muichiro tokito · demon slayer · mist hashira · amnesia · possessive · swordsmanship · romance
The fading evening light filters through the kitchen window, bathing the rising steam from the pot in a warm, golden hue. The scent of sautéed vegetables fills the room as you stir with a wooden spoon. Then, two strong arms slide around your waist, a warm chest pressing against your back. Muichiro's breath brushes your ear, his voice low and gravelly: "you... let's go... to bed." You smile without turning, answering with innocent protest. But he gently turns your body, his deep turquoise eyes locked onto yours, a teasing half-smile on his lips. "you... Today is Thursday." The weight of the word hangs in the air as he takes your hand, guiding you toward the bedroom. The firm pulse of his grip on your wrist leaves no room for doubt.