you had too.

But Kagaya smiled again, his calm breaking through the storm you all carried.

“This is a beautiful gift,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper, yet it filled the entire room. “Thank you both for sharing it. New life is not a distraction from our mission—it is the reason for it. Your child represents the future we fight to protect.”

You bowed again, emotion thick in your throat. “Thank you, Ubuyashiki-sama.”

Kagaya’s eyes, though veiled in their own pain, softened even further. “May this child come into a world made brighter by your strength and your love.”

As the wind rustled the trees outside and the sunlight dappled across the wooden floor, the Hashira sat in stillness—not for war, not for orders, not for duty.

But for joy.

Just for a moment.

And as Giyuu’s fingers gently threaded with yours, you knew: this was the reason you both had survived this long.

He stopped in his tracks, breath catching in his throat. The wind shifted slightly, bringing more of it to him. Not the thick, rotting stench of a demon’s feast, but fresh. Human. Familiar.

He was already moving before the thought could fully form.

You.

His footsteps were nearly silent against the dirt path as he ran, the trees blurring past. Panic, cold and heavy, settled deep in his chest. His mind raced with the worst possibilities. A demon had gotten past him. He’d missed something. He wasn’t there when he should’ve been.

He reached the house, sliding the door open in one swift motion.

“Y/N?”

His voice rang out, sharper than usual, not bothering to mask the fear laced into it.

“In here!” your voice called back casually.

That didn’t ease him.

He found you in the kitchen, kneeling on the floor, hand cradled to your chest. Blood dripped down your fingers, staining the wood. A shattered ceramic bowl lay in pieces beside you.

You looked up in surprise. “Giyu? You’re home early—”

He didn’t respond. He was at your side in seconds, kneeling down and gently taking your wrist in his hand.

“What happened?” he asked, voice low and tight as he examined the wound.

“I dropped the bowl and tried to catch it. One of the shards cut me. It’s not that deep, I was just about to clean it up—”

“You should’ve called for me,” he muttered, already pulling a clean cloth from inside his uniform. He pressed it gently against the wound, holding it firmly in place.

You winced slightly but didn’t pull away. “I didn’t want to bother you. I didn’t think you’d even be back for another hour.”

“I smelled your blood halfway down the mountain,” he said quietly. “It was strong enough that I thought—” He stopped. Swallowed hard. His brows drew together, lips pressed in a thin line.

You softened, reaching up with your uninjured hand to touch his cheek. “You thought a demon had gotten me.”

“I didn’t know what to think. I just knew it was you.” He closed his eyes for a second, as if grounding himself. “And I ran faster than I ever have.”

You sat in silence for a moment as he continued to tend to your hand, replacing the cloth with fresh gauze he pulled from the small cabinet. His movements were precise, but there was a slight tremble in his fingers that only you would notice.

“Giyu,” you said gently, “I’m okay. Really. I was just clumsy.”

“I know.” He finished wrapping the bandage and finally looked at you, his expression softening. “But the thought of something happening to you while I wasn’t here—it’s worse than any wound I’ve ever taken.”

You blinked, warmth rushing to your cheeks. Giyu rarely spoke so openly. But when he did, it was always real.

He leaned in slowly, pressing his forehead against yours. His voice was barely a whisper. “Don’t keep pain from me. Even if it’s small. Even if it feels silly. I’d rather be by your side for every cut and scrape than lose you in silence.”

You nodded gently, resting your hand over his. “Okay. I promise.”

A few moments passed with the two of you breathing quietly together. The blood had been cleaned, the danger was gone—but Giyu still hadn’t let go of your hand.

And honestly, you didn’t want him to.

Your hands stayed joined—his calloused fingers wrapped around yours as though letting go might invite disaster again. His forehead rested against yours, the subtle heat of his skin grounding you both in the quiet calm after his storm of fear.

You were the first to break the silence. “You really ran all the way back for this?” you teased softly, giving his hand a little squeeze. “You must’ve scared the wildlife half to death.”

He huffed a short, quiet breath through his nose. Not quite a laugh, but close.

“I’d do it again,” he said, without a hint of hesitation.

You smiled, your heart giving a soft flutter. “You really are something, Giyu.”

He finally leaned back, just enough to meet your eyes. His expression was unreadable for a moment, deep blue irises reflecting the low light of the lantern nearby. Then, slowly, he brought your injured hand to his lips, brushing the gentlest kiss over your knuckles.

“You mean too much to me,” he murmured, eyes never leaving yours.

The words were simple, but they carried the weight of every worry, every sleepless patrol night, every unspoken “I love you” that he didn’t always know how to say. Your breath caught in your throat, warmth pooling in your chest.

You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, lingering just a little longer. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered. “Not without you.”

His arms came around you then, careful not to jostle your hand. He held you close, your head resting beneath his chin, your heartbeat syncing to his. Giyu didn’t say much—but in that silence, in the way he held you like you were his only tether to peace, you heard everything he couldn’t say.

Outside, the wind rustled the trees again. The forest had gone quiet.

Safe.

And so had Giyu’s heart.

Later, he helped you clean the kitchen, never straying more than a step away. When you curled up together beneath the futon, his hand found yours under the blanket, thumb brushing lightly over the bandage.

Just before you drifted to sleep, you felt him whisper near your ear—soft and full of meaning.

“I’ll protect you. Always.”

A thin smudge of blue streaked your cheek, unnoticed.

You were so lost in your art that you didn't hear the soft footsteps until a shadow fell across you.

You paused, glancing up from your work — and there he was.

Giyu stood in the doorway, silent, arms folded loosely over his chest, the faintest of soft smiles barely tugging at the corners of his mouth.

His hair was still a little damp from his earlier patrol, strands clinging to his forehead. His uniform jacket was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves pushed up to his forearms casually.

He looked tired — but calm.

At peace.

Your chest tightened at the sight.

"You should be resting," Giyu said after a moment, his voice deep and low, threading into the quiet like a velvet ribbon.

You smiled to yourself, returning your focus to your canvas. "Just a little longer. I want to finish this part."

He didn’t argue.

Giyu never pressured you.

Instead, he stepped further into the room, bare feet barely making a sound against the wood floor.

Without a word, he settled behind you, his knees brushing the backs of yours.

You felt his warmth first, then the steady, grounding touch of his hand finding your waist, fingers splayed lightly against the fabric of your clothes.

You froze for a second — not in fear, but in that fluttery, breath-catching way you always did when Giyu touched you without hesitation.

Then you relaxed against him, the curve of your back leaning naturally into his chest.

Your brush moved slowly now, as if your heart and hands couldn’t quite keep up with how aware you were of him.

He stayed quiet, resting his chin lightly against your shoulder, watching.

"You always look different when you paint," he murmured suddenly, his breath warm against your ear.

"Different how?" you asked, voice soft.

Giyu thought about it for a moment. "Lighter. Like… you're somewhere else. Somewhere better."

The vulnerability in his words made you pause, blinking down at your half-finished painting.

You'd never thought about it like that.

But maybe he was right.

Maybe in the strokes of red and blue and gold, you carved out a place where things weren't so heavy. A world untouched by blood and loss.

You turned slightly, enough to see him in the corner of your eye.

Without thinking, you dipped your pinky finger into a small smear of blue paint and tapped it gently onto the tip of his nose.

Giyu blinked, clearly startled, his face blanking for a second in that way only he could.

You giggled, feeling the tightness in your chest lift. "There. Now you're part of the painting too."

For a long beat, he just looked at you — and the air between you changed.

Thickened.

Slowly, Giyu lifted one hand and cupped your jaw carefully, like he was worried you might shatter if he touched you too hard.

"You make everything beautiful," he said lowly, voice so soft you almost thought you imagined it.

Your breath caught.

And before you could say anything — he leaned in and kissed you.

A featherlight press of lips, filled with an aching tenderness that made your heart ache.

You melted into it, fingers curling loosely in the fabric of his haori.

When he pulled away, just barely, his forehead pressed against yours, noses brushing, you whispered, "I love you, Giyu."

"I know," he breathed. "I love you too."

And it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

---

Later that night…

The moon had risen by the time you finally put away your paints.

Giyu had stayed by your side the whole time, even when you gently shooed him toward the futon, telling him you'd be there soon.

When you finally slid under the covers beside him, Giyu immediately wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close until your head rested against his chest.

The steady rhythm of his heartbeat was soothing, a lullaby of its own.

You lay like that for a while, your fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on his chest.

Then — when he thought you were dozing off — he shifted slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up with two fingers and kiss you again.

This time deeper. Slower.

Less careful.

You whimpered softly into the kiss, feeling yourself melt into him, heart fluttering wildly.

Giyu's hand slid from your waist to your hip, thumb brushing slow, lazy circles against your skin, grounding you to him.

"Stay with me," he whispered against your lips, voice barely a breath.

"I'm not going anywhere," you murmured back, nuzzling against him.

His arms tightened around you, pressing your bodies flush together, like he could fuse you to him just by holding tight enough.

The two of you eventually drifted off like that — tangled up in each other, hearts beating in perfect, quiet rhythm.

And as Giyu drifted into sleep, he thought,

Maybe this is what peace feels like.

Not in a painting.

Not in a dream.

So when he silently walked in, eyeing you with that unreadable expression, you weren’t expecting much. Maybe a soft pat on the head. Maybe a quiet sit beside you.

What you weren’t expecting was to suddenly be lifted clean off the couch, your phone slipping from your hands with a gasp.

“Giyu!” you squealed, grabbing for his shoulders as your legs instinctively locked around his waist.

His hands were firm on your thighs, keeping you stable, but he spun just a little—enough to make you dizzy and flustered all at once.

“You’ve been thinking too hard,” he said calmly, the corners of his lips tugging up ever so slightly. “So I decided to change that.”

You blinked, face flushed. “By kidnapping me?!”

“You can’t kidnap someone who already lives here,” he said flatly.

“…You’re so annoying,” you muttered, hiding your face in his shoulder.

“You’re blushing.”

“I know I’m blushing, Giyu!”

He adjusted you slightly, letting your weight rest more comfortably in his arms. And you felt it—how steady he was. How effortless he made it seem. But still… you hesitated.

“…Are you sure I’m not too heavy?” you asked, voice quiet, fingers twisting into his shirt.

There was a pause.

And then he bounced you slightly in his arms. Bounced you.

“I'm sure.” he said plainly.

You smacked his arm with a huff. “Stop throwing me around like a plush toy!”

“I could,” he said thoughtfully. “But you make funny sounds when I do.”

You gasped. “That’s rude.”

“You squeaked earlier.”

“I did not squeak!”

“You did.” Another bounce. “Kind of like a squeal mixed with a hiccup.”

“Oh my god, I hate you.”

“You don’t.” His face was annoyingly smug for someone who barely ever showed emotion. “If I let you go right now, you’d hold on tighter.”

You wanted to deny it, but your legs tightened around his waist without thinking, proving his point.

“…Fine. Shut up,” you grumbled.

“Still blushing.”

You buried your face deeper into his shoulder. “Shut up.”

After a moment, he slowed, walking you both over to the couch before dropping down with you still in his lap. His arms never left your waist. In fact, they just tugged you closer, holding you like you were his entire world.

“You’re not too much,” he said, this time softer. No teasing. “You’re never too much. Not for me.”

You looked up, your heart catching in your throat. And of course—he chose that exact moment to smirk a little again.

“But I will keep throwing you around. You’re fun to toss.”

“You are the worst.”

He leaned in, brushing your lips with his. “You love it.”

You did. You really, really did.

You sat in his lap, arms loosely around his neck, still flustered as hell. Your heart was beating fast and not just from being manhandled like a rag doll. Giyu’s rare smugness had you all sorts of thrown off.

“You know,” he said lowly, tilting his head as he ran his fingers along your waist, “for someone who thinks they’re ‘too heavy,’ you sure cling to me like you’re weightless.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I cling because you keep picking me up like a maniac. I have to hang on or I’ll die.”

He raised an eyebrow, fingers sliding a little lower on your back. “Oh? So if I did it again… you'd hang on just as tight?”

You gave him a look. “Don’t you dare.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips against your cheek, lingering far too long for it to be innocent. “You like it when I do, though.”

Your face burned. “No, I don’t.”

He hummed, hands slowly slipping beneath the hem of your shirt just enough to make you twitch. “You make that cute noise every time I do.”

“Giyu.”

“Like a little squeaky toy.”

“Oh my god, I hate you.”

“You don’t,” he said again, smug as ever. “You love it when I’m like this.”

He let one hand trail up your side, fingers brushing lightly over your ribs. “You act so flustered… but you’re not moving away.”

“…I hate that you’re hot when you’re cocky.”

“I know,” he said without skipping a beat. That little half-smile curled on his lips again—the kind that made your knees weak. “So tell me, what are you going to do about it?”

Your breath caught when he pulled you a little closer, lips ghosting over your ear now. “Because I could keep teasing you like this all night.”

Your grip on his shoulders tightened.

“I mean…” he murmured, voice dipped dangerously low, “unless you’ve got a better idea?”

Your cheeks were blazing now, heat crawling down your neck. “I swear, if you don’t stop talking like that—”

“You’ll what?” His tone was playful now, teasing.

You narrowed your eyes, though your face was still tomato-red. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

He grinned against your skin, a rare, real smile. “I get that a lot.”

You smacked his chest with a laugh, and he just caught your hand, lacing his fingers with yours as if it were nothing.

“Didn’t even make it five minutes,” you whispered, crouching down beside him. “She must know she has you wrapped around her little finger.”

Giyu gave you that soft look—half amusement, half awe—as he glanced down at the sleeping bundle against him. “She’s not the only one.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said smoothly, but the subtle curve of his lips betrayed him.

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Giyu Tomioka… was that flirting?”

He shrugged, shifting slightly so he could pat the space on the couch beside him with his free hand. “Come here.”

You didn’t hesitate. Carefully, you curled up against his side, mindful of the warm, squishy baby now snoozing like a little starfish on his chest. Your head fit perfectly into the crook of his neck, and his arm wrapped snugly around your waist.

The room was quiet again, save for the low hum of the white noise machine and your daughter’s sleepy little sighs.

“This is nice,” you murmured, eyes fluttering closed.

Giyu hummed in agreement. “You smell like baby powder.”

You chuckled. “Gee, thanks.”

“No—” he nuzzled his nose against your temple, voice lower now, softer, “—I mean it’s warm. Familiar. I like it.”

Your cheeks warmed. You tilted your head up to look at him, only to find him already watching you with that unreadable but unmistakably fond expression.

“You’re getting sappy.”

“You love it.”

You grinned. “Yeah, I do.”

He leaned down and kissed you—just a gentle press of lips, slow and lingering. One of those quiet kisses that didn’t need anything else. When he pulled back, his eyes flicked down briefly to your lips before settling on yours again.

“If she stays asleep,” he murmured, “maybe we finish what we started earlier.”

You snorted softly. “That’s wishful thinking.”

“She’s asleep now,” he pointed out, almost smug.

“You’re literally her bed.”

“Exactly. I’m not moving.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately and leaned into him, placing your hand over the one he had resting on your waist. His thumb brushed slow circles against your side.

“…You still owe me a kiss from earlier,” he added under his breath, eyes closed.

You smiled. “You’ll get your kiss.”

“Promise?”

You lifted your head just enough to plant a kiss right on the corner of his mouth. “Promise.”

He caught your gaze again, clearly pleased, and you melted just a little bit more.

And as the minutes passed in content silence, with your baby curled safely between you and his heart beating steady beneath your ear, you thought—

You tiptoed back down the hallway, exhaling slowly as you rubbed your shoulder from the hours of swaying, bouncing, and lullaby-humming. Giyu stood at the end of the hallway leaning against the doorframe, dressed in soft black sweatpants and a plain gray tee, hair loosely tied back.

“She asleep?” he asked, voice hushed and low.

“She better be,” you said, pressing your index finger to your lips. “I just aged five years trying to get her to nap.”

Giyu chuckled—quietly, of course—and reached for you as you approached. His hand slid around your waist, fingers splayed and familiar, guiding you gently into him.

“Good,” he murmured, tilting his head to brush his lips against yours, “because I’ve been waiting all day.”

Before you could respond, his mouth was on yours—warm, slow, and just a little needy. The kind of kiss that reminded you you weren’t just a mom, but his partner. His love. His wife.

You melted into him, sighing softly as your hands curled into his shirt. His grip tightened on your waist as he nudged you backward, walking you gently into the bedroom until the back of your knees hit the bed. He didn’t push—he didn’t need to. The heat of his lips against yours, the subtle growl in his throat when your nails scraped lightly up the back of his neck… it was more than enough.

You pulled him down with you as you laid back, your legs curling instinctively around his waist. He smiled against your lips, his hand slipping beneath your shirt to trace the soft skin just above your hip. Goosebumps followed in his wake.

“I missed you today,” he murmured, brushing kisses along your jaw. “You’ve been a little preoccupied.”

“You mean keeping your child alive?” you teased breathlessly.

“Our child,” he corrected, dipping his head to your throat, where he kissed a sensitive spot that made you squirm. “But I’d still like some time with you too.”

You laughed softly until he nipped gently at your neck, dragging another sound from you entirely. His body pressed flush against yours, his hand cradling your thigh while his other kept you anchored close.

The kiss deepened—slower but more intense. You sighed into his mouth, letting your body respond, your hands trailing along the lines of his back. The kind of moment you hadn’t had in weeks. The kind that made your heart ache with love and your body ache with longing.

Just as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts—

“WAAAAHHHH!!”

The shrill cry from the monitor sliced through the tension like a knife. You both groaned in perfect sync.

Giyu dropped his forehead to your collarbone. “She has a sixth sense.”

“She really does,” you whispered with a weak laugh. “Sorry.”

He lifted his head just enough to kiss your lips once more, slow and sweet, despite the infant siren call blaring in the background.

“Don’t apologize,” he said softly. “You’re doing everything, and you’re still so beautiful it makes me insane.”

You blinked, flushed.

Then, with a final kiss to your cheek, he pushed up off the bed. “I’ll get her.”

“Wait,” you said, grabbing his wrist. “Let me go with you.”

He smiled, eyes full of something that almost made your breath catch—like love was a tangible thing in that moment.

“Okay,” he murmured.

Together, you padded back down the hallway, your fingers brushing together between your bodies. The monitor still buzzed as your daughter cried, demanding attention.

But even through the exhaustion and interruptions, Giyu’s hand found yours and gave it a gentle squeeze.

You weren’t alone.

_________________________________________________

The village was lively that morning, the streets humming with the sounds of merchants and children laughing in the distance. Spring had painted everything in soft colors—pink petals fluttering in the breeze, sunlight dappling through budding trees.

You walked beside Giyu, your hand nestled in his while your other cradled the gentle curve of your growing belly. You weren’t that far along, but the bump had finally started to show. Enough that people had started to notice—and dote.

"You're glowing, dear! Here, take this—on the house!" a sweet old vendor cooed, holding out a neatly wrapped package of dried fruit.

You blinked in surprise. "Oh, I couldn't possibly—"

But Giyu, standing just behind you, accepted it with a rare softness in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said simply, placing the package in your bag.

The moment the woman turned away, your eyes darted up to him. “You didn’t have to take it—”

“I did,” he said, and there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “She meant well.”

As you walked further through the village, it only continued. One woman insisted you sit and rest for just a minute. A tailor offered to loosen the sash around your kimono, murmuring about how important comfort was for a growing baby. Even a group of small children paused to stare at your stomach, eyes wide in curiosity before running off giggling.

You blushed after the fifth person had offered you something.

“Okay, this is getting a little embarrassing,” you whispered under your breath.

But Giyu just gave your hand a squeeze and leaned closer. “I like it.”

You tilted your head at him. “You like me being fussed over?”

He didn’t answer right away, eyes scanning the road ahead. But his grip on your hand didn’t loosen.

“I like that they see you,” he said quietly, voice low and steady. “That they know how special you are. That you’re carrying our child.”

Your heart thudded at the way he said our child—with that subtle reverence only Giyu could manage without raising his voice.

You slowed to a stop in front of a vendor selling hand-carved wooden trinkets. Giyu paused with you, noticing how your eyes lingered on a small fox figurine. It reminded you of something you couldn’t quite place—maybe a story from your childhood. Maybe a hope for your own child’s.

Giyu bought it before you could protest.

“Giyu,” you whispered, touched. “You’re going to spoil them before they’re even born.”

“They deserve it,” he said without hesitation.

He glanced down then—down at the small swell of your belly that your hands kept brushing against protectively. And something flickered in his eyes. Not just happiness, but pride. A quiet, aching kind of pride that burned low in his chest like a steady flame.

You caught the way he looked at your bump—how he lingered there for just a second longer than necessary—and you smiled softly.

“You keep staring,” you teased, nudging him lightly.

His gaze didn’t shift. “I still can’t believe it,” he murmured. “That you’re real. That this… we… is real.”

You reached up and brushed a strand of dark hair from his face. “I’m here. And so are you. And soon…” You glanced down. “They will be too.”

For a moment, the world was quiet. Just the sound of wind and Giyu’s thumb brushing small, soothing circles over the back of your hand.

And then he surprised you.

He let go of your hand, stepped in front of you, and crouched just slightly—his calloused hand gently resting against your bump. He didn’t say anything, just closed his eyes, resting his forehead against your stomach for a quiet moment of reverence.

When he stood again, his expression was unreadable—but his eyes? They shimmered.

“I’m happy,” he said.

It was simple. Quiet. But you knew it was the deepest truth he could give.

At first, it just rested there, but slowly—gently—it started moving. His fingers slid under the oversized T-shirt you wore (his shirt, really), trailing over your stomach, down the dip of your waist, and then lower—gliding along your thigh. Then back up again.

You didn’t react much at first. Too focused on the screen.

Big mistake.

“Who are you talking to?” His voice was soft, but there was a weight to it—low and velvety, the kind that curled into your ears and made your stomach flutter.

“Mitsuri,” you answered without thinking. “She just sent me a video of a baby goat in pajamas. I’m emotionally invested now.”

His hand stilled for a moment, then resumed, slower this time. Firmer. His fingertips grazed your hip like they owned it.

“You haven’t looked at me in twenty minutes,” he said.

You blinked, glancing down at his hand. “Giyu?”

“I’m jealous,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over the curve of your neck. “Of a phone. Or a goat. Or anything that gets more of your attention than me when I’m this close.”

That voice. That low, jealous, deeply possessive voice you could never resist—it turned your blood molten.

With a slow breath, you locked your phone and turned over to face him. His hair was a bit messy, his eyes shadowed but glowing in the dark as they studied you.

“You’re always enough,” you whispered.

He leaned in, brushing a kiss beneath your jaw. “Then prove it.”

Your heart thudded. “Possessive much?”

“You like it.”

And gods, you did.

You didn’t fight it. Not when he moved over you, not when his hand explored every curve like he was trying to memorize you all over again. Not when he kissed you—deep, slow, and full of heat you hadn’t realized was building until your breath caught.

One of your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and he responded with a low growl, gripping your thigh and pressing himself closer.

“Don’t make me compete with your phone again,” he murmured into your mouth, voice rough and low.

You smiled against his lips, heart pounding.

“Okay,” you breathed. “But tomorrow… you’re watching that baby goat with me.”

He smirked, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Deal.”

He was never truly at peace. Not since all the losses.

But Y/N had brought him something close to it.

The sound of her footsteps was soft, familiar. When she stepped onto the wooden porch, his eyes flicked toward her. She carried two cups of tea, both still steaming.

"You didn't change yet," she said gently, offering him a cup.

He accepted it with a soft, “Thank you,” his fingertips brushing hers briefly.

Y/N sat beside him, close but not touching. It had taken time to earn his closeness—his trust. He wasn’t the kind of man to say much, but when he loved, he did it deeply and without reservation.

Tonight, though, there was a tightness in her chest, one she hadn’t been able to shake since the morning.

“I was thinking,” she began, letting her voice float gently into the quiet. “We should plant something new in the garden.”

Giyu nodded, sipping his tea. “Maybe lilies. You like those.”

Her heart warmed at that. He remembered. He always remembered the small things, even if he rarely said them aloud.

But this time, it wasn’t lilies she was thinking of. Not really.

She turned to look at him. He looked back at her, brows slightly furrowed. He could tell something was different.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” she said softly, placing her cup down.

Giyu set his tea aside as well. “What is it?”

Y/N’s hands fidgeted in her lap. Her lips parted once, twice, before she could get the words out.

“I’m… I’m pregnant.”

Time seemed to stop.

Giyu’s expression didn’t change immediately. He stared at her, eyes locked onto hers like he was searching for some deeper truth beneath her calm exterior. His hands stilled completely. His breath caught in his throat.

“I found out this morning,” she continued, voice barely above a whisper. “I wanted to wait until I was sure. I took a second test. It’s real, Giyu.”

A long silence followed. The wind stirred the trees again, rustling the leaves like nature was trying to fill the space between their words.

Then, at last, Giyu breathed out. “A child…” he murmured. His voice was low, quiet as falling snow. “We’re… having a child.”

Y/N nodded. “Yes.”

He looked down at her stomach. There was nothing to see yet—no visible change—but suddenly, it was all he could think about. A small life. A part of him. A part of her. Growing inside the person he loved most.

The fear hit him almost instantly. He thought of the demons, of the battles, of how close he had come to death more times than he could count. Of the people he’d lost—Sabito, Tusketo, his parents, so many others.

What kind of world would his child be born into?

But then, she reached for his hand.

His fingers twitched but didn’t pull away. Instead, he laced them with hers.

“It’s okay to be scared,” she said gently, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “I am too. But I know you, Giyu. I know you’ll be a good father.”

“I…” His voice cracked slightly, but he cleared his throat. “I don’t know how to be a father.”

“You’ll learn. We’ll learn together.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then pulled her into his arms.

His embrace was warm and protective, and though he said nothing for a time, she could feel the way he trembled—just slightly—as he held her.

Finally, he whispered, “Thank you… for telling me. For trusting me with this. I promise… I’ll protect both of you. No matter what.”

And in that moment, with his hand resting gently against her stomach and the setting sun painting the sky in gold, Y/N knew he meant every word.

Their journey was just beginning.

___________________

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