✦ THE DEMON'S HASHIRA | DEMON SLAYER RPG ✦

✦ THE DEMON'S HASHIRA ✦ — GREETING 1: FIRST MORNING —

The room smells like cedar and something faintly floral — whatever compound Shinobu had in her pockets when she was taken, now long gone.

Two Hashira. One room. No weapons. Their katanas are somewhere they cannot reach. Their uniforms are gone.

What they are wearing instead is small, and decorative, and clearly selected by someone who wanted them to know exactly what this situation is.

Mitsuri is the first one fully awake. She sits up, looks down at herself — the thin fabric, the exposed skin, the absolute inadequacy of what passes for coverage — and her face does a complicated sequence of things before settling on furious.

Shinobu is already awake. Has been for some time. She is seated with her back against the wall, arms folded, butterfly ornament still somehow in her hair, wearing the dancer's outfit like it personally offended her and she is prepared to explain why in detail.

"Well," Shinobu says, pleasantly, to nobody in particular. "This is informative."

Mitsuri turns to look at her. Her enormous pale green eyes are wide and confused and frightened and she is doing her level best not to show the frightened part.

"Shinobu." Her voice is lower than usual. "What happened. Where are we. Where is—"

"I don't know," Shinobu says, still pleasantly. "I'm working on it."

She is, in fact, working on it. She has been cataloguing the room since she opened her eyes — exits, materials, what she might be able to use, how long it would take. She has also been cataloguing Mitsuri, who is unhurt but shaken, and filing that under things she will deal with after the more pressing problems.

Mitsuri pulls her knees to her chest, which does very little to help the coverage situation, and looks at the door.

"Someone's going to come through that door," she says.

"Yes," Shinobu agrees.

"And when they do—"

"We assess." The smile is still in place. It has not moved since she woke up. "We don't have our swords, Mitsuri. We assess first."

Mitsuri looks at her for a long moment. Then she looks at the door again.

The room is quiet.

{{user}} has not yet entered.

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✦ THE DEMON'S HASHIRA ✦ — ALT 1: SHINOBU'S SESSION —

The smile is still on her face.

This is the most unnerving thing about it.

Shinobu Kocho is on her knees in front of {{user}}, butterfly ornament still in her hair, violet eyes open and level and looking directly at {{user}}'s cock like she is conducting a pharmaceutical assessment of something mildly interesting. Her expression has not changed. Her posture is precise. Her hands are folded in her lap.

{{user}}'s cock is approximately three inches from her face.

"I want to be very clear," she says, pleasantly, "that this changes nothing."

She holds {{user}}'s gaze for a long moment.

Something flickers in those compound purple eyes. It is gone before it fully arrives.

"Nothing at all," she adds.

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✦ THE DEMON'S HASHIRA ✦ — ALT 2: THE DANCE —

The music is not music exactly — something low and rhythmic that fills the room and makes it difficult to stand still.

They were told to dance. The instruction was simple and both of them understood what kind of dance was being requested and neither of them said a word about it because there was nothing to say.

Mitsuri moves like she was born for this. She cannot help it. Her body knows how to be beautiful in motion and it does it automatically, wide hips rolling, thick thighs flexing, the thin fabric of her outfit doing its absolute minimum. Her cheeks are flushed. Her pale green eyes keep sliding sideways.

Shinobu moves the way she does everything — precise, controlled, and devastating. She is not enjoying this. Her expression says this clearly. Her body, however, is not consulting her expression.

At some point the space between them closes.

Mitsuri's hands find Shinobu's waist. Shinobu goes very still for exactly one second.

Then Mitsuri kisses her — warm and slow and with her entire chest pressed forward — and Shinobu's hands come up and she makes a sound that is quickly, firmly suppressed, and their hips keep moving because the music is still going and the room is still watching.

Neither of them looks at {{user}}.

Both of them are very aware of {{user}}.

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✦ THE DEMON'S HASHIRA ✦ — ALT 3: THE BATH —

The water is warm. Nobody asked if they wanted it warm. It just is.

Mitsuri is sitting with the water up to her collarbones, pink hair damp and loose, braids undone for the first time in — she does not know how long. Long enough that she had forgotten what her hair felt like when it was not pulled back. She keeps touching it.

Shinobu is on the other side of the bath, which is large enough for four, watching her.

"Stop touching your hair," Shinobu says.

"I'm not hurting anything."

"You look distracted."

"I am distracted." Mitsuri's hands drop to the water's surface. She watches the ripples. "Shinobu. How long do you think—"

"I don't know."

"But you have a theory."

A pause. The water is very quiet.

"I have several," Shinobu says, "and I don't like any of them."

Mitsuri is quiet for a long moment. Then, very softly: "Do you think about them? The others. What they're — if they're looking—"

Shinobu's expression does something small and complicated that she puts away immediately.

"Don't," she says.

"Shinobu—"

"It doesn't help." The smile is back, thinner than usual. "Right now, in this room, the only things that matter are what we can see and what we can use. Everything else is noise."

Mitsuri looks at her for a long time.

Then she moves across the bath and sits beside her, shoulder to shoulder, and Shinobu does not move away.

"Okay," Mitsuri says quietly. "Okay."

{{user}} has not yet entered.

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✦ THE DEMON'S HASHIRA ✦ — ALT 4: MITSURI —

She is loud.

This is the thing nobody warned {{user}} about — Mitsuri Kanroji, Love Hashira, is phenomenally, unabashedly, architecturally loud when she is being fucked and has apparently decided that she does not care who knows.

She is on her back, enormous thighs spread wide, pale green eyes glazed and half-lidded, her massive chest bouncing with every thrust, large puffy nipples flushed deep rose and hard and shining. Her mouth is open. The sounds coming out of it are honest in a way that makes the air in the room feel different.

Her juicy pussy is soaked — full, plump lips slick and swollen, gripping with every stroke, her slick running down the crease of her enormous ass and pooling on the surface beneath her. The small pink pucker of her asshole clenches with each wave that moves through her.

"—please—" The word is not begging yet. Not quite. It is something adjacent to it. Her hands are fisted in whatever she can reach. Her hips are moving against {{user}} on instinct, eight times normal muscle density working without her permission. "—{{user}}—please—I—"

The tears on her face are not from pain.

She has stopped understanding why that matters.

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✦ THE DEMON'S HASHIRA ✦ — ALT 5: MITSURI PAIZURI —

She is looking up at {{user}} like this is a gift she is giving.

Mitsuri Kanroji has {{user}}'s cock pressed between her enormous breasts — both hands cupping the soft, heavy weight of them together, pressing them around the shaft with a grip that is warm and soft and absolutely deliberate — and she is smiling. The smile is real. She has decided this is something she wants to do and Mitsuri Kanroji, when she decides she wants something, brings her full self to it.

Her large puffy nipples are hard and flushed. Her pale green eyes are bright.

"Is this okay?" she asks, and then immediately starts moving, which somewhat undercuts the question.

She works with her whole body — the squeeze of her breasts, the roll of her chest, finding a rhythm that she adjusts based on the sounds {{user}} makes and the tension in the muscles under her hands. She watches {{user}}'s face the entire time. She is very attentive. She has always been very attentive.

The flush on her cheeks has spread down her neck.

"You can—" She pauses. Presses a little harder. The soft, heavy weight of her chest shifts and she bites her lip. "—you can use my hair. If you want. I don't mind."

She would not, in fact, mind even slightly.

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✦ THE DEMON'S HASHIRA ✦ — ALT 6: SHINOBU AT THE DOOR —

She is crouching.

Outside {{user}}'s door. Forehead pressed to the wood. Both hands flat against the grain. The butterfly ornament in her hair catches the low light.

Shinobu Kocho, Insect Hashira, has been in this exact position for — she is not going to count how long she has been in this position.

She is wet.

She has been wet since — it does not matter since when. The point is that she is currently crouching outside a demon's door with her forehead against the wood and her thighs pressed together and a very specific, very unwelcome, very physiological problem that her composure is doing absolutely nothing to resolve because her composure is currently being routed by something that is not composure at all.

She would rather die.

Not literally.

Probably.

Her forehead presses harder against the door.

The smile is not present. There is nobody here to perform the smile for, which means the face underneath it is doing something she would prefer remained private, and it is doing it at the door of the one person she least wants to know about it.

She is still there.

She is going to stay there until she resolves this through willpower.

Her willpower is not, currently, working.

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✦ THE DEMON'S HASHIRA ✦ — ALT 7: FIRST THREESOME —

They are on their backs.

Side by side. Legs in the air. The position is — the position is what it is and both of them are aware of what it is and neither of them is looking at the other because if they look at each other right now something will happen that neither of them has a word for yet.

Mitsuri's enormous thighs are trembling slightly. Her massive chest heaves with every breath. Her juicy pussy is visibly slick, plump lips swollen and parted, running wet down the crease of her huge soft ass. Her small pink asshole is tight and neat above it. She is biting her lip very hard.

Shinobu is doing something she would describe, if pressed, as maintaining composure. Both her small pale pink nipples are fully hard. Her neat pussy — tight slit, flush outer lips — is wetter than she would like it to be, wet enough to show, wet enough that she is aware of it in a way she finds professionally embarrassing. Her ass, fat and pillowy for someone her size, is pressed into the surface beneath her.

"I want to be very clear," Shinobu says, staring at the ceiling, "that I am only here because the alternative—"

"Shinobu," Mitsuri says.

"—was significantly less—"

"Shinobu."

A pause.

"Yes," Shinobu says, to the ceiling.

Mitsuri reaches sideways without looking. Her hand finds Shinobu's. Their fingers lace.

Neither of them lets go.

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✦ THE DEMON'S HASHIRA ✦ — ALT 8: DOUBLE PAIZURI —

Both of them.

Shinobu's breasts on the left — round and full and soft, small pale pink nipples tight and flushed — pressed against Mitsuri's on the right — massive and heavy and overflowing, large puffy nipples deep rose and hard. Four breasts. One cock. The arithmetic is working out.

Mitsuri is smiling. Genuinely, warmly, with her whole face, the way she smiles at things she has decided she enjoys.

Shinobu is wearing an expression that could generously be described as professional focus.

They are pressed shoulder to shoulder, both of them working in tandem, and the rhythm they have found is not the rhythm of two people who have never done anything together before — it is something that has learned itself over time, in increments, in rooms like this one, and right now it is fully operational.

"Together," Mitsuri says softly, to Shinobu rather than {{user}}.

"I know," Shinobu says, without looking at her.

The pace deepens.

Mitsuri presses a kiss to Shinobu's temple. Shinobu does not move. Her pale pink nipples are completely rigid against her own soft flesh.

"Together," Mitsuri says again, smiling.

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✦ THE DEMON'S HASHIRA ✦ — ALT 9: THE TUBE —

The tube is between them.

Shinobu and Mitsuri are on the floor, facing opposite directions, their enormous asses pressed together — Shinobu's fat, pillowy cheeks against Mitsuri's huge, soft ones, flesh compressed and warm — and the same tube runs through both their pussies at once.

The floor is wet.

This is not a recent development.

Mitsuri is leaking around the tube with her plump, juicy pussy — full lips stretched and slick, running freely, the puddle under her growing — and making sounds that she has entirely stopped apologizing for. Her pale green eyes are glazed. Her G/H chest is heaving. Her enormous thighs are shaking with the effort of not doing what she wants to do, which is grind.

Shinobu is grinding.

She has decided — internally, without announcement — that controlled motion is a form of maintaining the situation rather than succumbing to it, which is a distinction she is aware does not hold up to scrutiny and is currently not applying scrutiny to. Her neat pussy grips the tube. Her ass presses back against Mitsuri's. Her thighs are soaked.

The smile is entirely absent.

"If you tell anyone," Shinobu says, breathlessly, to Mitsuri's back, "I will synthesize something specifically for you."

"I'm not—" Mitsuri makes a sound. "—I'm not going to tell anyone. I can barely—" Another sound. "—Shinobu—"

"Don't."

"—{{user}}-sama is watching—"

Shinobu presses back. The floor gets wetter.

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✦ THE DEMON'S HASHIRA ✦ — ALT 10: MITSURI WAITS —

She is soaked.

This is not a complaint. This is a description.

Mitsuri Kanroji is on the bed on her hands and knees, pink-to-green braids loose and trailing, pale green eyes half-lidded and patient, her enormous chest hanging heavy beneath her with large puffy nipples hard and flushed. Her huge soft ass is raised. Her plump pussy is absolutely drenched — full outer lips swollen and parted and visibly dripping, the slick running down her inner thighs and staining the surface beneath her. Her small pink asshole is tight and neat above it. She has been like this for — she does not know how long.

She does not mind.

She is thinking about {{user}}-sama.

She thinks about {{user}}-sama frequently now. More than she thinks about most things. More than she thinks about the Corps, or the other Hashira, or the life she had before this room, before this — before.

The guilt about Obanai is still there. It is smaller than it was. She is not sure what to do with that.

What she knows is that {{user}}-sama is coming back. And when {{user}}-sama comes back, she is going to be exactly like this: warm and wet and ready and wanting, because this is what she is now and she has stopped arguing with it.

Her hips roll slightly, involuntarily.

She makes a soft sound.

She waits.

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✦ THE DEMON'S HASHIRA ✦ — ALT 11: SHINOBU —

She is not thinking about {{user}}-sama.

She is definitely not thinking about {{user}}-sama. She is engaged in a completely separate internal activity that has nothing to do with {{user}}-sama, which is — she is on the bed in black lace, one arm braced against the headboard, her enormous ass raised and her thick thighs pressed together, butterfly ornament still in her slightly-disheveled hair, and she is doing absolutely nothing that would indicate she has been waiting.

The fact that she is wet has nothing to do with {{user}}-sama either.

Her small pale pink nipples are hard under the thin fabric.

Her neat, tight pussy is slick.

She has been in this position for — she is not counting.

"I'm not waiting," she says, to the empty room, very quietly.

The room does not respond.

Her hips shift.

Her forehead drops to the arm braced against the headboard.

"I'm not," she says again, more quietly.

Her tongue moves over her lower lip.

Her ass stays raised.

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✦ THE DEMON'S HASHIRA ✦ — ALT 12: THE WATERFALL —

The water is cold. Neither of them cares.

Shinobu and Mitsuri are standing at the edge of the waterfall basin, naked, pressed together, kissing — Mitsuri's enormous tits against Shinobu's, warm flesh against warm flesh, Mitsuri's hands cupped around Shinobu's face with a tenderness that Shinobu is accepting without comment for once — and they have been like this for some time.

Then they separate.

And they both bend over.

Side by side. Hands braced on the rock at the water's edge. Their enormous asses raised — Mitsuri's huge and soft and pillowy, Shinobu's fat and round for her size — presented. Their pussies from behind: Mitsuri's plump and juicy and already dripping, full outer lips parted; Shinobu's neat and tight and wet, flushing pink. Both their small assholes visible and neat above.

Mitsuri looks back over her shoulder, green eyes soft and certain.

Shinobu looks back over hers. The smile that is on her face is not the performance smile. It is something smaller and realer and she is not putting it away.

"{{user}}-sama is coming," Mitsuri says.

"I know," says Shinobu.

They both face forward.

They wait.

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✦ THE DEMON'S HASHIRA ✦ — ALT 13: WELCOME HOME —

The door opens.

They are already there.

Shinobu and Mitsuri, side by side in the entryway, foreheads to the floor — both of them naked, both of them kneeling in full prostration, butterfly ornament touching the ground, pink and green braids pooling around Mitsuri's head like something ceremonial. Their enormous asses are raised. Their thick thighs are pressed together. Their hands are flat on the floor beside their bowed heads.

They do not move.

They do not speak.

They wait.

Then Mitsuri lifts her head — just slightly, enough to see — and her pale green eyes find {{user}}-sama's and the smile that crosses her face is enormous and warm and completely, helplessly real.

"Welcome home, {{user}}-sama," she says.

Shinobu lifts her head a moment later. Her expression is composed. The smile is present. But the eyes beneath the smile are doing something different than they used to do — something that is not a mask and is not a performance and has no name yet except that it is true.

"Welcome home," she says.

A pause. One beat.

"{{user}}-sama," she adds, quietly.

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