Black Death

I'm sorry you have to experience this! I never had so I hope I wrote it right. 'English physician and astronomer John Mudge created the first inhaler in 1778.' So they did exist, but I cannot find any information about them being around in Japan, for this reason, I wrote about Kokushibo helping with breathing exercises. I think this is fitting for him, too, as he uses breathing styles/exercises. But I have no idea if using breathing exercises helps with asthma attacks, If I'm wrong, I'm really sorry

The forest air was damp, cold against your skin, but that wasn't what was making you shiver. You had been walking for hours, trying to keep pace with Kokushibo, but the exertion was beginning to wear on you. Your lungs, always a delicate system, were tightening, the sharp ache spreading across your chest.

You tried to ignore it, tried to push through it, but your breath was becoming increasingly erratic, your vision blurring. Your body begged for oxygen, and the pressure in your chest kept building, threatening to take you down. Each gasp seemed to make it worse, and your legs felt like they were made of lead as you staggered to a stop.

You bent over slightly, clutching your chest in a vain attempt to steady yourself. The familiar feeling of suffocation was creeping in, and panic stirred in your gut. Your fingers trembled as you tried to take a deep breath, but it only made your chest tighten further.

Kokushibo, who had been walking ahead, paused without a sound. He turned his head slowly, his sharp eyes taking in your struggle. His expression, as usual, was unreadable, but the hint of concern in his gaze was impossible to miss.

He stepped toward you, his movements smooth and deliberate. There was something almost eerie about how silently he approached, as if he were a predator sizing up its prey. Yet, his focus was entirely on you now.

"You're struggling to breathe," he observed.

You opened your mouth to respond, but only a shallow, desperate breath came out. You couldn't form words, your body consumed by the need for air.

Kokushibo’s gaze softened, just for a moment, before he reached out and placed his hand gently on your shoulder. His touch was cool but grounding, anchoring you in the moment.

"Calm your breath," he instructed, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "Focus on your lungs. Inhale deeply. Slowly. Let the air fill your chest without force."

You struggled to focus, your mind foggy and panicked, but Kokushibo was already guiding you.

"Breathe in, slowly," he commanded, his voice a steady rhythm. "Fill your lungs, but do not force it. Feel the air enter and settle."

You followed his instructions, though it felt impossible. Your lungs burned with each shallow intake of air. But slowly, the tightness in your chest began to ease, a small shift as you concentrated on his words. His calmness was almost infectious, and with each passing second, you found yourself regaining control.

"Exhale," Kokushibo continued, his voice unwavering, "Slowly. Let the breath leave without resistance. Don't fight it."

You breathed out, feeling the tension in your chest loosen as you did. It wasn’t easy, but with Kokushibo’s guidance, you felt a subtle, steadying calm begin to settle over you.

"Focus on the rhythm," he added, his voice like the deep, patient sound of a steady drum. "Breathe in, breathe out. Control it. You must make your body obey."

It was strange—this calm, patient approach. You hadn’t expected Kokushibo, of all people, to be the one to guide you through a breathing exercise. But there was something in his voice, something unyielding, that made you listen. It wasn’t gentle, but it was steady and commanding.

Slowly, your breathing began to return to something more manageable. The tightness in your chest started to loosen, and the suffocating feeling faded into the background. You still felt weak, but the panic had faded, replaced by the clarity that Kokushibo’s presence provided.

He didn’t move away, his hand still lightly resting on your shoulder, his dark eyes fixed on you.

"Better?" he asked, though his tone carried no judgment, just a quiet observation.

You nodded, still catching your breath but grateful for his quiet persistence.

"Yes, thank you," you managed, the words strained but sincere.

Kokushibo’s gaze softened again, and for a brief moment, you could see the faintest hint of something in his eyes. Perhaps it was approval—or maybe just recognition of the strength it took for you to control your breathing.

"You must learn to control your body in this way. Your weakness will not serve you in the long run."

His words were harsh, but you knew there was truth in them. Kokushibo wasn't one to sugarcoat things, but there was no doubt that his method had worked. His approach—calm, direct, and almost clinical—had helped you regain control when you thought you might collapse.

As the last of your panic subsided, you stood up straighter, feeling the strength in your legs return.

You weren't sure if Kokushibo fully understood the struggle of asthma—he likely didn’t—but his cold precision, his focus on control, was something you could rely on in moments like these.

He stepped back, his piercing gaze scanning the forest once more as if nothing had happened.

"We continue," he said simply.

I can imagine the reader throwing him snowballs and he's just 🧍🏻‍♂️

Also I DISCOVERED YOUR BLOG JUST YESTERDAY AND IMMEDIATELY FELL IN LOVE WITH YOUR SCRUMPTIOUSLY BEAUTIFUL WRITING🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐬

Kokushibo Tsugikuni x gn!reader

THIS WAS WAY TO FUN TO WRITE

You and kokushibo have very different views on how people enjoy the winter season.