Mrs.Tomioka—☆
Summary: Giyuu's confused—why everyone is so shocked that you're his wife?
Warnings: fluff, emo Giyuu(kinda), who is also comfused as hell, wife!reader x husband!Giyuu and lots of fluff.
Characters: Giyuu Tomioka
A/N: I loooove this emotionally constipated boi :3.
Giyuu doesn’t understand why people think he’s strange.
He doesn’t talk much, yes—but he speaks when needed.
He doesn’t smile often, but what reason is there to smile when the world is still this full of blood and ash?
He does his work. He follows orders. He returns alive. That should be enough.
And yet—
Every time he walks into the mansion, the other Hashira go quiet.
Sanemi looks away. Shinobu’s lips curve like she’s holding back something. Mitsuri beams and waves like he’s a rare creature who wandered out of the woods.
He doesn’t mind. Not really. He’s used to being misunderstood.
But lately…things have gotten worse.
Because of you.
He first met you years ago.
A small Wisteria Crest house at the foot of a mountain—the air smelled faintly of herbs and tea leaves. You greeted every wounded slayer with the same soft tone, the same careful hands.
You didn’t treat him differently when he came in bleeding and silent.
You didn’t ask him why he never talked.
You just said, “Welcome home. Sit, please.”
He remembered those words more than he should have.
Now you’re his wife. Quietly. Secretly. A simple ceremony witnessed by Ubuyashiki-sama himself. No fanfare, no announcement.
Just you, smiling under the wisteria trees.
He still doesn’t understand why you agreed to it.
Sometimes, when he watches you brew tea, your sleeves brushing against the wooden counter, your face looking soo calm, kind—even pretty, he thinks maybe he doesn’t need to understand.
The first time it almost comes out is stupid.
You send him off with a small bento box—rice shaped like tiny fish, wrapped neatly in cloth.
He doesn’t notice Shinobu’s sharp gaze when he sets it beside him at the mansion during the meeting.
“Cute lunch, Tomioka-san,” she says, that poison-sweet smile of hers in place. “Did one of the Kakushi make that for you?”
“No,” he answers plainly.
“...Oh?”
He doesn’t elaborate.
Shinobu’s smile tightens. Mitsuri leans forward, curious. “Then who made it, Giyuu-san? It’s so cute!”
He looks down at the fish-shaped rice ball. He can still hear your voice that morning—‘Don’t skip meals again, alright?’ which forced his heart to flutter.
He simply says, “Someone.”
They don’t let him live it down for days.
Sometimes, after missions, Giyuu goes to the Wisteria House—your house, the one you choose to live in.
It’s quiet there—a peaceful one, not like the depressing one his estate is swallowed by. He leaves his blade by the door and sits where you tell him to.
You wrap his wounds with steady hands, humming softly. Sometimes he talks—only to you. Sometimes you tease him gently for his serious face, and he blinks at you, confused at how you can make something inside him unclench so easily.
When you smile, the corners of his mouth twitch upward before he even realizes it.
The next day, when Tanjiro spots him smiling faintly to himself, the boy looks alarmed.
“Giyuu-san, are you okay? Did something good happen?”
“...No,” he says.
He doesn’t understand why Tanjiro looks even more concerned.
One afternoon, you deliver some herbs to the Butterfly Estate. You greet the girls there with polite warmth—and when you pass Shinobu, you bow respectfully.
She almost doesn’t recognize you until you turn—and Giyuu is standing right behind you, carrying your basket without a word.
“Ah, Tomioka-san,” Shinobu says slowly. “Helping…the Wisteria House?”
“Yes.”
Your soft laugh betrays him instantly.
“He insisted on carrying it. I told him it’s fine.”
Shinobu stares between you both, her brow lifting, mouth curling into something dangerously amused.
“Oh? How gentlemanly of you, Tomioka-san.”
He doesn’t see what’s funny about it. He’s your husband. Of course he’d carry the basket.
Later that evening, Mitsuri corners him outside.
“Giyuu-san!” she gushes. “Who’s that lovely woman? The Wisteria one? You two looked so sweet together!”
He blinks at her. “…She’s my wife.”
Mitsuri freezes.
“…Your…what?”
“Wife,” he repeats.
Her scream echoes through the estate.
By the next day, everyone knows.
Sanemi storms into the training yard like a thundercloud. “You’re married? How the hell did that happen?”
“I asked,” Giyuu says.
“You—” Sanemi chokes on air. “And she said yes, TO YOU ?”
He nods.
Shinobu looks like she’s seconds away from fainting from suppressed laughter. “Tomioka-san, I must admit, this is rather...shocking news.”
Mitsuri’s the only one genuinely happy. She hugs you the next time she sees you and gushes about how cute the two of you are together.
Tanjiro, meanwhile, nearly bows himself into the ground when he realizes you’re his superior’s wife.
“Giyuu-san! I didn’t know! Congratulations!”
Giyuu just blinks. “It wasn’t a secret. I just didn’t say it.”
“...That’s the definition of a secret, Giyuu-san.”
He still doesn’t get it.
That night, back home, the world is quiet again.
You’re sitting outside beneath the wisteria vines, a book in your lap. The evening wind moves gently through your hair.
He joins you, sitting beside you with his sword laid down beside him. For a while, there’s only the sound of crickets and your soft humming.
Then you glance up at him.
“So…they know now?”
He nods once.
“And?”
“They were…loud.”
You laugh softly—a heart melting one, tilting your head toward him. “Did they tease you?”
He looks at you—at your calm, gentle eyes, the small smile tugging at your lips—and lets out a slow breath in weariness and to calm his raging heart.
“Yes.”
You reach over, brushing his sleeve lightly. “You’ll survive.”
He doesn’t say it, but when you rest your head on his shoulder and the wisteria petals fall around you both, he thinks this—this quiet, ordinary peace—is something he will fight to survive for.
He still doesn’t understand people very well.
But he understands the way your laughter feels like sunlight.
He understands how the scent of tea and wisteria means home.
And he understands that when everyone else talks too loudly, the quiet between your breaths is where he finds peace.
So maybe it doesn’t matter if no one understands him.
Because you do.
And that’s more than enough.
Mid-terms are pinning me down at my table, giving me backsho-. LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!
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Barelyalive out!
