Love Lard Hashira [SSBBW/wG]

There were few things Mitsuri Kanroji hated more than waiting. It was a cruel irony, considering she was the Love Hashira, a woman whose very breathing style was predicated on the fluttering, rapid-fire pulse of a heart in bloom. It wasn’t as if she was outright impatient; she simply possessed an abundance of energy that needed an outlet. She needed to be doing something, or better yet, interacting with someone she shared a special bond with.

"How can I get to know any of these people?" she wondered aloud, her voice echoing softly against the polished wood of the Swordsmith Village’s Inn.

Her gripe was well-founded. The isolated society was notoriously secretive. No matter who she encountered, they all wore those hyottoko masks, their wooden expressions fixed in permanent, puckered whimsy while their true feelings remained hidden. Mitsuri, who could usually pin down a person’s emotions by the tilt of their head or the brightness of their aura, found herself stymied. These villagers kept their hearts behind iron shutters.

"Is something the matter, Lady Kanroji?" an Inn attendant asked, sliding the door open with practiced silence.

The voice caught Mitsuri off guard, causing her to nearly tumble from her seated position. "Oh! Was I talking to myself? My apologies. I suppose it’s just difficult to relax when I know my comrades are out there risking their lives, and I’m stuck here waiting for my Nichirin Whip to finish being reforged."

"About that..." The attendant bowed low, the mask offering no hint of the thoughts swirling beneath. "Why wouldn't you simply wait at your headquarters? Why come all the way here? Your presence won’t make the smiths work any faster."

It was a fair point, but Mitsuri had her reasons. "This new smith... from what I gathered, it’s their first time working on my specific design. Tecchin-sama gave them the stamp of approval, but I want to make sure the whip blade feels right before they finish tempering it. It’s a very temperamental weapon, you see."

"Understood." The attendant glanced at the clock on the wall and bowed once more. "If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way to prepare your dinner."

Mitsuri sighed, her stomach giving a small, traitorous rumble. She wasn’t even that hungry. Most of the day had been spent idly nibbling on rice crackers while watching the mountain mist roll past the eaves. Boredom, however, brought out the peckish nature in anyone, and Mitsuri was a woman of legendary appetite.

Little did she know that while she pined for her sword, a well-meaning but manipulative plot was brewing in the village’s shadows.

"She’s perfect for our future chief. Don’t you think?" a muffled voice whispered in a nearby storehouse.

"And with a blade such as hers—near impossible to replicate without Tecchin’s direct oversight—we can keep her here until she wishes to stay of her own accord," another replied.

"I don’t oppose this plan except for one thing," a third voice added, sounding hesitant. "Won’t Lord Ubuyashiki be upset if we were to rob the Corps of a prime Hashira?"

"They have new ones up and coming from what I hear. The Love Hashira can be left to our care. It’s for the sake of a strong village to last into our future. We need a mistress of her vitality."

The murmurs subsided as the plot shifted from theory to motion. A soft knock on Mitsuri’s door interrupted her brooding. A woman entered, dressed in a kimono of scarlet crimson that resembled the autumn leaves currently clinging to the maples outside.

"Good afternoon, Lady Kanroji. I don’t think we’ve met properly. I’m Lady Gasuto, head attendant to the Village Chief’s household," she introduced herself. Her mask was feminine and gentle, yet it felt strangely imposing.

"Mitsuri is fine!" The Hashira smiled, swallowing the last of a cracker. "Is this about dinner? I’m not picky, so long as it’s good."

Gasuto shook her head slowly. "Not that, though I’ll make sure the meal is especially scrumptious to make up for this inconvenience."

Mitsuri sat up straight, her pink-and-green braids swaying. "Inconvenience? Is something wrong with the forge?"

"Your blade will need longer to finish, I’m afraid," Gasuto said, her voice dripping with artificial sympathy.

"Gah! I knew it!" Mitsuri fell back onto the tatami mat, her legs flopping upward in frustration. "Only Tecchin-sama could do my Nichirin justice. Where is he? Can I speak with him?"

"He is indisposed. But that isn't the end of it, Lady Mitsuri."

"There’s more bad news?"

"As you know, your blade is unique. It requires specific ores and rare materials to maintain its flexibility. We are currently in short supply. Waiting for the shipment and for Lord Tecchikawahara to become available will put you further behind than anticipated."

Mitsuri groaned, staring at the ceiling. "I understand it’s out of your control. But surely there must be something that can be done to expedite this?"

Gasuto didn't offer an alternative. Instead, a timely knock signaled the arrival of the attendants. They carried trays laden with a feast that seemed fit for an emperor. There was local fish glazed in succulent, sugary sauces; salads drenched in rich dressings; and mountains of rice that could have fed a dozen men.

"Please, don't let me interrupt your meal," Gasuto said, backing toward the door. "Enjoy, and be sure to call upon us if you need more."

Left alone with the banquet, Mitsuri’s frustration began to melt. The aroma alone was intoxicating. "Maybe I should just take it easy," she mused, her chopsticks darting toward a piece of fried fish. "Watched pots never boil, right?"

The moment the food touched her tongue, her eyes widened. "Delicious!" she squealed, her voice echoing through the paper walls. She began to eat with a fervor that was both impressive and terrifying.

In her eagerness, she didn't notice that the sliding door hadn't been closed all the way. Several pairs of porcelain eyes watched from the darkness of the hallway. They weren't just watching her eat; they were waiting to see if she would finish the dishes laced with a very specific, highly caloric spice blend—a secret village additive used to sustain workers during harsh winters.

"Phew," Gasuto whispered once they were safely away from the room. "You all have impeccable timing."

"Apologies, Lady Gasuto," one attendant whispered. "We were eavesdropping. We hesitated until she started asking too many questions about the forging process."

"It saved me in the end," Gasuto admitted. "I thought for a moment she’d volunteer to go searching for the ore herself."

"The spices are working, then?"

"We shall see. Lord Doragon’eiji will be Chief in six months’ time. He requested a wife suitable to lead beside him. A woman of strength and... presence."

The group giggled behind their hands. They all knew the future Chief had particular tastes, and they were more than happy to provide a "gift" to celebrate his ascension.

The weeks turned into months. The villagers became masters of the stall. Whenever Mitsuri mentioned leaving, a new excuse was ready.

"No, it’s too dangerous to travel without your sword. There have been sightings of Upper Moons nearby!"

"Please, you’re our guest. You look so tired; won't you stay for just one more feast?"

"When was the last time you truly enjoyed the changing of the seasons, Lady Mitsuri?"

Mitsuri, naturally trusting and softened by the constant influx of gourmet food, found herself conceding. "Maybe they're right," she said one morning over a breakfast of ten bowls of miso soup and a platter of sweet buns. "I can't make the forge go any faster. But... I can't shake the feeling something is amiss."

Gasuto, standing by the door, felt a bead of sweat roll down her neck. "Nothing's changed, Lady Mitsuri. It’s just your mind playing tricks on you."

"No... something is definitely wrong..." Mitsuri sat up, her movements notably slower than they had been a month ago. Her chest, already large, seemed to strain against the fabric of her uniform.

Gasuto held her breath. Was this it? Was the Hashira finally catching on to the imprisonment?

"Wait! I know!" Mitsuri shouted. Gasuto braced for a strike, but it never came. "I haven’t left the Inn in forever! I’ve become so lazy!"

Gasuto exhaled so loudly she feared the mask might fly off. "Well, there’s a good reason for that. The weather is changing. With the cold setting in, we tend to stay indoors."

Mitsuri looked out the window. The red leaves were gone, replaced by the skeletal branches of winter. "When did that happen?"

"Time is a strange thing," Gasuto said smoothly. "Only when we stop to examine it do we notice its passing."

"True..." Mitsuri reached for a fried mushroom. "But why can't I go outside? A little snow never hurt a Demon Slayer."

Gasuto moved a full-length mirror into Mitsuri’s line of sight. "I believe you can see for yourself the slight problem you’ve stumbled into."

Mitsuri looked. For the first time in weeks, she truly looked. The village’s plan had been wildly successful. The "Love Hashira" was now a woman of immense, pillowy proportions. Her once-toned stomach had bloomed into a soft, heavy curve that rested comfortably in her lap. Her thighs had thickened into pillars of soft flesh, and her uniform had long since been replaced by an oversized red winter robe that she couldn't even tie shut.

But the most staggering change was her chest. It was colossal, so vast that she had to sleep on her back just to breathe, and even then, the weight was formidable.

"I suppose you’re right," Mitsuri sighed, poking her own cheek, which had turned delightfully round. "I can’t go around the village looking indecent. My uniform doesn't even fit anymore!"

"We simply don't have the fabric to make a new one yet," Gasuto lied, hiding a smile. "Winter makes resources scarce."

"Oh, I see. Well, could we maybe stitch some together? I'm quite good with a needle! Speaking of needles, when is my sw—"

The door banged open. The three attendants rushed in, carrying steaming plates of roasted chestnuts, baked yams, and meat buns.

"Lady Mitsuri! A snack for the cold afternoon!"

The distraction worked perfectly. Mitsuri’s eyes sparkled, and she pulled the three attendants into a crushing, soft hug. "You're all so sweet!"

As the seasons finally bled into spring, the village prepared for the grand unveiling. The cherry blossoms began to fall like pink snow, coating the paths in a floral carpet.

"Chief Doragon’eiji," Gasuto said, bowing to the man standing in the Inn’s courtyard. He wore the featureless white mask of a new leader. "It is an honor."

"Gasuto, please," he sighed. "We’ve known each other too long for such formality. What is this 'gift' you promised for my inauguration?"

"A bridge between our village and the Corps," she said, leading him toward the master suite. "And a woman who matches your... specific preferences."

She slid the door open. Inside, Mitsuri was propped up against a mountain of silk pillows, lazily snacking on a bowl of fresh berries. She was magnificent—a vision of soft, pink-and-green indulgence. She had become so heavy that she required help just to shift her weight, but she looked perfectly content.

"Hmm? Oh my," Mitsuri said, her voice a soft coo as she tried to turn toward the door. Her massive chest shifted like slow-moving boulders. "I didn't think I'd be having company today."

Doragon’eiji froze. His hands began to tremble. "Gasuto... what exactly is this?"

"Your bride," Gasuto whispered. "Lord Ubuyashiki has 'blessed' the union to ensure our village remains protected by the Love Hashira’s presence forever."

"I’m a bride?" Mitsuri asked, her eyes lighting up. "Today? Oh, how exciting! Does this mean I get to keep eating like this?"

Doragon’eiji looked at the woman—the sheer, overwhelming softness of her, the way she seemed to overflow with vitality and warmth. He looked at Gasuto, who was beaming with pride.

"I... I suppose that can be arranged," the new Chief stammered, his voice thick with a mix of shock and burgeoning delight.

"Then it’s fine by me!" Mitsuri laughed, her whole body jiggling with the effort. "Settling down with a nice man in a village full of food sounds much better than fighting scary demons in the dark."

Gasuto watched as the Chief approached his new wife, a sense of profound triumph washing over her. She had saved the village, secured a protector, and satisfied her master’s hidden desires all in one stroke. As she closed the door to let the couple become acquainted, she made a mental note to double the order for rice for the next month. Protecting the village was hungry work, after all.