Imagine Book 2

A Quiet Strength- Gyomei Himejima (Kimetsu no Yaiba)

Fem Y/N

Y/N sighed as she wiped her hands on her apron, the soft hum of the bakery's refrigeration units filling the empty lull in her shift. The smell of fresh pastries no longer comforted her as it once had. Instead, it served as a painful reminder of her conflicted relationship with food. This job was supposed to have been a dream—a place to create, to interact with customers who shared her love for baked goods. But the reality had become far less sweet.

Another rude customer had just left. Their words echoed in her mind like a curse:
"Maybe you should cut back on tasting what you bake."

The sting of the comment had left her breathless in its cruelty. Her coworker had been too busy to notice Y/N's reaction, but it was all she could do to finish the transaction without breaking down. Now, as she stood alone behind the counter, Y/N clenched her fists, her heart heavy with shame.

She wasn't blind to her own insecurities. For years, Y/N had waged a silent war with herself, skipping meals, counting every calorie with an obsession that bordered on unhealthy. Gyomei's kind words, his unshakable presence, and his love were her anchor. But even his deep voice in her memory couldn't drown out the sneering insult from the customer.

As the minutes ticked by, the ache in her chest deepened. She clocked out early, muttering some excuse about feeling ill. Her coworker barely looked up from the register, waving her off with a distracted nod. Y/N slipped out the back door and began the walk home, her thoughts swirling.

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The soft creak of the floorboards greeted her when she opened the door to their modest home. Y/N could hear the steady, rhythmic sound of Gyomei's training in the dojo—a space he'd set up in one of the larger rooms. His movements were deliberate, the faint clinking of his chain weapon blending with the low hum of his breathing.

Y/N paused by the entrance, her chest tightening. She didn't want to disturb him. More than that, she didn't want him to see her like this—raw, vulnerable, a mess of insecurities spilling out of her. She wiped at her eyes hastily, willing the tears to stop, and crossed the hall toward their bedroom.

Her steps faltered when she passed the full-length mirror. Her reflection stared back, and for the first time in a long while, she didn't look away. She didn't like what she saw.

The world had always told her that beauty meant thinness, perfection, flawlessness. And no matter how much Gyomei assured her of her worth, there was a part of her that couldn't shake the doubts. Today's comment had been a cruel confirmation of every fear she had.

Her hands trembled as she touched her face, her hips, her stomach. Silent tears tracked down her cheeks...

From inside the dojo, Gyomei paused mid-swing. His sharp senses caught something—a subtle tremor in the air, a shift in energy that was unmistakable. He lowered his weapon, the chain pooling at his feet, and tilted his head slightly.

"Y/N," he called gently, his deep voice resonating through the quiet house. "Are you alright?"

Startled, Y/N spun around, quickly wiping at her face again. She hadn't meant to alert him. "I—I'm fine," she replied, her voice hitching slightly.

Gyomei frowned, his fingers brushing over the prayer beads in his hands. Though blind, he could feel the weight in her words, the strain she tried to hide. "Come here," he said, his tone soft but firm.

For a moment, Y/N considered pretending everything was fine. She could retreat to the bedroom, clean herself up, and greet him later with a smile. But something in his voice made her pause. She walked into the dojo, her steps hesitant.

Gyomei was kneeling in the centre of the room, his weapon set aside. He turned his face toward her, his expression calm but attentive. "What's wrong, my love?" he asked, tilting his head slightly as if to better catch the nuances in her breathing.

Y/N opened her mouth to brush off his concern, but the dam broke. A sob escaped her lips, and she covered her face with her hands, ashamed of her tears.

He was on his feet in an instant, closing the distance between them. Gyomei placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, his touch grounding her even as she cried harder.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice thick with concern. "Please, talk to me."

Through her tears, Y/N managed to explain, her words tumbling out in a disjointed mess. She told him about the rude customer, about how much it had hurt, about her insecurities and her struggles with her body image.

"I just—I try so hard," she whispered, her voice breaking. "But no matter what I do, I always feel like I'm not enough. And today... today just made it worse."

Gyomei listened in silence, his brow furrowing deeply as she spoke. When she finished, she looked up at him, her eyes red and swollen. "How can you even love me when I'm like this?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

His expression softened, and he reached out to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear. "Y/N," he said, his voice steady, "you are the most beautiful woman I have ever known."

She flinched slightly, shaking her head. "How can you say that? You've never even seen me."

Gyomei smiled gently, a rare but breathtaking expression. "I don't need to see you to know your beauty," he replied. "I feel it in everything you do. The kindness in your voice, the love in your touch, the strength in your spirit. These are things no mirror can reflect."

His words hit her like a tidal wave, washing away the sting of the earlier insult. Y/N stared at him, her tears flowing freely now—not from pain, but from the overwhelming depth of his love.

Gyomei leaned closer, his large hands cradling her face with a tenderness that belied his strength. "I will never allow the cruel words of others to diminish your worth," he said firmly. "You are enough. You have always been enough."

Y/N couldn't respond, her throat too tight with emotion. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. Gyomei held her close, his embrace a fortress of safety and reassurance.

After a long moment, he pulled back just enough to tilt her chin upward. "You are beautiful, Y/N," he said again, his voice resolute. Then he kissed her—deeply, passionately, with a reverence that made her heart ache in the best way.

The kiss was a promise, a vow, an unspoken reassurance that she was loved beyond measure.

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Later that evening, as they sat together in the quiet warmth of their home, Y/N felt a sense of peace she hadn't felt in a long time. Gyomei held her hand, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles over her knuckles.

"I want you to promise me something," he said softly.

She looked at him, her brow furrowing slightly. "What is it?"

"Promise me that you will never harm yourself to fit the expectations of others," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "Your health and happiness mean more to me than anything in this world."

Tears welled up in her eyes again, but this time, they were tears of gratitude. She nodded, squeezing his hand tightly. "I promise," she whispered.

Gyomei smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Good," he said simply.

As the evening wore on, Y/N realized that the sting of the day's events had begun to fade. With Gyomei by her side, she felt stronger, more confident.

The world might be cruel, but his love was a quiet strength—a reminder that she was more than enough, just as she was.