Chapter Text
What’s your favorite body part of your s/o?
The pair of cocoa hues coruscating against the jewels and ornaments decking the stalls lifts themselves up at the question. The blond only blinks before crimson easily takes over his complexion, “W– why ask such a question in a public place like this!?” Zenitsu practically screeches, gaining more attention. But those walking past him only lingered their stares for two seconds before returning to their respective business; it’s a busy market, after all.
Though the teen’s demeanor changed when he suddenly wiggled like a worm and fiddled with his fingers, his incarnadine cheeks dying down, and his expression dreaming like he was on cloud nine, “And, besides, favorite? How can I even choose when [Name]- chan ’s just… perfect in every way?”
Simp. Just choose one.
“Choose!?” A look of incredulity washed over his features like he was just tasked to do the most difficult errand known to man. And , in his defense, it was!
“How could I, when I like all of them!? They have nice hands, you know? They’re so warm and comfortable, it feels like I’m home when they hold me! Or their [eye color] eyes! Have you seen those beauty!? How much galaxies could glisten in those!? I can stare at them all day! Or, see, even their voice is so pleasing to hear! I’d know this, because I have good ears, and I can hear the melodies like they were sung by divine angels! Do you know how difficult it is to choose!? In this essay, I will–!”
“Hey,”
Zenitsu immediately straightens up like he was a deer with red headlights. He can hear the impatient tapping of the seller’s foot from the other side of the stall as she has her arms crossed, and he could hear the slight agitation pumping her heart lively. “Are you buying, or not?”
“EEEK! I’M SORRY!” With haste, he had grabbed for the one ornament that had caught his eyes and (pretty much) threw the product towards the seller so she could package it. His bushy eyebrows furrowed as he deeply sighed at the inconvenience he caused the lady. Just by judging her faint, laborious breaths and worn-down heartbeats, he could only assume she had been working for the whole day!
… If you can’t really choose, then why not use that superb hearing of yours?
He first hears the suggestion before he receives the packaged product from the seller. The teen then disappears into the sea of crowd, not forgetting to humbly bow for her services, as a thoughtful look took over his visage.
“My hearing?”
It's true that he always used his ears; it's one of the only things he isn’t bad at doing. He’d recall the times he’d listen to your sounds like they were the most pleasing music to behold, and he swore he could just listen to the way your body works for an eviternity. Hearing the taps of your trained feet used to mask your presence, or sleeping to your euphonious tone telling stories during eventides as you both lie awake,
Or even digging his ear to where your heart would faintly beat against your ribcage…
Seems like you have an answer.
Zenitsu’s grip on the plastic bag tightened as rosy pink resurfaces to color his cheeks once more. It takes him three seconds of silence and dodging through people’s builds before muttering,
“… Their chest…”
A chuckle, no matter how soft they’re breathed out, reaches his hearing, and the tips of his ears could only bathe in the same pink as his visage. The fury of flush just multiplies threefold when he hears words like “as expected” with such a knowing tone that he only speeds past through the crowd in hopes of being spared the embarrassment. All the city noise amplified by his keen sense of hearing descends into a background blur, for all he thinks of is coming back to you.
What’s your favorite body part of your s/o?
The butterflies dancing around her frame disperse as they now fly over to the blooming floras, fluttering the colorful wings like cherry blossom petals blown away by the wind, and the silent wallflower blinks her mulberry optics at the sudden question thrown her way.
Like primal instincts beckoning her, Kanao dug her hand into her pocket, but when her fingers felt no cold metal burning her digits numb, she was reminded of its absence. Her hands resurface without the familiar weight in her palm, and her shoulders would usually feel heavy just by deciding if she should even think of a reply. She still does, and it messes with her mind, but she’s slowly getting used to the process.
Yet, this time around, it seems like she had already made up her mind.
“Their face.”
Her dulcet tone whispers without a hitch, an action unexpected to graze the female’s frame. But, truth to be told, even if the coin had demanded her taciturnity, she had long answered the abrupt question; longer than the hesitance that once built her character whole.
… That’s fast.
She slightly tilts her head; although, even she was somehow surprised with her alacrity. How you did that to her, she’s yet to comprehend. Her eyes would simply return to the sea of flowers consuming her vision full when she doesn’t receive any more answers.
In the patches closest to her foot were dainty dandelions, pure and bright like the most pleasant expressions you make. How small and fragile you seem, like a breeze could blow you away into nothingness or a foot could trample you flat, yet how hopeful and brave you look. It’s like you’d do anything to make wishes come true.
Beds of roses vibrantly fill the garden with its crimson beauty, sanguine as the blood dripping down from your nose and your lips after a sparring lesson with her, or flushed as the ripest apples when your face erupts in red from fluster.
The former is an image she never thought she’d like to see, blood has never been a good sign in the Butterfly Estate, but her first personal thought proved her otherwise. The latter was an image she never thought she’d ever see, you always seem to have full control of your emotions, but her first personal actions proved you otherwise.
A cluster of spherical voids then catches her attention. Thriving in the far back were deadly nightshades, dark as an abyss and poisonous like her master’s concoctions. A Belladonna that could daunt the toughest demons or nightmares out there, with a silence so noxious; even she grows curious of how you brandish your breath style.
Well, they should be arriving soon.
Offering a humble smile, Kanao raises an index finger up when a butterfly flutters close. It obliges and alighted to her digit, its wings of [color] gently flapping despite the inactivity. If you had eyes sharp as hers, you might decipher the vague delight coloring her features brighter.
What’s your favorite body part of your s/o?
The redhead stops himself from taking another bite out of the noodles weaved in between his chopsticks, his mouth now gaping because of the question given to him out of the blue.
“Favorite… body part?”
He actually spends four seconds mulling over it, but Tanjirou’s raised eyebrows soon enough knots. The teen wouldn’t really think of such ideas in the first place. Yes, he thinks you’re beautiful; yes, he thinks you smell great; but it wasn’t like he fell for you just for the looks. “I don’t think I have any… Or, rather, I like them as a whole.”
Think harder.
He could only tilt his head out of confusion. The comfortable and refreshing silence accompanying the lone stall he’s currently dining at amidst the desolate dusking gives him peace of mind. The chef’s distant sounds of cooking oil and fire. He could smell the burning coal and the savory dish. Tanjirou gradually lowers both the chopsticks and the bowl carried by his hands down to the wooden counter from his lack of cognizance, remaining unresponsive as he sorts his mind.
“Well, I really like holding [Name]’s hands. They feel like they’re a perfect fit for mine. But… I also like hugging them. So, their waist, too?” He lowly contemplates, a serious look across his features, “Or… their hair… Whenever it’s styled, it looks cute on them. Well, not to say I like their usual get-up any less–”
Not in that context. I meant a body part you’re physically attracted to. A fetish, if you will.
He chokes on air. This catches the busy chef’s attention as he looked over the counter to ask for his customer’s well-being, but Tanjirou just waves a hand while his other covered his mouth. It takes him a good second to recover himself, but even then, the crimson fluster matching his hair doesn’t even diminish.
“W– what!? You mean..!?”
The teen had a mortified look, shaken away when he returns his shocked face back to his forgotten bowl of noodles. “I– I don’t think I have such..!”
In his mind is an imagery of your signature haori fluttering with the wind as you drew your blade out to behead a demon. And another of you sitting on a floor, leaning on the wall, and reading a book as the scent of the afternoon summer accompanies your fragrance.
The very fragrance then enters his system as he involuntarily breathed in the scent clinging onto the scarf he’s currently wearing. A [color] clothing comfortably making itself home around his neck, a scarf that once belonged to your person until you decided to give it to him just this morning. He finds himself digging deep into the comfortable clothing, the scent embedded within the fiber growing stronger. It’s just like when he envelopes your frame with a warm clinch, feeling your body pressed against him,
Digging his nose deep on the crook of your neck as he inhales your scent, making sure he could touch every exposed part–
Tanjirou suddenly shoots up from the stool he sat on and gave himself a loud slap against the cheek. His commotion had, again, caught the chef’s attention, but the teen was too distracted to acknowledge him.
All he’s aware of is the expectant stare of his companion, and he could just sense the radiated smugness. Before his face could turn sour, he turned away and repeatedly shook his head, “I DON’T.” but his red-tipped ears can’t really be hidden no matter how loud he denies.
… Really?
His gulp was audible to those nearby, but the hard-headed male just swerves his sight even more and hastily grabbed his chopsticks and bowl again and practically inhaled the contents in one go. The silence was unbearable, and not even the savory scent of the noodles could overpower the aroma in the cloth.
“… [Name]’s neck.”
Thought so.
And all he could do was dig himself deep into your scarf to hide the wildfire coloring his cheeks.
What’s your favorite body part of your s/o?
A body drops down to the ground like it was the heaviest weight, but within the simultaneous second did it become as light as a feather, for the tangible body suddenly disperses into ashes until nothing is left in its wake. A heavy feet then stomps just beside the ashened ground before a gruff reverberated through the dead night.
“Hah?”
The blue-haired teen wipes the drop of blood splattered against his cheek with a rough hand and then sheathed his twin blades back to the scabbard with practiced ease, the scowl once shaping his facial muscles slightly softening. “You mean [Name]?
Inosuke then pivots his heels and turned back, having accomplished one of the easier missions, his mind drifting over to to the very person in question.
“That’s stupid. I own them wholly. Why would I have a favorite part?”
As the male walks through the empty, destroyed ruins of what was once a house, the gelid draft blows him a breath and nipped his skin. He doesn’t recoil from the cold biting his exposed abdomen. Rather, he’s more aware of it nipping his maskless complexion, and he can’t help but rub his cheek with a hand.
The only reason he isn’t wearing it is because he doesn’t have it. Why, you yoinked it out of his grasp when he was just leaving for the missions, saying that it “stinks” and it “needs cleaning”. He doesn’t see the point. It’s going to get dirty anyway since he’ll be using it for however long it would last.
Listen to your partner. It probably did stink.
“Oh, fuck off,” He clicked his tongue and kicked a lone pebble out of the stone pathway. “You haven’t even answered my question.”
Neither have you answered mine.
A guttural hum bubbles in his throat as he rolled his eyes. Favorite body part, huh. Deciding to humor the question for the sake of it, he actually used his brain and recalled his memories with you. The usual ones were the times he sparred with you, how you held your blade with mastery and danced so gracefully like you weren’t holding a stick longer that your upper body.
Another is when you patch him up with bandages and antiseptics after he gets injured. You’d wrap his arms and abdomen with delicate yet firm touches, an anodyne treatment that’s much more effective than the medicine that butterfly doctor gives him. He’d get shivers just by your touch. And you cook good food; he eats anything you make. Must be the work of your hands, too.
Come to think of it, you’ve always been good with your hands.
“Their hands, I guess.” He answers after a minute of silence.
A humble caw reaches his ears, and he instinctively looks up to the direction of his assigned Kasugai crow timidly circling around him, relaying his next mission.
… To answer your question, why wouldn’t you have a favorite? You had one, after all.
He only scoffs under his breath before dashing off, a newfound determination glinting within his verdigris optics, eager to finish all his work and go home to you. Inosuke’s sure you’d patch his injuries and cook him a good meal as soon as he returns.
What’s your favorite body part of your s/o?
Bang!
Loud and ear-splitting, but the tall male doesn’t flinch even as smoke wrapped the gun in his grasp faintly. In fact, he emitted more change of expression from the sudden question by the way he rose an invisible eyebrow and his once stoic expression turning slightly confused.
“I don’t think I could choose.”
Genya released his firm posture and brought the revolver down to reload the chamber with six bullets. After hearing the familiar, satisfying snap, he swiftly brought it up once more and aimed before pulling the trigger three times. And he’s rewarded with the sound of three bullets that hit solid objects and the sight of three rocks that disappeared from the stool they sat on.
Not a single one that comes in mind?
Out of habit, he rolls the chamber with an index finger as he mutters, a tint of rose tainting his tanned skin, “... Not that I could choose one right away. Besides, [Name] themselves is what I like the most, anyway…” He shoots another round and exhausted the remaining bullets, this time aiming for the papers with target symbols that were pinned on tree trunks. He hits bullseye on two, but the last bullet comes short just by a ring. The male silently clicks his tongue, but he doesn’t fret over it any more longer when he resumes to loading the gun once more.
… Not even the taste of their lips?
The sound of two bullets hitting the ground were muted by the grassy patches under his feet, yet even he doesn’t acknowledge their fall when he snaps his neck towards the asker, “ What–? ”
And all he could suddenly imagine was you in front of him, speaking with words so animatedly, yet he couldn’t hear a single sound as all he focused on was the way your appetizing lips open and closed, a bit of your tongue’s surface sometimes peaking in between. It didn’t help how it wouldn’t be the first time he had tasted you; when you’d give him short kisses right in his lips out of the blue, so short and so sweet that it leaves him hanging and wanting for more, to taste you better.
And he doesn’t deny it.
Guess that’s the answer to my question.
The incarnadine consuming his scarred features erupts like a volcano, smoke puffing out of his ears and figure wavering from the unyielding position he had once resigned himself into. Whether he was red from fluster or anger, you could only guess he’s both.
“Why, you–!”
Oh, looks like they’ve arrived. Have fun.
He only, very audibly, gasps as he imagined shooting them with bullets a thousand times, but that doesn’t really help alleviating the scarlet coloring his embarrassment clear. Only broken stammers slipped out of his lips while he angrily slapped himself repeatedly, uncaring if the metal gun was also damaging his side profile.
And he could only imagine your lips that would probably last a lifetime and cost him half his body to function.