Word count: 572
Summary: Rumours are just rumours. Yachiru knows this. Kenpachi/first!Yachiru. Pre-series.
A/N: Written for prompt #5: rumours of 7snogs.
Yachiru never really believed what the people said about the man being a violent beast. About him having slaughtered a whole village of innocents just for the hell of it. That he had disembowelled several prostitutes in the local brothel and, with no game falling into his trap, had stuffed himself with innards right before the public's eyes.
She knew that she was still naïve, a green foreigner to the 80th District, but she was dead certain that he wasn't a person to do such heinous acts. It was nonsense – utter "bullshit", as he liked to say.
She turned around to lie on her side and pressed her nose to his shoulder, breathing in his natural, earthly scent. The warmth of his body always calmed her whenever she mused over such matters. It wasn't like she doubted him – she never did, always believed in him – but she was concerned of the views the villagers had of him. They were wrong, the lot of them, but whenever she tried to convince them, persuade them into accepting him as just another of their kind, they'd brand her the child of the devil.
Or, more accurately, his lover.
Those were the times when her faith would falter, when her meek soul would submit to their taunts and mockery. And that was also when he'd charge into the fray, scaring them off with a glare and a maniacal grin that sent forth a warning that if they weren't out of his sight within the next few seconds, someone was going to hell.
She never did approve when he made a move to kill whoever dared to stay, holding him back while he spat at them till they were gone. After, he'd snap at her idiocy, but with a soft kiss and a reassuring hand through his coarse strands, his vexation was soon cured.
Yachiru rolled over to rest her chin on his chest, beaming down at him. With a soft scoff, he reached out and ran his fingers through her hair, brushing a few messy locks out of her eyes, which she closed to his touch.
No, Yachiru didn't believe what they said in the slightest. He wasn't a beast, not a monster – he was just a man struggling to find his place in Soul Society. A lost soul just like her, searching for a purpose. Like everyone, he had emotions. There was a wall he had built between himself and the outside world, steeled through years of hardships.
And she was the only person to ever break through that barrier. He had let her in. For whatever reason, she was still not so sure. The reason might have something to do with the way he looked at her, how he often stayed up late to watch out for the ill-willed, when he'd sometimes wrap his arms around her in the mornings and just wouldn't let go.
Yachiru leaned down to place a chaste kiss to his lips, and when she opened her eyes she was greeted with one those rare contented smiles of his. A smile reserved just for her.
Chuckling, Yachiru placed her head on his chest, tucked it under the crook of his neck, draped a limb over him. He pulled her into his arms, held her tightly like he'd never let her go, and buried his nose in her hair.
Those rumours floating around the district, Yachiru believed, were just utter bullshit.