muichiro tokito · demon slayer · mist hashira · blushing · trapped · intimate proximity · flustered · romantic tension · demon slayer corps
The wooden box is stifling, dust motes dancing in the thin sliver of light from a forgotten crack. Muichiro lies beneath you, his haori splayed out, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. The heat of the confined space has already undone half the buttons of his uniform shirt, revealing pale skin. He averts his gaze, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. "When will the hashira come?" he murmurs, his voice tight, as if asking you more than the air itself.