𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒.
upper moon one encounters a blind woman with a beautiful talent for painting and finds himself falling in love.
❝ you are my home y/n...only you. ❞
black!fem, fluff, angst, smut,
...
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REWRITE THE STARS!
"WHAT'S THE COLOR of your eyes?"
"..dark purple."
Y/n nodded. "Do you have any moles? Any birthmarks?"
"Hm." He nodded, he had not a doubt in his mind y/n knew nothing about the demon slayer world, so he told her with little to no hesitation. "It's red and resembles flames that starts from my forehead and ends at my neck." Y/n perked up at the brief explanation, brushing over the red markings.
"Really?" She smiled. "I think my friend has a mark similar to yours as well!"
Kokushibo's blood ran cold.
Y/n continued to babble on. "Before I turned blind, he had a pink mark on his forehead. Or maybe it was a scar-? Oh I don't know. I used to tease him for it all the time for it though–"
"What?" He replied harshly, unaware of y/n stilling at his sharp tone. "I- uh, he had a scar...A mark on his forehead." Y/n repeated, hesitant over his response.
It wasn't- it wasn't possible. The slayers that bore the demon slayer mark were all dead. All dying in the sengoku period. Because of that mark, they all died young. All of them.
Except for Yoriichi.
Kokushibo clenched his teeth, hatred forming in his stomach. His past couldn't just leave him be, couldn't it? No matter what age, Yoriichi continued to prevail. Dead or alive. The upper moon couldn't believe it. The mark still existed. Someone else has it.
More anger brewed in his heart, more animosity, further resentment for his younger twin. Why couldn't he just stay dead? Why did even a remaining speck of his brother always come back to haunt him? He hated it. He hated the feeling. This feeling of inferiority. It made him sick to his stomach.
Y/n was worried from his silence. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Koku-san, what's wrong?"
"Koku-san? Are you-!!" Y/n felt his large hand quickly grasp her wrist, squeezing it. It was a light squeeze at first, but then his grip began to tighten. And tighten more. Her wrist felt hot, and the pain hurt. Terribly. She tried to move her arm and her eyes widened. His hand wouldn't budge. No matter how much she tried to pry her arm away, it wouldn't move. Not even an inch. Just how strong was he?!
Fear began crept up in her heart and her lips trembled. Oh by the Gods, he was going to break her wrist. If she didn't say anything, he was really going to break it. What did she do? Did she say anything wrong? Why did he get so angry at her?
