Note: It's Sanemi's Birthday! I thought it would be cool to make some one-shot! So here!!
Synopsis: Sanemi is having trouble sleeping, and you are there to comfort him.
Warning: Mention of Death, bit of curse words, fluff, wholesome stuff, just sweet to the core.
Word Count: 954
Title: Good Night, dear
Evening was supposed to be the calmest hour within the mansion, and yet, the unknown fear lingers that made Sanemi sweat so coldly; unnerving control of the total concentration breathing made him lose his grip, and the thought of death... Woke him up.
He gasped sharply and noticed his grip on her nemaki was tighter than usual. As he takes a glance at his beloved, who is already comforting him with a gentle caress on his back. Just here, present and alive.
Sanemi lets it go and leans closer to her, his face on her neck, his arm wrapped around her waist, and just embraces her closely. Y/n is not letting go; this man needs it. But she can't help noticing his hands; they were shivering as he clasped them tightly together to conceal them.
"Sanemi, it was only a nightmare," Y/n whispers softly. And continues to caress his back to calm him down. Sanemi didn't say anything, and yet his breathing has unbearable unevenness. This made Y/n worry about him. She knows that slaying demons is part of the job, but he has another reason as to why he is part of the corp. She knows so little of Sanemi; he barely talks about his life, his past, and his family. He usually just brags about how tough he is, and his scars are the proof of it. Even with his tough exterior, she got to experience his gentleness. She will never forget that time when Sanemi was so impressed by her childlike stories that he looked at her eyes with such innocence and curiosity, but he shrugged it off like it didn't matter to him. She can't help but make him an origami flower. Since then, he has been keeping it with him and not even letting anyone touch it.
"It felt too real, Y/n... I've seen enough deaths already…" Sanemi said with anxiety in his voice. Y/n feels so sad for him; his reality weighs more than hers. She is just a civilian who just discovered Demon Slayer and the corp because of him.
"Would you like me to make you some tea, dear? It might help," Y/n said as her hand gently traces from his back to his head, caressing his hair. He nodded without looking at her eyes. Y/n softly sighs as she kisses his forehead and slowly untangles from their embraces to make some tea.
.
.
.
Soon after, she brought a tray of tea, only to see Sanemi in their futon, covering his eyes with his left arm. She approaches him and gracefully places the tray down beside the futon as she gently touches his hand to assure him that it's her.
It's the middle of the night; it's just Y/n and Sanemi having a tea together.
The tea somehow soothes Sanemi, and hears him sigh in relief. That made Y/n's heart warm up, and she noted that he is alright. Suddenly, she remembered something. "Dear, I don't know much about dreams, but I heard from the neighboring folks that dreams can be memories and experiences but most importantly a sign that it's telling you a message," said Y/n, with hopes that she can relieve a bit of the burden on him by expressing what she heard. But that made Sanemi worried about the meaning of his dream, which led him to be awfully distraught!
"What the fuck are you on about, woman?!"
Y/n is quick to notice it as she begins to stutter and tries to explain it word by word but only fails to deliver on what she tries to say. She felt so defeated that she just covered her face with her hands to save herself from embarrassment.
Sanemi pities y/n, and to save her from her unfortunate chaos, he puts down his cup to pat her hair. "Thanks, and the tea too," said Sanemi to reassure her. He sighs; he knows what she was trying to do. It's endearing. Y/n peeked at Sanemi grinning, which made her awkwardly smile with embarrassing blushes.
Moments like this made Sanemi appreciate his existence in this world.
Just here, present and alive with her. They began conversing about random things, gossip, and other silly things. Their little inside jokes.
As Sanemi holds her hand and gently kisses her knuckles. Y/n blushes while seeing that. Sanemi thought she looked so cute when she blushed, especially after kisses. He gently pulled her closer to him to cuddle her.
"Sanemi dear, I have to clean up our tea set first," says Y/n. As Sanemi snatches her waist and does not let her go. "It can wait," said Sanemi as he kissed her forehead and began to smother his face on her hair. She giggles and decides to cuddle with him. "Hell no, Sanemi. I'm not letting tea stain on my sets; they are valuable," Y/n protests. Which Sanemi didn't argue any further; it's already early morning, and he'd rather have peace of mind than have a headache after an argument. Y/n gazes at Sanemi's purple eyes as she gently kisses his lips. Then Sanemi cupped her left cheek and continued with their kiss.
Y/n gently pulled away as she softly breathed while gazing into his eyes. "Get some sleep, dear. I'll be joining you after I'm done cleaning the tea set," said Y/n as she picked up the tray.
"Alright, I'll keep your futon warm then," said Sanemi with a teasing tone. That made her chuckle with the assumption that he would; you can't stop him when he has already set his mind to it.
"Good night—morning, Sanemi," said Y/n while standing with her tray of tea sets.
"Good morning, Y/n," said Sanemi with a yawn as he softly drifted to sleep.
Kudos to Saradika-Graphics for the dividers and Sar for the art!
(I don't mind Repost! Leave a Like! And please, don't plagiarised the work and don't use this work to train AI!)
an unruly tide snaps your bikini strap, but before anyone can look, sanemi yank-drags you behind a secluded sea-rock. his rough, scarred hands lock tight around your bare waist, pinning you flush against the warm stone. instead of letting you fix your top, he growls possessive, jealous threats against your collarbone—leaving dark, needy bites along your neck so everyone knows who you belong to 𐔌🎀
trapped in the cove's humid shade, his relentless, heavy grinding leaves you helpless as he hitches your thigh over his hip. between his low, praise-heavy growls and fierce kisses, sanemi makes sure your sun-warmed skin is thoroughly marked, claimed, and wrecked before you ever make it back to the water 𝜗𝜚 ‧₊ ꒱
𓏲 splash zone masterlist ໒꒱
The calluses on Sanemi’s palms were deep enough to hold a grudge.
They were the kind of hard, ridged textures earned from years of gripping a sword and wrestling with everything that tried to bite back, leaving his skin feeling more like weathered leather than actual flesh. He didn't take care of himself in the traditional sense; he didn't use lotions or worry about the jagged white scars that crisscrossed his chest and arms like a map of every mistake he’d ever survived. To him, the body was just a tool, and as long as it could still stand and fight, it was doing its job.
The midday sun beat down on the coast with a relentless, heavy glare, turning the white sand into a shimmering mirror of heat. Off in the distance, a few scattered beachgoers moved like distant specks along the shoreline, but where Sanemi had parked himself, the stretch of coast was mostly deserted—a quiet, rocky notch framed by looming cliffs and sharp salt-sprayed rocks.
"You're staring again," you said, nudging his shoulder with yours.
He jerked his gaze away from the horizon, a faint, begrudging scowl crossing his face, though there was no real heat behind it. "I'm not staring. I'm scouting."
"Scouting for what? The tide?" You laughed, leaning back against the coarse, warm sand, letting the breeze whip loose strands of your hair across your face. "We're at a beach, Sanemi. The only thing to scout for is where the cooler is."
He let out a short, sharp huff of air—something that almost sounded like a laugh but was far too stubborn to fully commit to being one.
He shifted his weight, his heavy muscles rippling beneath a thin, unbuttoned shirt that did absolute zero to hide the sheer breadth of his chest or the sharp angle of his collarbones. He had a restless energy about him today, a constant, vibrating tension that made him look like he was perpetually waiting for an invisible signal to charge into battle, even while sitting on a beach towel in the middle of summer. He reached down, grabbing a massive handful of sand and letting it drain through his fingers, his pale, sharp eyes narrowing as he watched the grains fall.
"The cooler is ten feet behind you, you idiot," you teased, pushing yourself up from the sand. The heat was thick and suffocating, clinging to your skin like a heavy blanket, and the salt air had already made your skin feel tight and warm. You didn't wait for his response, opting instead to march toward the water and dive headfirst into the turquoise chaos of the shoreline.
The water was a shocking, crystalline cold that knocked the breath straight out of your lungs, providing an immediate, electrifying contrast to the oppressive simmer of the shore. You surfaced with a gasp, shaking your head like a dog and spraying cold droplets in every direction, laughing as you wiped the saltwater from your eyes and turned back to look at him.
Sanemi hadn't moved an inch, but his eyes were completely locked on you now.
He sat hunched slightly forward, elbows resting on his knees, watching the way the water glistened against your skin, the way your bikini clung to your curves with every movement.
There was a dark, dangerous hunger in his gaze—a look that had nothing to do with the summer heat and everything to do with the possessive streak he spent most of his time pretending he didn't possess. He looked like a predator tracking prey from the edge of the tree line, his heavy chest rising and falling in a slow, deliberate cadence.
You swam a bit further out, the current pulling at your legs, dragging you slowly toward the jagged formation of the Rock Cove. It was a natural sanctuary of dark limestone and deep shadows, where the tide rushed in with a violent, churning energy before smoothing out inside the hidden cavern.
As you tried to navigate the incoming swell, a sudden, powerful surge of water slammed sideways against your body, pinning you briefly against a submerged shelf of rock. You reached out to balance yourself, but the force of the wave yanked hard at the delicate strings tied behind your back.
Snap.
The sudden sound was tiny compared to the roar of the ocean, but the immediate shift in weight was impossible to miss.
The left strap of your bikini top gave way entirely under the pressure of the tide, the fabric sliding precariously down your arm and exposing your breast to the open air. The sudden bite of the cold seawater made your nipple harden instantly into a tight, sensitive peak.
You gasped, clutching the loose fabric to your chest with a frantic, wide-eyed panic, whipping your head around toward the open beach to see if anyone had noticed the sudden wardrobe malfunction.
The ocean water swirled around your waist, cold and insistent, but the sudden, violent heat flushing through your cheeks was entirely your own.
Before you could even think about fixing the strap or swimming back to the safety of the towels, a shadow eclipsed the sun.
Sanemi had moved with a terrifying speed that defied the deep, sinking sand.
His feet hit the shallow surf with a heavy, explosive splash. He didn't ask if you were okay, nor did he offer a hand to help you steady yourself against the pull of the current. Instead, he reached out and grabbed your upper arm, his scarred fingers digging into your skin with a sudden, bruising intensity that bordered on aggressive.
Without uttering a single word, he yanked you clean out of the surf and dragged you backward, hauling you away from the open glare of the shoreline and deep into the humid, echoing shade of the Rock Cove.
The transition from the blinding light of the beach to the dark limestone sanctuary was jarring.
The air inside the cavern was thick and stagnant, smelling strongly of wet salt, crushed kelp, and ancient stone. The natural roof of the cave trapped the midday heat in a heavy, invisible blanket, creating an intense, greenhouse-like humidity.
Sanemi didn't let go of you for even a fraction of a second.
The moment you were deep enough inside the cove's shadows, his grip shifted seamlessly from your arm to your waist in one fluid, possessive motion. He hoisted you slightly and slammed your back against the warm, rough wall of the cove.
The sudden impact knocked a startled gasp from your throat, but the sound was instantly swallowed by the rhythmic, thunderous roar of the tide crashing against the exterior rocks, sealing you both away from the rest of the world.
He didn't give you a second to catch your breath or a chance to pull up the sagging fabric of your top.
His eyes, blown wide and dark with a sudden, frantic intensity, scanned your exposed chest. He stared down at your bare breast, at the wet skin glistening in the dim light and the peak hardened from the sea, and the expression on his face wasn't one of concern or surprise—it was pure, unadulterated territorialism.
A low, guttural growl vibrated deep within his chest—a raw, animalistic warning that seemed directed at the very ocean that had dared to uncover you.
"You're too damn careless," he growled, his voice rasping heavily against the quiet humidity of the cave.
He made no move to cover you up.
Instead, his large, scarred hand splayed flat across the small of your back, crushing your bare waist flush against his body. The rough friction of his damp clothes against your sensitized skin sent an immediate jolt of electricity straight down your spine. He was radiating an incredible amount of heat, his heavy chest heaving with a ragged, uneven breath as if he had just sprinted miles instead of a few dozen yards.
The possessiveness in his pale eyes intensified, dropping from your chest up to your throat, and finally locking onto your eyes.
He leaned in close, his broad forehead pressing firmly against yours, effectively trapping you between the unyielding stone wall behind you and the immovable, muscular frame of his body in front of you.
"Who else saw?" he demanded.
The words were barely a whisper, but they were laced with a jagged, dangerous edge that sent a shudder through your limbs.
He didn't even wait for you to answer.
His hand slid upward along your side, his calloused thumb hooking under the remaining string of your bikini top. With one sharp, impatient jerk, he yanked the fabric completely off your other shoulder. The ruined bikini top fluttered down, splashing uselessly into the shallow tide pool at your feet, leaving your chest completely, brazenly bare against the damp cotton of his open shirt.
He shifted his weight, driving his heavy, muscular thigh firmly between yours.
He pressed upward, anchoring you against the rock while placing a blunt, undeniable pressure right against your core through the thin layer of your dripping bikini bottoms. The sudden, intense friction made your breath catch in your throat.
Sanemi’s lips didn't find yours right away. Instead, he buried his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling deeply, drawing in the scent of ocean salt, sun-warmed skin, and your natural sweetness.
Then, his teeth sank in.
It wasn't a gentle nip; it was a deep, sharp, deliberate bite that claimed the sensitive skin where your neck met your shoulder.
You gasped aloud, your fingers instinctively digging through his hair and curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.
The bite was followed by a low, vibrating growl that felt more animal than human, echoing off the damp limestone walls of the cave.
Sanemi didn’t pull away immediately; instead, he lingered against your neck, his hot tongue swirling over the bruised, bitten flesh he had just claimed. He was marking you with a frantic, desperate precision, his teeth grazing the sensitive line of your throat over and over until red, stinging welts bloomed against your skin. Each nip made your knees threaten to buckle, but the hard, heavy anchor of his thigh held you firmly aloft, grinding upward into your core with every ragged breath he took.
"Mine," he rasped into your skin, the word barely audible over the thunderous crash of the tide outside. "Every fucking inch of you is mine."
His hand, still splayed across the small of your back, shifted lower. His broad, calloused palm cupped the soft flesh of your bare hip, his fingers digging in with a sudden, bruising intensity that left no room for retreat. With one swift, effortless lift, he hoisted your right leg high, locking your knee firmly over his hip.
The shift in angle forced you wide open against his body, dragging your wet bikini bottoms directly across the rigid, heavy length straining behind his trousers. The friction was electric—a searing, blunt pressure that made the humid air inside the cove feel suddenly freezing by comparison.
You let out a broken, shuddering moan, your head thudding back against the limestone wall. The rock was warm from the afternoon sun, but Sanemi was a living furnace pinning you into the shadows.
He shifted his focus, his mouth migrating down from your throat to your chest. He didn't hesitate or ask for permission; he latched onto your exposed nipple, taking the sensitive, hardened peak deep into his mouth. His tongue swirled relentlessly over the tip before his teeth clamped down in a sharp, punishing nip that made your hips jerk violently against his thigh.
"Sanemi—" you gasped, your nails digging through his damp shirt and anchoring into the heavy muscles of his back.
"You think I'm just gonna let you walk back out there like this?" he muttered against your wet skin, his dark, gravelly voice dripping with possessive heat as he switched to your other breast, sucking hard until your gasps turned into breathless whimpers. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his pale eyes blown wide, his pupils dilated with a hunger that made your pulse race out of control. "With everyone out there looking at you? No fucking way in hell."
His free hand slid down from your waist, dipping beneath the elastic waistband of your dripping bikini bottoms.
He didn't bother untying them or stripping them away; instead, his thick, calloused fingers shoved the wet fabric aside, dipping straight into your drenched heat.
The sudden, invasive slide of his rough fingers against your sensitive core forced a sharp, shattered cry from your lips.
"Look at you," he growled, his thumb finding your slick clit and pressing down with a heavy, deliberate, circling friction that made your vision blur. "Already so damn wet for me."
A jagged, needy sound escaped your throat as he surged forward, his mouth crashing onto yours with an overwhelming force.
It wasn't a request; it was a total claim. The kiss tasted of salt and desperation, his tongue sweeping deep into your mouth, matching the heavy, relentless rhythm of his fingers pumping inside you. He groaned into the kiss—a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through your entire ribcage—his teeth occasionally snapping against your lower lip until your whole mouth felt swollen and warm.
While his mouth dominated yours, he worked two fingers deep into your tightness, curling them upward against your front wall while his thumb kept up a punishing, relentless pace over your sensitive peak.
Every thrust of his hand made your hips writhe uselessly against his thigh, searching for more pressure, completely at the mercy of his grip.
"Look at me," he commanded, breaking the kiss just enough to breathe, though his hot lips remained brushed against yours. His eyes were dark, swirling with an unhinged, possessive fire. "Tell me who you belong to."
"You," you sobbed out, your breath coming in short, ragged hitches as your back arched off the stone, your walls contracting tightly around his fingers. "Sanemi, please... you."
Sanemi let out a low, triumphant huff, the sound vibrating with raw satisfaction. He pulled his fingers free from your drenched center with a slick, wet slide that made your cheeks burn even hotter.
Without breaking eye contact, he reached down for his belt, unclasping the buckle with a frantic, impatient jerk, shoving his trousers down just far enough to free his hard, thick length.
The heavy, hot head of his cock brushed against your slick folds, already glistening with your wetness.
Without giving you a single second to catch your breath or adjust to the sudden exposure, he grabbed both of your hips, lifted you higher against the rock, and buried his full length into you in one full, unrelenting thrust.
The sensation of him filling you completely was an explosion of white light. You let out a loud, sharp cry that was instantly swallowed by the heavy roar of the ocean outside the cavern. Sanemi groaned—a deep, vibrating sound of absolute triumph—his head falling back against his shoulders as his full length stretched your wet tightness to its absolute limit. It was a heavy, overwhelming presence, a claim far more permanent than any bite or mark he had left on your skin.
He didn't move with gentle grace; he moved with raw, driving power, bottoming out hard against you with every heavy, punishing surge of his hips.
The rhythm inside the cave became frantic and filthy, a chaotic dance of salt-slicked skin, wet slapping sounds, and heavy, labored breaths echoing off the damp limestone walls.
He was completely relentless, his body a machine of hard muscle and searing heat, grinding your pelvis into his until you couldn't tell where your own gasps ended and his low growls began.
Every time you tried to find a foothold against the slippery rock, he yanked your hips closer, driving deeper into your wet tightness, keeping you suspended and entirely dependent on his grip to stay upright.
"Mine," he hissed against your neck, his teeth catching the skin over your pulse point as his cock slammed home again and again, leaving no space between your bodies. "Say it... tell me you're mine,"
"I'm yours! I'm yours, Sanemi—God, yes!" you sobbed out, your arms locked tight around his neck, your nails digging deep red crescents into the heavy, scarred muscles covering his back.
The relentless friction reached an unbearable peak, a searing fuse that finally hit the powder. Your inner walls clamped down around his shaft in a violent, milk-tight spasm, sending you flying over the edge into a breathless, shattering orgasm.
Seeing you break completely under him snapped the last thread of Sanemi's self-control. He let out a final, jagged roar, his hips hammering forward two more punishing times before he buried his full length as deep as he could go inside you. His cock pulsed violently within your tight walls as he poured his hot come deep into your core, sealing the claim.
He collapsed forward against you, his forehead thudding heavily onto your shoulder, both of you shaking and completely drenched in a mixture of seawater, sweat, and spilled release.
He stayed buried deep inside you, his heavy weight a comforting, possessive pressure pinning you into the rock while your body trembled through the lingering, intense ripples of your release.
For several long, silent minutes, neither of you moved. Sanemi remained anchored inside you, his broad chest heaving in slow, shuddering swells that vibrated through your ribs.
Slowly, he shifted, pulling back just enough to look at your face. His pale eyes were dark, heavy, and softened by a rare trace of genuine vulnerability, though a ghost of a victorious smirk touched his lips as he looked down at the slick mess leaking from between your thighs.
He reached up, his rough, calloused thumb grazing your bruised, swollen lower lip.
"Look at you," he rasped, his voice sounding like it had been dragged through sharp gravel. "Completely fucking wrecked."
You tried to give a playful retort, but it came out as nothing more than a breathless, shaky sigh that made Sanemi’s smirk widen just a fraction. Slowly, deliberately, he withdrew from you with a slick slide that made your knees instantly buckle, a whimper escaping your throat at the sudden emptiness.
Before your feet could touch the wet gravel of the cove floor, his strong arms caught you, holding you steady against his chest until your trembling legs could support your own weight.
Without saying a word, he stepped back, reaching down to pull up his trousers and fasten his belt with quick, practiced efficiency.
Then, he unbuttoned his own heavy, dark shirt, slipping it off his broad shoulders and draping the soft, oversized fabric around your bare upper body.
He didn't just hand it to you; he pulled it shut around you himself, his thick fingers moving down the front to fasten the middle buttons so every inch of your skin was completely covered. The shirt swallowed you whole, falling halfway down your thighs, thick with his body heat and smelling heavily of him—salt air, sharp cedar, and raw heat.
"Keep the shirt on," he grumbled, his voice low and gruff, though the gentle way his thumb stroked your hip as he smoothed the fabric betrayed him.
He leaned in close, pressing one last, firm kiss directly over the fresh bite mark on your neck, his lips lingering against your pulse point. "No one else gets to look at what belongs to me."
He reached down to retrieve your ruined bikini top from the shallow tide pool, squeezing the excess water from it before shoving it carelessly into his pocket. He took your hand, locking his calloused fingers tightly through yours, and led you out of the cool, humid shade of the rock cove.
As you stepped back into the blinding glare of the summer sun, the gentle roar of the ocean felt quieter, secondary to the steady, heavy presence of Sanemi walking right by your side, his thumb tracing slow, possessive circles over the back of your hand all the way back to your towels.
Nah, forget riding rancher sanemi, I want him to tell her about each of his scars (and not at all realizing how horrific some of them are) and reader to kiss each one.
Well she will end up finding it on her own how he got his scars and I doubt he would tell her himself (poor guy is allergic to vulnerability) BUT she will kiss each single one with love and tenderness 😌
★As you already know his main power is hypnosis due to the curse obviously.
★He can shift in many forms and there are 3 confirmed in the plot so far as fog, bat and raven.
★Physical superiority like speed and strength and can't feel cold.
★His senses are so developed that he can hear heartbeat across a significant distance and can even learn to distinguish whose heartbeat is it with time. His vision also works fully in the dark. His senses of smell is also cool because he can detect difference between fear and calm from a person's blood.
★Sure he has healing abilities, yes but it's not instantly it depends on the severity of the wound and also if there was contact with silver which can significantly slow it. So he is very difficult to kill but not impossibly.
★He mostly wears golves and there's a good reason why. When he has direct contact with skin he can have visions of that person's future BUT he cannot control them on demand they're spontaneous and even so he only sees like blurry fragments and it's more focused on the impression and emotions he feels during the vision than the content. And no he cannot see his own future.
★He also can influence on weather and his close atmosphere and that's why when he appears in a room it always drops in temperature and can thicken fogs or clouds to give him cover during rain so he can go outside in the day (only on rainy days tho and he still is at high risk of burning from uv)
★He actually doesn't need breathing. He breathes bc it helps him pass as human among civilisation but otherwise he doesn't have any warmth of actual normal blood circulation. So in cold weather it is not his breath fogging but him actually releasing FOG to seem like a man.
Now let's talk about what he can't do:
★He can't enter a dwelling without an invitation (open window and doors count as an invite). He can't cross running water like rivers (even in fog form) so he just either turns into bat or raven and fly over it. Maybe he can run and leap/ jump over it?
★He doesn't have a reflection on silver backed mirrors. In photographs he appears like a very transparent and blurry figure.
★About him going out on a rainy day, yes he can use cloud coverage or overcast to diffuse sunlight but he can only do so for an hour at most before the cost become serious and can burn. No, in summer and spring he can't even step out because the sun is too strong.
★He doesn't need to be invited to sleep in a coffin or return to his native soil because those are myths and he finds them quiet offensive
Shinazugawa Sanemi ⋆.˚ Vampire AU
Word Count: 10k
Rating: 18+ for Mature Audiences ONLY (NSFW CONTENT, MDNI)
CW: Gore, body horror, violence, blood, mentions of chronic illness, body dysmorphia, age gap, religious horror, mentions of the occult, graphic character death, NSFW 18+ content, explicit sexual content, loss of virginity, consensual non-consent, pregnancy, miscarriages, monsterfucking, stockholm syndrome, kidnapping, slow burn
A/N: Phew! I am TIRED! I cannot express how astonished I am at the fact of how quickly I drafted this up. Black Lotus was intentionally meant to be a short, smutty oneshot, but quickly spiraled out of control (if that's surprising at all). It's my new hyperfixation... Thank you to my lovely editor and friend @marblecharm for feeding my delusion and helping me sort through my mess of a plot and concept ideas. I love you <3 If y'all don't follow them already, go take a peek at their page! Anyways, happy reading—enjoy this little Easter treat for he (Sanemi's dih) has risen! I need to go to confessional...
Taglist: @veniesss @cranberrystorm @marblecharm
Likes, comments, and reblogs greatly appreciated! <3
Etoile's Masterlist ⋆.˚ Black Lotus Masterlist
They told you it was a blessing to be chosen for such a pilgrimage.
Your forefathers had made the journey before you—both men and women spoken of in reverent tones, as though their names alone could sanctify the air. They were said to be favored, permitted to walk the Earth for a fleeting while with a single, solemn purpose: to appease your gods.
Each time their summons came, they left the hollow without protest, stepping beyond its border in pursuit of higher deeds, of some promise that would mend the hollow at the heart of your people.
They never returned.
You were taught to believe that was proof enough. Surely, you thought, they had ascended to a greater paradise, seen some revealing truth they couldn’t be led from.
After all, the unjust were never chosen. The faithless were never called. Only the devout were granted the honor of departure. So when the elders uttered your name and explained that you’d been chosen for the latest pilgrimage, you could only bow your head in gratitude.
You had believed yourself blessed.
An act of divine love.
As a child, you were devout in the way only children can be–wholehearted and innocent. You rose at the appointed hours of worship, bowed your head when commanded to fast, and learned the old rituals before you could fully understand the words you were chanting. Faith was not a burden then. It never was to you.
After all, you took pride in being seen. You were but an orphan girl taken in by the elders, desperate for some shred of attention. Whether it be their lingering gazes or the reverent nods that passed between others when you recited a prayer without faltering, the elders had recognized your promise. And now, at eighteen, they had chosen you for this sacred task.
So you did not resist when they came, and you let them take your hands and guide you, prepare you.
They stripped you first.
Off came the modest robes you had worn all your life–simple linens worn from all your years of an even simpler life. With them seemed to fall all your questions and curiosities, as though all the doubts you’d sown from the years were stitched into the seams. In their place, they laid upon you ceremonial vestments: dark and weighty, smelling of smoke and iron. Tassels and charms knocked loosely against your ribs as they dressed your naked frame, cloaking the pale innocence of your skin.
When the elder’s blood-slicked fingers first touched your navel, you couldn’t help but shiver in awe. They drew their hands upward in a methodical and slow way, tracing your sternum, marking the spiraling and cryptic sigils into your flesh. The lamb’s blood they used was still warm, but it helped to soothe the faint tremor of your pulse. Gleaming against your fragile pallor, they too marked your cheeks, your throat, even your brow, until you no longer felt like yourself but like a newly scrawled page of worship.
Then when all the preparations were complete, did they lead you from the hollow.
Through the darkened wood they sang, and you couldn’t help but chime in with glee. Lanterns swung from your grasps, casting trembling halos of light across the dirt. Incense burned in the thuribles you carried, smoke unspooling in ghostly ribbons from the heavy chains looped around your palms. The air tasted fresh of resin and oil which helped to loosen your mind–a thing you had grown to love ever since you were a child.
You let them guide you beyond the village borders, your heart thrumming wildly beneath the layered robe. You were ready. Ready at last to devote your whole mind and soul to the worship of gods you had loved all your life, though you had never once seen their faces.
When at last the temple presented itself before you, with stones strangled in ivy and basked in the shadows at the very edge of the hollow, your pulse fluttered with excitement.
All your life you had been warned away from those steps. As a babe, you recited it until you knew that the threshold was not meant for mortal wandering. The ground beyond it was sacred and far too holy for anything but those deities. Even your shadow, the elders had said, dare not fall across its doors.
And yet, here you stood.
The old prohibitions seemed to loosen and fall from you like shed skin. You had been chosen. You were no longer merely mortal, no longer bound by the small, fearful rules meant to contain ordinary devotion. If you were to be offered, if you were to transcend, then such earthly demands were now trivial things.
And so the dark interior led down down down into spiraling depths you could not begin to map or measure. Lanternlight licked at your heels as you all herded the descent together, and finally, in the temple’s deepest chamber stood a stony altar–enthroned in utter darkness and haunting in the way it seemed to emerge from the black.
The room smelled of something dark and pungent, though you paid it no mind. It was the scent of age, no doubt a place untouched except for the most sacred of rites. Perhaps tonight, that would change.
Your feet shuffled over prickling rocks at your feet, uneven and slippery as they guided you to the chamber’s center. You’d been instructed not to look down, not to look back, and soon enough your back met the cool surfact of the stone.
Candles were lit in perimeter, their thin flames trembling with even the softest flicker: your breath, any movement you made. You shifted until splayed before the others, who were so kind to gently part your robes and reveal the demonic markings they’d left upon your skin. You had tried to lift yourself, to shift into some comfortable position, but quiet commands stilled you. And so you patiently lay back again, closed your eyes, and tried to calm the nervous flutter of your heart.
Faint crevices lay etched beneath your fingertips and you traced them slowly as though you might carve some sort of comfort within your own soul. Their groves drew you onward, until a chilling recognition stirred your mind. They perfectly mirrored the crescent marks of your own nails, as though you had once clawed upward through the stone they now rested. Though, before the thought could fully settle, your hands were seized and wrenched upwards. Your pulse leaped when they bound your wrists just before your stomach, fastening them there with thick rope so you could no longer reach them.
Time stretched on after that. You could not tell how long preparations endured, for your dear members gathered close shortly after, encircling you in a comforting huddle. Their presence dulled the fear in you, the prayers and steady pace of their chanted words soothing as you took relief in the way your heart slowly faded into a gentle, lulled rhythm.
Because this was divine–
The room falls into a deadly hush as an icy breeze steals through the sanctum. It prickles across your skin as though you’d been plunged into the sea, the candles around you guttering and sighing into darkness. Only the soft curls of smoke is left in their wake, but you can’t truly follow them for your own vision, too, plunges into black.
All comforting voices of prayer slip beyond your hearing, and in their place creeps in a dull, resounding thump. Then another. A steady thump, thump, thump, of something crumpling to the pebbled floor.
You lurch up in surprise, your eyes straining to adjust through the dark of the hall. Your heart stutters, surging back to life and pounding hard against your ribs as you try to piece together what had happened. Silence answers, no comforting voice of your brethren when you whimper. Only that lingering chill greets you, your bound hands fumbling along the altar for some sort of compass.
You can utter no words, ask no questions—instead, your breath betrays you as it trembles out shaky, your pulse reveals it’s unease. Because there had been no door to invite a draft, no reason for the sudden extinguishing and darkness and silence.
And you certainly could form no explanation for the luminous creature before you—it’s silver eyes fixed and unmoving, burrowing deep into your soul.
Another sputtered breath escapes you, heart leaping into your throat. You simply cannot look away. You’re worried that the moment you do, whatever it is will leap like a rabid dog, will curse you with it’s own chaos. But this creature glows—no, pulses—with an ethereal glow, shifting radiance through the den.
“What..?” You manage at last, a chill creeping over your bare skin as you edge backwards, but the ceremonial robes snag against the rough stone of the altar and keep you tethered in place. “Who is there?”
There’s a low snarl—at first humanlike, before it deepens into something far more terrible. There’s a demonic resonance now, that rings through your bones, down to your very core. Then, in an instant, the glowing eyes vanish, and just for a moment you think the thing is gone.
Then, your shoulder BURNS.
It’s a searing pain—almost like an icy sting, though frozen metal had been pressed straight into your flesh. You gasp, instantly trying to jerk away, yet something clawed curls over your collar.
A hand.
Your head whips up in terror, and there, leant down from behind you, a monstrous horror meets your gaze.
A man–no, a demon bears its fangs just above your fluttering, jumpy pulse, those glowing silver eyes finding yours once more. You scream, but the sound is swallowed as that icy hand clamps over your lips. You thrash and fail and fight, but it’s futile, for it drags you tight against its front.
Teeth, long and pointed, and deathly cold, graze your skin. A wave of nausea twists though you as they pierce, pressing into the hollow of your throat. You cry out against the hand over your mouth, the sound muffled as tears spring in your eyes. Just as they threaten to sink any deeper through the muscle and sinew in search of a vital artery, do they retreat with a furious snarl.
“What–” the monster hisses, and your hand flies to your throat to clamp over the bleeding divots in your skin. Your chest heaves, vision blurring at the edges from stress and disorientation. The creature spits not a moment later, the uneven scrape of its footing loud as it stumbles back from the altar. “You are absolutely horrid.”
You finally look up through the sweaty curtain of your hair, vision still swimming before it can focus on the demon—no, monster—no, man? before you.
He was no taller than the religious folk whom you’d travelled with, no broader than the hollow’s own sons. You could tell that much, by the way he stumbles back on two unsteady feet, his body folding in on itself as he hacks and sputters. Though, his breath tears from his throat in ragged, animalistic snarls, and only then do you notice it.
Through the glimmer of silvery hair–a tangled, downy mop that caught and held what little light remained in the chamber–he struggles to right himself. And when at last his spine uncoils, you truly understand.
He was no man. No human, at least.
Because your blood is smeared across his pale lips—and there, amidst the cruel curl of his snarl, could you make out fangs.
Along it’s veins pulsed an unfamiliar wisteria, humming with a seething fury as it webbed down his throat and coiled through his arms like poison. It glowed within the chambers, a sickly, haunting radiance, before fading altogether.
“W-What… are you?” you gasp again, pressing your palm insistently to your quivering throat. Your lungs struggle to shudder out breaths, and you nearly tumble from the altar in your panic.
But this sanguisuge pays your blubbering no heed. It instead drags a hand across its lips as though revolted, then lifts its gaze until those silvery eyes find yours in a cold glare.
“Hush, girl.”
You freeze upon hearing the sound of its snarled growl, the voice dropping several octaves–layered, it seems, as though two or three voices speak at once beneath the sound.
Was this your god? One of the beings you spoke of, prayed of, worshipped—all your life?
You cannot begin to untangle the choices that led you here.
Perhaps this was a test–just the entryway to the paradise you’d been promised? Perhaps this savage monster was no monster at all, and instead all just a ruse for the holy being you’d always found comfort in.
You scarcely have time to think before it shifts before you like twisting shadows, and in the space between one blink and the next its icy form is leaning over yours once more. The candles encircling you sputter, then flare to life as if reanimated, and in the sanctum’s softened glow you finally behold your god up close.
Pale as the moon, they are marred with scars and set with a perpetual frown, as though divinity itself were not already resting in the palm of their hand. You try not to dwell on the blood now crusting their maw, try to name it something lesser and mortal that you might one day ascend from.
An icy tongue slips past parted lips again, finding the wound at your throat as your hand is wrenched away. This time, you hiss when the contact sends a searing, treacherous warmth along your skin—and this time, it’s anticipated. You can only watch as the creature bows away with a snarl, fangs bared as though wounded.
What had you done to provoke your god’s displeasure? You had always been a devout and honorable girl. You prayed, you honored the scriptures, you shaped your life into something holy and sacred and oh so pure. So why? Why does your god have to look at you now with such burning hatred in their eyes?
The thought shatters as he is suddenly upon you, and you flatten yourself against the altar stone, as if even an inch of distance might spare you.
“Perhaps I am the one who should be ashamed,” he snarls, and you shiver as its tongue flattens suddenly to your chest, dragging slowly up the mark of blood along your sternum, tracing its path to the swirling patterns dissolving over your shoulders. “That your true scent is hidden beneath this all.”
There’s another bite to your shoulder, but it’s merely a nip this time—shallow and frustrated–never piercing through the skin to draw forth your life’s essence. You shiver when it retreats, almost upset at the fleeting touch.
“A pity,” it murmurs, “that this foul lamb’s blood is of a finer grade than yours.” A lone, pointed finger drags along the wet path his tongue had carved, smearing the blood where the pattern has already begun to crumble.
Your eyes flit upward, catching the creature’s affronted expression, and a chill resumes your skin. It prickles along your flesh, drawing a sharp breath from your lungs as your breasts stiffen in the cold air. Were it not for the woolen cloak that rested over your shoulders, would you be truly exposed. Even so, embarrassment was such a normal human emotion, and you too were not free from its clutch. Laid bare and unguarded before this thing, your cheeks became a soft rosy red.
“Am I not pure?” you stammer without thinking, dead lurching heavy in your chest. Had your god not seen your devotion—recognized all efforts you’d made up until this moment? “I have given my life—”
“That is not what I had intended to mean,” he cuts in, and your lips remain parted for a moment before closing in shame, the rest of your plea swallowed down.
A single sharpened nail glides along your belly, tracing your skin before it catches at the flimsy clasp of your cloak. It’s cut in a single flick of the joint, the fastening giving way as the dark, incensey fabric flutters to pool around your hips. Then, are you truly laid bare, put on display for all judging eyes to see.
“Then what..?” you dare to ask, sighing out a shuddery breath as you brace yourself for condemnation. Your head shakes once, tipping as if confused, your eyes desperate and searching.
The pale creature slinks from you at last, withdrawing from the altar as though your presence itself repels him. He begins to circle you instead, pace slow as if pondering what to do.
It feels like an eternity before he comes to a halt at the foot of the stone, silvery eyes boring into yours.
“You are a disgrace. Quite pathetic to those who came before you.”
Your heart sinks.
No… No that cannot be true. You were devout—faithful. You did everything as it was written, as demanded, everything you were guided to do! What could he possibly mean? You gave your whole heart and soul to everything—this!
“And what fate befell those who came before me?” you’re desperate, grasping for clarity or something that might yet absolve you. Perhaps, they too, had not been pure. Perhaps there had been another end waiting for them. Fate was funny in that way.
For a moment, the creature seems to amuse your question. His mouth draws into a grim line and his gaze lowers to the blood now caked and drying across your sternum. Then, his nose wrinkles faintly, as though the sight, or smell, offends him, yet he does not cease his observation of you.
“Are you truly that naïve, girl?”
He gives a lazy tilt of his head, gesturing toward the darkened corners of the sanctum.
The shapes you’d originally dismissed as nothing more than pebbles now gleam softly in the candlelight, revealing crumpled heaps of… bones?
“And what of me?” You’re trembling now and there is nothing you can do to disguise the nervous way you begin to fold inward on instinct. Ha. Protection was a life. As if anything could shield you from whatever cruel beast was before you.
“You—” he sneers, pale eyes boring into you, pupils constricted to pinpricks, “—are a poor excuse of a sacrifice.”
Sacrifice.
There is was, the word echoing loud in your mind.
Is that all you are? Nothing but a sacrifice in the eyes of your god? It couldn’t be true…
“I am pure,” as if repeating the words would somehow stitch whatever broken part was inside you, might mold you into this something he claimed you were not. Your hand settles over your frantic heart, the proof of flesh and bone almost enough to prove you were devout enough, honest enough. “I have done everything right! According to the scriptures—“
“Did you not hear me? I care not for your delusion.”
“Then what DO you care of?” The question tears out of you at last, chest heaving with exasperated desperation. Your eyes are wide and shining, searching frantically as you sink to your knees and crawl forward toward the edge to meet him.
Still, this does little to please the creature—the man, if such a word were honest enough to contain him—before you. He merely narrows his eyes in open disgust, frowning in that same animalistic snarl. He looks down at you along the edge of his nose, refusing you the disgrace of stooping to your level.
“I demand a being that will bear itself to me,” as if you hadn’t already known that. “Let me have it’s life as my own.”
Death? Is that what he was insinuating?
But death was never an offering—an inevitability, not a bargaining piece. And if there was anything you’d been taught—
“You can have me as your own,” you blurt before you can begin to argue with reason. Desperation drowns out all other feelings, urging you to mend and soothe, to become whatever this ethereal creature demands of you. “If that’s what you want—I am yours! I am devoted. My life has always been—“
It is then that something else flickers across his face. Amusement, perhaps? Or pity? It was almost as though he’d never been subjected to such unquestioning obedience.
“You ignorant girl,” he sneers with contempt. “You do not know the meaning of that.”
Yet you are insistent. “I am yours,” you confirm again, before you can begin to doubt. “I am prepared. I am yours—body, a-and mind, and soul—”
That at least gives him pause. A flicker kindles in his eyes, narrowing at you as he tilts his head. A single finger (more like clawed talon) lifts to prod at his temple, eyes drifting shut in curious contemplation.
“Fine, then,” he sighs, and you relax at first when it almost sounds like surrender. Whatever hard hostility that had bristled through him seemingly melted away. But you’d be fooled if you’d be that naïve. “I suppose you’re not entirely useless—I can still use you.”
You try not to focus on how that makes your stomach turn.
“I want something too.”
You’re bold now.
And that at least unsettles him, lips snarling almost in surprise. You? Presuming to ask something of him? The audacity of it lingers in his expression, and he’s now more confused than anything else. Eager, obedient, and now demanding in the same breath. You were bold indeed—a foolish girl, perhaps. He wasn’t quite sure.
“And what is that?” Not like he’d assure you some sort of truth. Only that he will listen, if nothing else.
There is something indulgent in the way he regards you, the slightest hint of interest beneath all that disdain. You were a novelty. Silly, certainly. But he wouldn’t lie and say you hadn’t amused him in the slightest. Most humans would be weeping by now, screaming and begging for a mercy he wouldn’t grant. You do none of the sort. Tremble, yes, but at least you remain.
Your obedient silence stretches far too long and he gestures irately to snap you back in your place. “Go on,” he hisses. “Spit it out now.”
“Can… I—” you begin to whisper, swallowing thickly. Your cheeks flush a rosy pink with shame when you dare utter the request that borders on blasphemy. “I’d like to be blessed.”
For a heartbeat, there is only silence.
What in the hells did that mean?
The creature studies every trembling edge of you, then slowly, his lips curl into a tired sort of smirk. He exhales a short huff through his nose, head tilting as though he’d finally figured you out.
Ah. It all made sense now.
There was a rot inside you. Something dark and coiled and no longer patient as it threaded its way through your bones. That much was evident.
You were a sickly girl for as long as you could remember. It shows, even now, in the way the creature had handled you up until now. Faint bruises had already begun to bloom along your shoulder where his fingers pressed, red at the edges before they deepened into dusky violets. And he’d hardly been rough.
You supposed your body had never belonged fully to you. For it faltered without warning, fainting spells stealing the ground beneath your feet ever since you were a babe. You certainly were no stranger to the weakness that clings to you. Fevers that others passed off in a day would linger in your bones for weeks. A simple cough spelled danger when whispers of illness caught wind in the village. But that was just something you’d learned to live with.
It helped of course that you’d been told devotion would be met with mercy. If you remained faithful, they would draw the poison from your veins, and would see to it that every malignant curse that had taken root within you would be lifted, undone, and made clean. That alone was enough for you to keep living.
So was it possible for this creature to free you?
There was certainly no harm in trying.
“You’re asking nothing short of a miracle,” the demon huffs, though that sanguine smile never quite leaves its lips. “Do you truly believe me to be your savior?”
You give a jerky little nod, eyes hopeful, breath stuttering.
“And you’d follow every command?” he presses, voice softening into something far too dangerous than he admits. “Remain mine until I’m satisfied—until you’ve served your purpose?”
Another nod.
And then, that small voice in your head warns you of what you’re getting into. What were you getting into? You can no longer bear to wait.
“And what would that be?” you breathe, deciding to fill the silence when he does not. “My purpose, exactly?”
Panic surges through your veins when he stalks forward, shadows twisting and warping along the walls to swallow the sanctum up whole. You scramble back with frantic instinct, but it’s futile for a clawed hand settles flat on your belly, cold and stinging, and traps you in place.
Some sort of strange, unfamiliar warmth soothes over your skin when his thumb drags just beneath your navel—out of place, almost in the way frostbite deceives those who are close to their own demise. The demon’s next words only make that heat fester deep within, warping your every thought and reason until only the sensation pulses through you like a heartbeat.
“To give me this—” the hand presses firmly against the swirl of sigils painted on your skin, each coiled line winding inward to converge at the apex of your belly. “—your womb.”
The incessant beat of your heart thunders down your sternum, chasing after the chilling touch that emanates at your belly. Nausea coils low in your gut just from the way he looks down at you, face unchanging. You half expect some sort of sickening grin to smear along his lips, but this creature only stares, and then do you realize the prospect is serious.
“Are you… going to eat me—”
He scoffs. A single clawed finger taps against your skin, almost mockingly.
“Do you not know what that means, girl?” he sneers, and when he leans closer, the chill of him seeps into you, replacing every false pretense of warmth. “To bear a child?”
A child.
Your head spins, delusion weaving a feverish web in your mind. It leaves you breathless and trembling as you try to make sense of such an odd request.
“From whom—”
“Me, of course.”
His answer is quick, impatient. He stares at you as though no other conclusion could possibly exist. Were you insulting him?
You merely gawk.
“Are you insinuating I bear your child?” Rising up on your forearms now, do you meet his gaze. “Am I even worthy—”
“What are you blubbering on about?”
A hand grabs your jaw, fingers digging in tight enough to hold and control you, and suddenly you’re face to face with that dark expression—forced to gaze into the crimson eyes you had so foolishly deemed salvation. “You think I’m simply going to waste my time on you?”
“Would you rather die?”
You shake your head quickly, though it’s not the death that grips you, moreso the possibility and unknown prospect that catches your attention. Your eyes nearly glisten with wild excitement, and it throws him for a loop. Were you mad?
“It would be an honor,” a hand settles over your quivering heart, as your expression flatlines into something reverent and calm. All panic and confusion have fled you entirely, leaving only quiet devotion mirrored in your eyes. It’s endearing, the way you’re laid completely bare before him, surrendered to whatever mercy or judgement he might grant. What had you to lose? “To be entrusted with such a blessing.”
The creature scowls, lurching back as if trying to replay your reaction in his head. Something is off. Perhaps it was not just you, rather the rest of your kind as well. Maybe those from your village were truly insane after all… So devout… So trusting…
“You ask such lofty things of me, and yet, beyond all that you are still willing to save me?” you whisper in disbelief.
“Save you?” he scoffs, and your legs are swiftly knocked open at the knee, allowing him to venture forth and descend down upon you. “If that is what you wish to call it—” a hand settles on your quivering thigh, keeping it pressed to the sacrificial stone as you try to shift and ease some of the discomfort, “—then fine.”
“I’ll save you.”
Clawed fingers sink into the hollows of your knees, baring you open to this demon as he leers above you. You wince as you’re shoved back against the unyielding sacrificial stone, all breath stolen from your lungs once a wet, ice-cold tongue meets your abdomen.
“First,” he murmurs against your navel, tongue already tracing one of the swirling patterns up your skin, over your left hip, each crusted and bloody line dissolving under its path. “Let us outline the stipulations of this agreement.”
Your skin flutters beneath the creature’s touch, an foreign warmth searing in the cooling places his tongue had left behind. Your bound hands shake against your stomach, because his head lifts at your belly, and you swear you can see those silver eyes pulse with an otherworldly glow. He pins your wrists above your head before you can try to squirm away.
Weight presses down on your wrists until blood stalls in your veins, making your fingers tingle, your arms burn with a dull ache. You wince and whine, but it does little to appease the demon lurking above. Instead, he gathers your chin in his palm, guiding your gaze back to meet those terrifying silvery eyes.
“I will have you as I please,” your breath stutters, pupils constricting when he glares down at you, “when I please,” the grip around your jaw tightens the moment your lips part to utter some sort of response, his fingers quickly mushing your cheeks shut, “where I please.”
Your lips manage to part and offer some sort of strangled coo, but he quickly slips his thumb past your lips, pressing down firm on the muscle of your tongue to silence you. The appendage curls until your jaw twinges with a sweet pain, hooking up to keep you still.
“You are at my mercy,” he reminds, eyes never leaving yours. “Remember that well, girl.”
“So you shall heed my demands. You shall obey me.” The fear starts to bubble in, but you reign it back, keep the painful tears at bay and nod softly, in what small, limited space you can. He huffs in delight when he sees the faint shimmer rimming your lashes.
“And when you bear my child,” and when you prove obedience, his finger finally slips from your mouth to press into your bottom lip. “I’ll see to it you’re saved.”
You nod wordlessly like a lamb led to the slaughter, surrendering yourself to the blind currents of the unknown. You do not question and you dare not offend the beast before you—for despite its menace, it had been your savior, whatever blessed thing you could still worship. You were not dead after all.
Yet a tear slips free though from your dewy lashes, puddling along the hollow of your cheek as you await judgement. He scoops it away with a chastising thumb, tutting at your miserable display.
“Are you afraid?” he taunts, a half asking half teasing remark, cocking his head to savor your reaction. Your eyes flutter as you try to stifle any more tears, blink violently to clear the swarm from your darkened gaze.
“No,” you whisper. Perhaps it was a lie. Your heart was surely bound to burst right out of your fragile chest, but you could not tell if it were from fear or some forbidden thrill. Relief felt safer.
“I am ready.” Blood rushes through your ears, drowning out all sounds but the frantic little flutter of your heart. “I am yours.”
“I trust you.”
You weren’t sure what you had been expecting tonight. A blessing, sure. A sacred ritual of devotion, of course. Your god’s head down between your thighs?
Wait, what?
The demon’s hands were unnaturally quick, positioning you such that your body curls against the sacrificial stone. Shadows pool in the dim light of the sanctum, revealing the faint crevices you had once traced absentmindedly, realizing they were unmistakably clawed scars, etched deep by those who’d come before you.
Were you truly being spared?
Though, you do not have time to consider, for the chilly air nips at your skin, and your knees wobble when a frigid gust—no breath—snakes across your inner thighs. A tongue, just as icy and wet as before first prods at the heat between your legs, and you gasp when it quickly plunges into you.
“W-Wha—” you gasp, a violent bloom darkening your cheeks when those clawed fingers find your thighs and spread your legs open. It’s utterly mortifying to find that you’re dripping from such a simple thing, and you hide your face in your bound hands to try and stifle the shame.
The feeling is foreign, filling almost uncomfortably although his tongue enters you only briefly. You writhe and try to wrestle back, hands worming down to push at his hair to try and shake him off. A growl resounds from between your legs, and you gasp out a shrill cry when teeth sink threateningly into your inner thigh.
“Why are you resisting me, girl?” he snarls, a hand lashing out as it rises to pin your wrists high above your head. Your pupils constrict, breath hitching when his furious eyes find your own. “I thought you weren’t opposed to this.”
Distracted by the stinging pain where his teeth remain, you hardly notice when two clawed digits sneak back between the dripping folds of your sex, circling around a spot that makes your hips jerk up in wanton desperation, before they all too quickly flee towards your quivering entrance.
His fingers were no doubt any longer than the unusual curl of his tongue, yet they possessed an edge that terrified you. When you first feel the press of claws dipping inside, you try to jerk away in warning.
“Wait—“
A piercing shriek, then your body bleeds warm with a sharp sting. You recoil instantly as two fingers plunge in, your back arching high off the stone as tears finally prick free from your eyes.
“It hurts it hurts—“ you wail, trying to writhe back, but those two fingers remain stilled, carved within your womanhood. Through the blur of darkness and tears, you can barely make it out when a thumb presses gently beneath your eyes, sweeping away the salty trail.
You can’t see a goddamned thing, can’t tell what sort of twisted expression might be on his face as he holds you down. There’s a slow intake of breath beside your exposed shoulder, and finally, the fingers retreat from within. The ache that lingers is a cramping tension, relentless as your muscles are forbid to ease it.
“You’re a virgin,” he says as if surprised, slightly proud, those clawed fingers patting teasingly against your inner thigh.
When your tears finally clear enough to part the haze in your vision, you can truly begin to gauge how close he is. The waxy melts remain on the sacrificial stone, soft and flickering in the weak candlelight. Blinking through the blur, your eyes adjust, and at last you discern this demon.
His hair wasn’t silver, no—it was a ghostly, pearly white, far too innocent in the soft glow of the candles. You hadn’t recognized the deep, jagged scars carved across his face, nor the menacing ones crossed along his chest. His billowing cream shirt hangs open to reveal the gruesome sight, and as your gaze drifts downward you can see the pale leanness of him. For not the pain in your loins or the constricting of your heart, you could almost laugh at how out of place those scars felt. They looked faded, old, belonging to a creature far older than… him?
Nevertheless, red surfaces in the edge of your vision, his hand, along with your thigh now slick with a sticky red. Blood.
You try to steady the soft whimpers of fear, chest shaking with pained breaths as he releases your hands to gather the flesh of your ass in his claws.
All the blood rushes to your head in a dizzying swell as your lower half is hoisted up from the stone. Your palms strike flat against the surface to brace yourself, to keep your skull from cracking against it as the world tilts and spins. Disoriented, your knees hook over his shoulders, and a broken whimper slips free, half pained and half humiliation, when his mouth attaches to your cunt.
“Poor thing,” he murmurs against your flesh, tongue dipping in yet again to gather the mix of the sharp, metallic tinge of blood and the cloying, honeyed slick of your heat. The vibrations of his voice have your thighs shaking around his head, fingers flexing and unflexing as you struggle to keep upright.
Never once do his eyes leave your own, those silvery pools—now you realize a soft lilac—bearing deep into your soul. Your cheeks flush when you see the muscle of his long tongue delve back into you.
“You’ve never been with a man,” he sneers now, and you try to clamp your legs shut. It’s futile as he merely holds you open, a thumb pressing into your clit to stop your struggle as you squeal in surprise. “Have you?”
You shake your head in quiet, embarrassed denial. You can’t trust your quivering voice at this point, so you just let your lashes flutter closed as you hide your face aside.
“Am I your first?” he smirks again when you buck up into his maw. His tongue curls up against a spot inside that has your thighs shudder, your hips involuntarily press closer for more—any sort of touch really—even if that’s not what your mind begs for.
“You are no—ma-aahn—!” His face seals completely against your cunt, nose pressing directly to the bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. Your vision fractures, white flaring at the edges as your eyes roll back.
“No man?” The sanguisine repeats when you can utter no response, pulling away with glistening lips to peer down at your arched body. “If I am not a man, then pray tell, what am I?”
“I fear you are the devil,” you whisper, finally catching your breath as the wet appendage leaves your cunt to instead lave at your bloodied thigh.
He laughs, and the sharp edge of his smile returns.
“The devil?”
Two clawed thumbs reach to spread your sex further to his greedy eyes, and a smirk reaches his lips when he sees you shamelessly fluttering, clenching greedily around nothing.
“Perhaps I am that, yet you keep referring to me as your God, my dove.”
A single finger sinks back inside, and the keen edge of his nail draws a soft whimper from you as another fell trickle of blood stains his skin. This time, he’s gentler as that same tongue returns to lap at your mingled warmth.
“Then what do they call you?” you dare ask, voice softening with a quiet sigh as his tongue eases the lingering dull ache in your thighs. You attempt to peer up, try to compose the tremor in your expression, but it’s clear you’re in no position of power. Especially not when he had you hoisted up like so, feasting on your virgin cunt.
“Do you have a name?”
Was it blasphemous to even ask? You had never stood face to face with a god before… Where were your manners? Surely he would not offer his name if you were unworthy of hearing it.
At last, he draws back, lowering your lower half with an uncharacteristic gentleness until you rest atop the sacrificial stone. Cold seeps into your back and you uncomfortably arch away from it, your body shying from the chill.
His hand slips beneath you when you begin to shy from the chill, to guide you back down until you lie before it again. Then, it drifts up to curl over your ribs, fingertips patting softly at the stark line of bone revealed in your stretch. You were a skinny little thing, painfully so—no doubt malnourished. What a pity.
“It’s Sanemi.”
Your ears strain to catch the little sound, committing it to memory as you nod along. Were you permitted to speak it aloud? You wouldn’t take your chances today.
Though the creature before you suddenly seems almost human. Now that you can couple a name to a face, he shifts in your perception: this man kneeling above you has not truly touched you at all. His hands hover at your parted thighs, suspended in restraint, while those once sharp eyes have softened on your quivering apprehension.
You were afraid—how could you not be, considering you’d just only heard what he had in store for you? You were to bear his child, and you were scarcely more than a new woman yourself. The uncertainty, all the unanswered questions made your heart race, and yet—if this divine creature had chosen you to bestow such a fate upon?
Be brave.
“Will you not take me properly?” you ask when he remains still for too long. Was he hesitating?
His gaze flickers downward, drawn to the faint trickle of blood staining your thighs. Whether it came from the roughness of his fingers or the delicacy of your hymen, you were not sure.
“You are inexperienced,” he states bluntly, his expression untroubled as his fingers slide to reach for the underside of your thigh. He guides your hips open, repositioning until you have one leg draped across his lap, the other slipping off the edge of the altar. “I cannot simply take you are you are. You will break.”
There it was—at least Sanemi is honest with you.
“We had an agreement, did we not?” you whisper, reminding him softly, albeit a bit insistently. Your hips shift before him, lifting just slightly as if pleading for some semblance of touch. “I can bear it—it is my duty to.”
There’s a faint twitch between your legs, your eyes catching the movement as you finally notice the strain in his slacks. You were inexperienced, sure, but that did not mean you dumb.
“I want you to have me,” you taunt, voice beckoning even as it trembles.
That last little push seems to do the trick, for the white shirt already hanging loose on Sanemi’s frame is the first to go, its silvery buttons unclasped in quick succession before the fabric flutters to the floor. You watch with bated breath as his hands move to his darkened trousers, a flush rising to your pale cheeks when he sheds those as well.
You catch a glimpse of him—twitching, standing tall against his navel as he begins to crawl over you. Though, shame quickly bubbles in your chest, and you have to advert your gaze to somewhat calm the nervous tension drawing in your belly.
Would he even fit? You were certain that you yourself could not harbor such lengths—regardless of if you were a trembling virgin or not. Had you measured the length of him, perhaps he would reach your own belly—
At his first press against your glistening folds, a breath shudders past your lips, fingers curling inward like a congregant’s plea until your knuckles tighten until they’re white. Your eyes fall closed, trying to steady the nervousness channeling in your veins.
Merely the blunt tip of him alone was thicker than the two fingers he’d pressed inside you before, yet unlike them, it bore no sharpened edge of nail or claw. Though a little naive, you thought maybe the difference would make it less painful. You feel him prod at your entrance, before he slips up along your folds only briefly to gather the little slick that coated you. When he grazes your clit, you shudder in awe, some nervous tension bleeding away into an unfamiliar flutter in your belly.
But then, just as quickly, he’s at your entrance, slipping the twitching head of his cock in without a warning. With that slightest bit of movement, you seize around him at once, drawing in a shuddery breath as tears prick at your eyes in surprise. Oh dear gods—the stretch was more than you’d anticipated.
“W-Wait—“ you cry out, your walls clamping tight in a reflexive attempt to try and force his intrusion out. Pain ripples through you, making your thighs tremble as tears spill once more down your rosy cheeks. Your nails bite into your palms and your legs instinctively try to draw closed, though he’s too far settled into their cradle for you to retreat.
Sanemi does not still even when you cry, his fingers tightening around the dip of your waist to hold you fast as he presses inch after agonizing inch through you. Only then does he stop when you’ve engulfed the entirety of him, your spasming womanhood holding him in a vice.
The pain is unlike anything you’d ever known—a searing heat that seems to burn you from the inside out. It feels as though he reaches impossibly deep, as though he presses past the very bounds of your body, the first experience of being filled whole leaving you stiff and achy. You try to press at his abdomen, try to wordlessly plead for pause or some sort of momentary reprieve, but your nails merely scrabble against his skin, pawing uselessly at the cool plane of him.
A thick, viscous wellness slicks your thighs and spreads along the cool stone beneath you. For but a disoriented breath, you cannot tell whether it belongs to you or to something else entirely. It is only when the sharp, metallic tang of blood twines the air, do you realize it is your own.
Sanemi does not fair any better than you, having gone rigid, every hard line of him drawn taut when he’d breached your deepest depths. His weight falters, dropping to a braced forearm beside your head as his brow falls against your flesh, a sharp, hissing breath escaping him.
“You are a tight little thing, aren't you—“ and it hadn’t helped that the mix of your honeyed fluids had somewhat masked the bitter scent of blood. His head tilts, lips gracing the curve of your shoulder, teeth bared as if to bite, yet they never sink into your skin. He knows better. Knows that beyond that fleeting veil you're a terrible, foul and ruinous thing—sour with a rot he cannot ignore.
He ruts once against your hips, tearing a sob from your lips when the lack of proper lubrication tears him through you. Your thigh is then gathered up in his hold, tossed carelessly over his hip as he uses the shift to sheathe himself deeper into your quivering heat. Your bound hands are gathered up, caught and held around his neck to tether you against him.
Perhaps he is a monster—for he does not offer any warm condolences or patience for you to catch your bearings. It is already too much, too far, the tight knot in your belly cinching into a sharper, more punishing stab with every unrestrained push that drives through you.
“It hurts,” you whimper again, like your words might summon mercy. Your nails drag along the hard muscle of his arms, then bite into the flesh of his back when you are thrown against the sacrificial stone once more. They catch there like barbs, scraping, scrabbling, clinging, until you’ve hooked him. “It hurts.”
A soft tut escapes him, and you hate the way his arm presses icy beneath your back. Instinctively, your arch up out of it, desperate to escape the chill where warmth should have been—but your front collides with his chest and the searing cold cuts through you. It ignites a tremor that makes you shiver and clamp around him even tighter.
“This is what you wanted,” he recalls, voice strained, hips slowly shifting against yours in a growing pace. “Is it not?”
“I-It is,” you gasp, writhing gently beneath him to try and ease the slightest bit of the burning ache between your thighs. Every movement feels futile, every twitch denied, as he holds you impossibly close, inescapable. Doubt gnaws at the edges of your resolve—and you’re not sure how much more of this you can take. Your breaths stutter with each snap of his hips, your feeble heart quivering like it might splinter. He can feel it tremble against his own skin, your soft breasts smushed to his chest. “But I can’t—”
Sanemi finds it’s hard to focus when the pitiful sounds of your whimpers and soft whines beneath him drown out the lustful voices in his head. He snarls against your pulse, wrenching your hands down to press just above where you’re both connected, claiming you with an urgent, relentless grip.
“Feel that, dove?” he growls in your ear, his breath too cold, sending a shiver racing down your spine. The pain bleeds, threading through your veins like fire, pulsing with the relentless rhythm of him reaching depths of you previous uncharted. “That’s a real man inside you.” Every thought dissolves, leaving you unable to focus on anything else, especially not when his intrusion was so dominating, suffocating.
Heat blooms in your belly when he takes your earlobe between his teeth, biting softly before he shoves his way beneath your jaw to bite there—softly, not to break skin, but rather to tease the thin flesh of your neck. “You’re meant for this—taking me so easily.”
Sanemi keeps your hands flat to your abdomen, lets his lips traipse down your jaw and neck. When you still cease to alleviate the painful clench of your cunt, does he guide your thin fingers down to reach between your glistening folds. The pads of your fingers first graze your clit and you pulse around him in surprise, a soft moan tearing from your lips. He feels the way your pulse flutters beneath his lips, now sucking soft bruises along the tops of your breasts—not to taste the blood beneath, but to watch it bloom to the surface.
He laves softly, every exhale cold as it forces your skin to prickle, your nipples to pebble in the cool air. To soothe your trembling skin, his lips quickly wrap around one stiffened peak, tongue trailing over the skin before he shifts his attention to the next.
You were not sure why such a foreign and simple touch had helped to lessen some of the pain, warmth unfurling in your chest before it converges to match the insistent bloom in your gut. Your fingers work slow, touching first in curiosity before they circle the apex of your thighs, drawing sparking jolts from between your legs.
Just as you feel your stomach tighten—this time from something other than the burning stretch of him in you—Sanemi pulls your hands away. The delirious feeling fades all too quickly, and a whine escapes you when he pins your hands to your stomach yet again.
“There you go…” he murmurs at your pitiful sound, “but I’m afraid I don’t want you falling apart quite yet, my dove.”
Then, he rises, towering over you, stretching back to part your thighs further. They drape over his own legs as his fingers press and guide you until he can see the slick, crimson mess joining your groins. The scent is heavy now, overpowering every other sickening, damp odor lingering in the sanctum.
Sanemi’s head lolls back, claws sinking into the flesh at the junction of your hips, a low groan escaping his bloodied lips. It’s then, do you notice how his pale skin has taken on a silvery, almost lavender sheen, the shimmering color crawling along the veins of his arms, pulsing as if alive in.
You notice his abdominals tense, muscles clenching as if he’s struggling to steady himself. It’s reckless, dumb even, but you reach with bound hands to trace your trembling fingers along one of the glowing lines. It pulses beneath your touch, quickly fading as if to hide.
“Are you hurt?” you whisper, as though you had not been brutally split open yourself. Tears still blur your vision—not just from your own pain, but from the dizzying heat coiling in your belly—and through the haze you can’t quite make out his tangled expression.
You’re interrupted by an unprecedented fierce snap of his hips to yours, sighing in discomfort as your expression twists. Clanging around in your chest, your heart flutters, rapidly warning you that you can’t endure much more. You swallow thickly, try to distract yourself from the way your skin grows a chill, slickened with a cold, clammy sweat.
“You tease me,” he snarls, tightening his already bruising grip on your thighs to continue rutting against you like some unrestrained beast. Something twists in his mind when he notices the faint bloom of darkened welts beneath his fingertips, the way you’ve grown gooey in his touch. “Letting me take you like this.”
“Especially when you’re such a weak little thing,” he adds, noticing the milky haze that begins to take over your teary vision. Sanemi draws you closer in his lap, angling himself to stretch your womanhood deeper, press against a spot inside that has your legs seizing around him, your body arching up in a shocking twist. He loves the way your breasts spill out with each bounce, how gentle and soft and pliable you are beneath his claws.
“How are you to bear a child? If you are so fragile?”
Tears tumble down your cheeks, a broken wail spilling past your lips as you fight to unclench, to—God forbid—stop squeezing him so much. A metallic haze clouds your brain, and you gasp, struggling to focus elsewhere, to calm down.
You were going to break.
“What am I to do with you?”
“I’m yours!” you wail in reminder, pressing your eyes shut when this demon quickens his pace. A low groan echoes in the sanctum, quickly morphing into a dark, twisting laughter when he pulls away abruptly. You gasp in relief, convinced he’s finally spared you.
“That’s it, that’s it,” your world spins as Sanemi lifts you off your back, moving swiftly to guide you such that you’re prostrated against the cool of the stone. Your chest crushes against the jagged surface, your bound hands trapped beneath your thundering heart. “That’s my girl.”
He drags your hips up until you’re settled on trembling knees. You slip on the sticky blood puddled beneath your bodies, the stretch burning as your hips sink right to his level. You swear you feel that hot, gooey slick drip down your thighs, itch as it crawls down your inner legs until gathering at the pool beneath your belly.
“Like this,” he explains when you whimper in question, pressing the arch in your back deeper until your chest lays flat with the cool stone, keeping your hips up. “And I will surely take in you.”
Soon, Sanemi is guiding the blunt head of his cock back to your entrance, icy fingers running through your folds to part the bloody, sticky mess of you. When he sinks in this second time, all the way to the hilt in one fluid motion, that searing, burning pain you’d felt before only blurs into a dull, static hum.
“Look at you,” he sneers, eagerly pulling out to the tip before plunging back into your spasming heat. “You’re practically sucking me in.” Your lungs choke, each breath wrenched from your chest as he drives the air from you.
A hand pats adoringly against your bared ass, spreading you further to sink in as much as possible. Now, when his cockhead grazes your innermost parts, stars strobe across your vision, and you collapse forward against the altar, trembling and spent from the relentless exhaustion.
Only a virgin and you’d been taking him so well. Sanemi was surprised you hadn’t slipped into unconsciousness by now, astonished that your feeble little mind still clung to whatever remaining vestiges of awareness. You were the last thing he’d expected to endure such lengths.
Sanemi liked these sort of pleasant surprises.
He was sure you couldn’t feel anything, not for the way you were persistently clenching and squeezing around him, not with the way every fiber of your being trembled as he ravaged your cunt. Yet, your hips had a mind of their own now—swiveling back to meet his.
“You,” the sound of your hips slapping against his own echo loud in the sanctum, each squelch punctuated by his voice, “this hole–” he chokes on a curse, shifting the angle of a thrust to graze that gooey spot inside you again.
“–is mine.”
A coil begins to unravel slow in your belly, warm, like molten lava bleeding out from your core as his hips slow—begin to grow in intensity rather than speed. A soft, pleading moan slips your lips, and you feel a dizzying shift as your body begins to give.
His thumb wedges between your slackening thighs, and when it presses to the sensitive pearl at your apex, do you shiver and jolt in surprise. Your entire body quivers, a scream tearing from your lungs as you grovel into the altar, moan in thanks for the sinful reprieve he provides.
“Mine,” Sanemi snarls, insistently pressing at that spot while his hips smack hard against your reddening ass. That slow unravel quickly tightens back in your gut, building with violent tension, before it snaps altogether. “Mine.”
You sob against the altar stone, arching up further as Sanemi abandons your clit altogether to find your bruised hips again. He ruts once, twice, before you feel a first trickle of something warm, sluggish, fill your deepest core.
“Good girl,” he chants, petting along your trembling thighs before his warm body curls over your own, muscled arms gathering your crumpled form up in a protective, encompassing embrace. “There you go–take all of me.”
Your lashes flutter as you’re guided slowly from your crouch, a relieved sigh escaping as your heart thunders in your ears. The whispered words at the nape of your neck are lost to you; all you can feel is the furious pounding of your heart. It’s traitorous—offended as you come down from your shaky, starry high.
The warm hands at your navel smooth over your skin, and you forget you’re still connected with that beast curled behind you. When you struggle with your breath, a hand slides up your sweaty sternum, guiding your head back until your pearly eyes find his blurry figure behind you.
Lips press to your neck, sucking softly at your collarbone until a deep, purpling bruise forms almost instantaneously upon your pale skin. You sigh a shuddery breath, brows knitting as you strain to make sense of the cooling presence enveloping you.
Sanemi’s skin gradually returns to that deadly chill, and yours prickles as his heat saps yours as well. Still, he holds you with something akin to tenderness (if you knew what that had felt like in the first place), one hand still pressed possessively to your belly, as if a part of you meant something to him.
“Dove,” he murmurs against your purpling flesh, dragging your all-too quickly fading attention back to his dead-calm expression. “Can you hear me?”
Your lips twitch, quiver as you melt further into his icy touch. You had no strength, he had drained it all–
Your lips part, make a soft movement meant to whisper his name, yet no sound emerges and darkness soon swallows your fading consciousness.
The arena was still roaring behind him when Sanemi stepped out, his boots hitting packed dirt that hadn't fully settled from the last ride. Dust and dirt clung all over him–his jeans, his forearms, the sweat-damp shirt pulling taut against his back. There was even dried blood along his knuckles and a fresh scrape along his forearm, and the pulsing pain in his thigh where an old injury always seemed to wake up after a rough ride. The air outside was cooler than the arena but it didn't do much for the heat still thrumming under his skin, he rolled his sore shoulders a few times before he headed for the bar.
The doors swung open and the heads turned as the attention followed him in with the claps on his back. Some called his name from the counter and booths cheering him, a couple of girls near the jukebox laughed too loudly–already eying him boldly as part of their night’s entertainment given he walked in without company. The bartender caught sight of him and started pouring a bourbon glass without being asked.
“Heard the crowd all the way from here,” the bartender said with a knowing grin as he slid it across the wood by the time Sanemi got close enough to catch it. “Figured you didn't lose.”
"Losin's a habit," Sanemi said, catching the glass and huffing a small laugh. "Never picked it up."
“On the house.” the bartender added and Sanemi lifted the glass slightly in acknowledgment.
He found a stool, dropped onto it and drank. He let the whiskey sit on his tongue for a second, tasting the rich smokey warmth before it went down and set the glass back on the bar. He let the noise of the bar fill in his head like always. There was a comforting familiarity in it. The lights were low, the music genre he liked, the crowd filling the space with sound and heat.
He'd made it through most of his second glass as he half-listened to something the man beside him was saying about the last ride,when his gaze drifted down the length of the bar.
You were sitting at the far end, elbow resting against the wood and fingers loose around your drink. No excitement or recognition. No curious glance thrown his way like half the room had done by now. Just you, somewhere else entirely in your own head and unbothered by him being the center of attention.
Sanemi watched you for a moment before he set his glass down.
His mouth curved slowly.
Well now.
He pushed off his seat with no rush to make his way over. By the time he stopped beside you–close enough for his shoulder to almost brush yours and for his presence to be noticed. You still refused to look up.
“Y’gonna keep pretendin’ you don’t see me,” his low voice was rough from yelling back in the arena, “or you just shy, doll?”
Great. Exactly what you needed–a man with an ego big enough to fill the bar and enough confidence to think your silence was an invitation. Apparently, being ignored was enough to make the idiot curious.
You didn’t answer him immediately, you took a slow sip instead as if he hadn’t spoken at all. Then, finally, your eyes dragged over him unimpressed–the bloodied knuckles, the open collar, the torn and dirt-stained denim and his blatant arrogance. Then you looked back at your drink.
"Neither," you said flatly, "I just didn't care."
Something flickered across his face–a spark of interest. The look of a man who'd just realized this conversation was about to be far more entertaining than he'd expected. His grin widened.
"Didn't care," he repeated. He leaned an elbow against the bar to angle himself toward you. "See, most people–even when they're trying to act unbothered–can’t help but sneak a look." His gaze never left yours. “Curiosity usually wins.”
"Well aren’t you trying awfully hard to be the center of attention?"
“Maybe I am,” he admitted easily. “Still worked, didn’t it?”
You gave him a blank look while he only seemed more amused.
“Funny,” he said, leaning closer that you did notice his particular scent. “All folks are a little warmer when I talk to them.”
You glanced at him briefly. “Then I suppose you’re talking to the wrong person.”
An amused huff slipped from him. “Yeah,” he murmured while studying you. “I’m startin’ to see that.”
He let the silence stretch for a moment, maybe he was giving you one last chance to make things easier for him. When you didn’t, he extended his hand as his voice lowered into a husky one beneath the noise of the bar. “Lemme fix that, then. Name’s Sanemi.”
You didn’t offer yours and neither did you shake his hand. Instead, you exhaled softly, already sounding tired of him. “You gonna let me drink in peace, or do I need to spell it out for you?”
His brow ticked up, almost impressed. “You always this sweet, doll?”
“Only when I’m left alone,” you replied a little sternly. “So if you don’t mind–ride off, cowboy. I said I’m not interested.”
“You even know who you’re talkin’ to?”
“A guy who smells like a stable, and a bad decision.”
A faint snort came from somewhere behind him. Sanemi’s shoulders shifted with a quiet chuckle. "Yeah," he said. "And I still walked in here and got half the room's attention. Imagine what I could do with a shower."
You pressed your lips together and looked at your drink.
“Y’know,” he went on but with a bit more bite now, “most people start with a ‘congrats’ before they start insultin’ me.”
“Didn’t realize I was expected to,” you said dryly, “–congratulations, I guess.”
You looked at him then and found him already watching you with that stupid smile, not the least bit rattled by where this was going. That was the most irritating thing about him aside from his arrogance, the fact that he seemed genuinely comfortable–like the outcome didn't concern him much either way.
"I don't do rodeo boys," you finally said.
"Hm." He considered it while tilting his head slightly. "What about cowboys? There's a difference. Rodeo's a sport. Cowboy's more of a whole–" he gestured loosely “–lifestyle.”
"Same thing in a different buckle, ain’t it?"
He laughed again. "Okay," he said, glancing briefly down at the bar. "Okay. That's fair."
“Lemme guess, you’re the type that needs a little convincin’.” He didn't move, he just remained where he was–settled, warm and clearly not ready to leave. “Alrigh’ then, tell me–what's a rodeo boy ever do to you?”
“The reputation.” you were starting to get fed up.
His brow arched. “Oh, I got one of those?” he asked, feigning curiosity. “What kinda reputation you hearin’?”
You huffed lightly, your fingers tightening slightly around your glass. “The kind where you go through women faster than you go through bulls.” you replied with an edge of irritation. “Didn’t think that part was subtle.”
Sanemi stared at you then barked a short laugh. “Hell,” he said under his breath while shaking his head a little. “You ain’t wrong.”
And the worst part was, he actually liked it. There was a bite to you–no hesitation or forced politeness, no pretending to be impressed just to stroke his ego like everyone else in town did. You didn’t care, and somehow that was exactly what caught his attention.
You, however, had already decided what you thought of him. You’d heard about him long before tonight. Everyone had.
In a town this size, names like Sanemi Shinazugawa came up in half the conversations around here. Rodeo champion with another buckle. The Shinazugawa ranch. Bar fights that ended with someone being taken away in an ambulance. And yes, the hookups–a new woman on his arm often enough that it became just another piece of gossip traded over drinks by the following week. The kind of man who chased trouble–or maybe trouble just had a habit of finding him. Well, judging by the smug grin he had beside you now, you suspected he never bothered outrunning it.
In the span of a few minutes, he'd done little to prove the rumours wrong.
You didn't like it. Didn't trust it. And you definitely weren't about to entertain it.
You didn't hold it against him like a sentence. You'd simply seen enough to know what you were looking at and had already decided it wasn't going to become your evening's problem.
Your eyes flicked briefly past him, scanning the room for your friend–an out, an interruption, anything to end this without making it longer than it needed to be.
You drained the rest of your drink and reached for your purse, already standing. That was his cue. Before you could pull out any money, his scarred hand moved faster. A crumpled bill landed on the bar with a soft slap and slid across the wood to settle your tab. You paused with your gaze dropping to it before lifting back to him. His posture had changed, he still looked relaxed but his playful performance had worn thin. He stepped just enough into your space to block your path, one hand resting lightly against the bar before you without making it obvious.
“Hold your horses,” he said with intent. “Ain’t polite to run off in the middle of a conversation.”
“We weren’t having one,” you shot back. His eyes flashed with amusement and irritation.
“Could be,” he countered smoothly. “If you’d stop tryin’ to bolt.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Or you could take the hint.”
His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. "Maybe you're just bad at givin' one."
"What is it gonna take for you to leave me alone?" Your patience has reached its limit. Another minute of this, and you might've slapped him just to make your point before storming out. The only thing stopping you was the fact that half the bar was already watching.
"One drink," he said earnestly with the charm still there. "Just one. You sit with me, we talk–and if you wanna rid of me after that, I'll go without a word about it." He paused. "I just think you're interesting. And I don't say that to most people."
There was no smirk or smug grin behind it this time. You held his gaze for a long moment then you reached down, picked up his crumpled bill, and pressed it back into his hand.
“Well. aren’t you generous,” you said, setting your own money down instead. “But I don’t like men who think being persistent makes them charming,”. Your gaze didn't waver. “It doesn’t.”
It was final. A door swinging shut in his face.
Something crossed his expression so quickly that it was almost imperceptible. It wasn’t anger exactly, or wounded pride turning bitter. Just a brief glimpse of a man unguarded–a man who had genuinely meant what he said and watched it fall flat anyway
Damn.
Before he could find his footing again–"Hey!"
Mitsuri appeared at your side, slightly out of breath from dancing. “There you are. I’ve been looking–oh.” her eyes landing on Sanemi and brightening immediately. “Wait–aren’t you–?”
Sanemi gave a lazy nod. “That’d be me.”
Her grin widened. “You were amazing out there tonight! That ride was insane.”
“Thanks…” he said, though his eyes never quite left you.
She glanced between the two of you, curious. "Do you guys know each other?"
"Not really," You smiled politely. "Just congratulating him."
Sanemi’s gaze snapped to you at that. Petty.
You turned back to him, that same polite smile still in place. “Congratulations again,” you added lightly. “Enjoy your celebration, cowboy.”
Then you looked at Mitsuri. “Ready?”
She nodded quickly. “Yeah, let’s go.”
And then you were gone. Out the door with your friend, not looking back once.
The bar noise rushed back in around him. Sanemi just stood there with something tight coiling low in his chest. His tongue pressed hard against the inside of his cheekja and his jaw flexing as he stared at the empty space you left behind.
…Huh.
He let out a quiet breath, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.
His pride did sting after all.
"Well," came a voice at his elbow–one of the girls from the jukebox, barely concealing her delight. "That looked cold."
The second one leaned in from his other side. "You okay, champ?"
He looked at them and the smirk settled back into place automatically. "Yeah," he said, ordering another drink with a hand gesture. "I'll survive."
They laughed. Asked for pictures. Surrounded him with easy smiles and familiar admiration, filling the space with the kind of attention that had never once asked anything difficult of him. He smiled. Played the part. Gave them what they came for.
He'd always been good at this.
Later, the room was quiet and dim, yet it still carried the heat of the recent activity–sheets half-tangled, the air thick with the fading scent of sweat and smoke.
His boxers were somewhere on the floor, kicked aside in the dark along with the rest of their clothes in a careless trail. The naked woman beside him lay sprawled across the mattress, bare shoulder pressed into his side, her breathing slow and heavy with sleep since she’d dropped off the second it was over. Sanemi didn’t glance at her or reach for her, it was nothing more than a fling to blow off some steam.
He just lay there, cigarette between his fingers and one arm tucked behind his head. His eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling. He stared at nothing in particular.
He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl and disappear.
Ride off, cowboy.
He'd been turned down before. It wasn't the rejection itself–he was honest enough with himself to know that. He'd had doors close on him before and shrugged and moved on before the night was over, because that was just how it went sometimes and it never meant much either way. But this was different and he'd been lying in the dark long enough now to admit he wasn't sure he could explain exactly how.
You hadn't hesitated. Hadn't given him one of those no's that was really just a test of how persistent he was willing to be–the kind that came with a little heat in it, like I'm paying attention even if I’m playing hard to get and won't say so. There was none of that. You'd looked at him, seen whatever it was you saw and calmly decided that it wasn't worth your time and filed him away before he'd had the chance to prove you wrong and show you a good time.
And the thing was, he'd dropped the act at the end. That last part–“I just think you're interesting”– he hadn't been running a play when he said it. He just looked at you in the eye and meant it straight through without the charm wrapped around it. And you'd pushed the bill back into his hand anyway, then walked away as if the whole thing had already been behind you before you'd even turned around.
Maybe it was the simplicity of it all that got under his skin. The way you hadn't needed to think about it. He was used to being wanted, used to being the center of attention–the person people gravitated toward whether they meant to or not. He didn't think about it much; it was just the water he swam in. And then there was you, sitting at the end of the bar like the room's gravity didn't apply, and something about that had snagged on him in a way he hadn't quite shaken loose yet.
Sanemi brought the cigarette back to his lips, took one last drag before crushing it out against the nightstand. The woman beside him shifted in her sleep and he still didn't look over.
He thought about the way your mouth had done that thing–almost smiled but your lips quickly pressed into a flat line–when he'd made the crack about the shower. Thought about your few comebacks you gave without missing a beat.
You haven't even given him your name and he didn't get your number.
A slow breath left him, and in the dark, almost despite himself, the corner of his mouth tugged upward into a ghost of a grin.
He’ll see that doll around, eventually.
He didn't know when or where, but a town this small had a way of closing the distance whether you asked it to or not. And when it did, he wasn't going to walk in with a rehearsed line and a smirk.
Next time, he'd give you something you hadn't seen coming.
He closed his eyes. His body ached heavily from the day's rides, and at last, his mind stopped replaying you.
A week later, the memory of that bar should have faded and dissolved before the next morning. But the smug curve of Shinazugawa's grin had lodged itself inconveniently in the back of your mind, and the more you tried to ignore it, the more it lingered. Maybe it was the way he'd looked at you when you left–as though you hadn't walked away from him at all. As if your leaving was only a comma.
The early morning sun burned gold across the windshield as your father's truck drove down the long dirt road on the other side of town. One hand rested loosly on the steering wheel while he explained your internship for like the tenth time since breakfast.
"Big operation," he said. "Cattle, horses, breeding stock–you'll get exposure to more cases here than you would at most supervised clinics. Lameness, infections, foaling complications if you're lucky."
You were nodding, half-listening, watching the fencing stretch out across acres of land beyond your window–pastures rolling into the distance under the pale sky, horses grazing lazily near the far end of a field, the distant lowing of cattle.
Then your father eased off the gas, slowing the truck as it approached a large wooden sign hanging above the entrance gate.
You looked up. The weathered wood was faded with age but the lettering remained legible.
SHINAZUGAWA RANCH.
Your stomach dropped.
“…You have got to be kidding me.” you muttered before you could stop yourself.
Your father glanced over briefly. “Hm?”
You stared at the sign for a second longer with disbelief slowly settling over your face before you sank back against the seat.
Of fucking course it had to be this ranch.
You nearly groaned out loud.
Your father grined whe he caught your face and mistook it for awe. “That's the look I was hopin' for,” he said, nodding at the gate. “Knew you'd get excited once you saw the place.”
You forced a smile. “Yeah... it's definitely somethin'.”
The truck rolled farther into the property, the tires crunching over gravel before finally stopping near the main barn. The ranch itself was actually massive.
Workers moved between outbuildings, tractors rumbled in the fields. The air had the scent of hay, dirt and engine oil carried in the warm air.
You’d barely climbed out of the truck beside your father when a burly man stepped out from the shade of the porch.
A cigarette rested between rough fingers as smoke curled lazily past his jaw. He crossed the gravel toward you with slow deliberate steps, his boots crunching against the ground. His stern face and intimidating presence made you instinctively straighten your spine.
And worse–he looked enough like Sanemi that the resemblance hit you instantly. The two of them are basically carbon copies and his father even has a scar slashing across his cheekbone beneath one eye.
Unease settled low in your stomach as he looked you over briefly. You pushed the thought aside before it could show on your face and stepped forward.
"Good morning, sir," you said steadily..
Kyogo looked down at you and exhaled smoke to the side. "Mornin'."
Your father stepped in beside you, shaking Kyogo's hand easily with old familiarity. "Kyogo. Appreciate you taking her on." He then gestured toward you. "My daughter. Third year veterinary medicine. Been telling you about her."
Kyogo's gaze shifted back to you to assess you. "Mm," he grunted. "Heard."
Your father continued, slipping naturally into his professional tone "Like we discussed over the phone–she'll be here the next few weeks. Hands-on work. I want her involved in everything, no standing on the sidelines."
You nodded, listening carefully despite the lingering unease still crawling beneath your skin.
"She'll assist with routine examinations, vaccinations, wound cleaning, parasite checks, feed monitoring," he went on while turning slightly toward you as he spoke. "You'll also help monitor birthing conditions if any emergencies come up while you're here."
"And you'll keep records," he added in a serious tone. "Monitor feeding patterns, note any behavioral changes. If something looks off, you don't wait and you don't second guess–you act or you call me. Understood?"
"Yes," you replied.
"I won't be around directly," he reminded you gently. "You know I’ll be out across neighboring towns most of these next few weeks and possibly out of the city entirely for stretches. So I won’t be here supervising you directly. If something concerns you–real trouble–you call me, yeah?"
"I know, dad."
Kyogo took another drag from his cigarette before exhaling. "She knows how t’work around animals?" he asked your father bluntly, it was clear he didn't care much if you heard it.
You answered before your father could open his mouth. "I do."
One of Kyogo’s brows lifted slightly at your firm tone. Your father chuckled under his breath. “She’s stubborn,” he admitted with fondness. “Gets that from her mother.”
"Hnh." Kyogo exhaled again. You could get a proper read on him. He gave a short nod. "Well, like we said. Cattle mostly. Some horses. I got goats in the north enclosure too."
The distant growl of an engine suddenly cut through the conversation. A tractor rounded the side of the barn and pulled into the yard with its tires crunching loudly over the gravel before parking beside one of the open storage bays. The engine shut off with a sputtering rumble.
The door swung open and a familiar figure jumped down from the cab.
Ah, fuck.
Sanemi slammed the tractor door shut behind him before dragging a forearm across his face, clearly sweaty from work already. His white shirt hung half-open with several buttons popped loose down the front to expose damp skin beneath streaked faintly with dirt and grease. Mud stained his jeans near the knees while hay clung to his clothes, and engine grease smeared across one hand when he tugged his gloves off.
Kyogo motioned two fingers toward him sharply. “Oi. Get over here.”
Sanemi looked up lazily–then stopped the second he saw you. For just a beat, surprise crossed his face openly. Then came the recognition, settling in slow with–God help you–that grin of his.
It spread gradually across his face deep enough to cut twin dimples into both cheeks, and his pale eyes glinted with amusement and satisfaction.
Well, well. Ain’t that somethin’.
Irritation flared in your chest before he'd taken a single step.
He crossed the yard at an easy pace, shoving his gloves into his back pocket as his gaze dragged over you completely unbothered by the fact that your father was standing right there. The bastard wasn't even trying to be subtle.
"Doc," he greeted your father with a short nod. "Didn't know you were comin' by."
"Figured I'd drop her off myself," your father replied.
"Yeah?" he said, conversational. "Didn't know you had a daughter."
"No reason you would, she's been buried in school." He gestured between you both. "This is Sanemi. Works the ranch here, he’s been helping run things for years."
Hmph. As if that somehow made him sound less like the stubborn idiot who'd spent ten minutes at a bar refusing to take a polite No.
"She'll be doing her internship here the next several weeks," your dad continued. "Thought it'd be good experience."
Sanemi stared at you for one long second before smiling widely. "Ain't that a small world," he drawled.
You already hated the sound of where this was going. Your father, completely oblivious, smiled lightly. “You two haven’t met before, have you?”
“No, sir,” he answered smoothly before you could. "Don't believe we have."
You forced a polite smile so tight it almost hurt. “Looks like it.”
He extended his hand toward you then. "Sanemi."
The slick grease coating his palm was impossible to miss. You looked at it, then at him. Any man with an ounce of manners who worked with his hands would've apologized before offering a handshake. But his smirk twitched…The son of a bitch was doing it on purpose.
Both your fathers were watching and you didn’t want to cause a scene, so with every instinct protesting, you slipped your hand into his anyway. His grip closed firm and warm around yours, his rough calluses grazing your skin as the grease transferred instantly across your palm.
Sanemi couldn't quite hold back the grin this time. It broke slowly across his face with dimples carving deep into both cheeks. His thumb dragged once deliberately across the back of your hand before he let go with infuriating leisure.
Your eye twitched. The second you were free, you looked down at your palm in visible disgust and he looked entirely too pleased with himself–like it counted as a settled score.
Kyogo's voice cut across the yard. "Sanemi." He jerked his chin toward the far end of the property. "Show her the stables, livestock barns too. Don't need her standin' here."
He was already turning and motioning your father toward the ranch house now the introductions concluded. "Me and the doc got business."
Your father went with him already pulling out his phone, their voices fading as the distance between you grew. Silence settled over the yard. Just you– and Sanemi, who had not moved, and who was looking at you clearly finding those current circumstances delightful. He rocked back slightly on his heels and pocketed his hands.
"Well now," he said. "Looks like you're stuck with me after all."
"Lucky me," you said flatly. "I wanted hands-on experience with stubborn, difficult animal cases." Your eyes dragged over him once. "Didn't realize it started at the front gate."
"'Stubborn and difficult,'" he repeated, rolling the words around to give them consideration. "Doll, if that's your type, you should've just said so at the bar."
"Don't flatter yourself." you replied, falling into step behind him with your grease-smeared hand held slightly away from your side.
A voice from the other side of the large floral arrangement at the end of the table. You kept on filling your glass.
"I did," said a second quiet voice. "She looked very taken with him."
"I cannot imagine it," replied the first voice. "I mean, he is striking, I will grant that, but that pallor-honestly it makes my skin crawl. That condition of his. Can you imagine having children with a man like that?"
"Hm," said the second voice, slightly less committed to this line of reasoning.
You froze in your place. You turned slightly so that you could see through a gap in the arrangement. Lady Hashibira Aoi, whom you had met twice and found precisely as her reputation described. Beside her, Tsuyuri kanao, her younger sister who had the expression of someone carried along by a current they were beginning to have reservations about.
"I shudder to think," Aoi continued, her voice dropping. "Honestly, I would rather–well... She seems content enough, which I suppose says something about her. Though one wonders what she was thinking. Lord Uzui had expressed interest, I heard, and Mr Agatsuma, and she passed over both of them for–"
You moved around the end of the floral arrangement and came to stand at the buffet table directly beside them. Aoi's sentence stopped as though a door had closed on it.
You looked at the table and selected a small pastry while being aware of Aoi beside you going through several stages of colour in quick succession, and kanao becoming very interested in the floral arrangement.
You turned to look at Aoi with the pleasant smile you reserved for social occasions even if beneath it you were simmering with irritation and offense. Aoi looked at various parts of the ballroom aside from your eyes.
"Lady Hashibira," you greeted pleasantly. "How lovely. Are you enjoying the evening?"
Aoi, who had been composing herself, replied "Quite."
"And the music," you added. "Lord Tengen always engages an excellent orchestra. I think that is one of his genuine gifts–he knows what makes an evening worth attending." you sipped your drink and looked at the room around you with appreciation. "My husband was remarking on it earlier, actually. He has a great deal of experience with music over the years and he finds the quality here consistently high."
Aoi said nothing.
"I am so glad," you said. “ I have been meaning to ask, how is your husband? Both of you were not in attendance last month at the Ubuyashiki diner, I noticed.”
“He is very well, thank you…”
"Lord Hashibira–he is..." You paused and glanced across the room toward the buffet table on the far side, where Inosuke was engaged in gobbling up the entirety of the food available. He was consuming it with focused dedication, clearly deciding this was the primary purpose of the evening and was not going to be distracted from it by anything as secondary as conversation or cutlery. "He is over there, I think," You pointed with your chin and her eyes followed. "By the other table."
"He seems to be enjoying himself enormously," You remarked while your smile twitched. "It is always a pleasure to see someone fully committed to an evening."
You looked back at Aoi with the pleasant expression still fully in place. "I find, for my own part, that I am very happy with my husband. I know there are those who find his colouring unusual, or his condition concerning, and I understand that–it is not something everyone encounters and people sometimes find unfamiliarity uncomfortable. But I will say that I would far rather have a husband who is pale and quiet and attentive, than a husband who–" you glanced again toward the far buffet table, where Lord Hashibira had apparently discovered the desserts section. "--seems to have been perhaps less attentively raised. One could almost imagine he had been reared by boars."
You smiled and added. "But marriages are such individual things, aren't they. One finds what suits one."
Aoi's face was a deep shade of red from embarrassment and anger, she did give you a glare before departing, Kanao went after her to probably calm her.
"Enjoy the rest of the evening," You said to the two women warmly, and turned back to the buffet table sipping your drink with satisfaction.
(Shinazugawa Sanemi x reader | Medieval royalty AU)
CW: arranged political marriage, forced proximity, political coercion, hostile dynamics, emotional tension, power imbalance, misogyny (period typical if you squint), non consensual implications (marital expectations and pressure), violence and blood, torture, starvation, emprisonnement, angst, slow burn, pregnancy, eventual smut and suggestive content.
Wc: 5033
Tag list: @llshmads @soleil-et-letoile
A/N: I really had fun plotting and writing this AU since I am a huge fan of medieval/victorian periods and arranged marriage trope which was very common back then. English is not my first language so please excuse my mistakes. Happy reading.
The Wind Kingdom’s arena was hewn into the mountain itself. The steep tiers of seats around the pit were packed with soldiers and high ranking knights clad in silver armors, their green and silver banners whipping harshly in the wind. The noise alone was different from the Water kingdom’s courts– quiet murmurs and polite clapping. The Wind soldiers were too loud and restless, already impatient for the spar to begin.
You sat beside your parents on the marble balcony, with your hands folded neatly on your lap. The Wind monarchs occupied the rest of the balcony– King kyogo at the center, Queen Shizu at his right side, and their other six children standing behind them in disciplined silence.
Tsutako’s place beside you was empty. Your eldest sister’s absence felt heavier here. Back in your kingdom it was softened with wax-sealed letters and thoughtful gifts, a reminder that the distance and her duties hadn’t stolen her affection. She had long been sent off to the Stone kingdom to marry their heir for peace and political alliance.
And now it was your turn.
Your eyes drifted to the arena’s floor where two figures stood there in their armors with intricate engravings. You recognized your brother right away– Crown prince Giyuu– from his dark hair and his composed posture, his sword was lowered in the face of his opponent.
Your breath hitched slightly when you took in the Crown Prince of the Wind. You had been told what to expect, you had been warned about his temper and reputation, but seeing him in person was entirely different from what you envisioned.
You first noticed he was taller and burlier than Giyuu, then the jagged scars across his face and arms– a shade darker than his skin. And unlike his kin who all had dark hair, his own was as white as winter’s frost. His stance was aggressive and his sword was already raised on guard. Refinement didn’t grace him; he appeared lethal.
You’d heard from your father that not only Crown Prince Sanemi was heir to the throne, but also stationed as General of the King’s armies– tales of how ruthless he was on the battlefields– The Mountain’s Devil, as he was called.
So this is the man you were to be given to within the fortnight.
When the horn was blown, the clash of steel against steel was immediate. Sanemi attacked first– fast and relentless. The raw strength alone behind his blows was meant to overwhelm and break through Giyuu’s guard. And instead of meeting the blows head on, Giyuu deflected and redirected, his footwork precise, waiting for any openings to strike. Their fighting styles clashed, much like their kingdoms did. It was defense over offense, yet the best defense was merciless offense.
The crowd roared at every heavy blow given, they favored raw aggression. Everytime their Crown Prince forced your brother to give ground, they would cheer. Unease settled in the pit of your stomach as your fingers tightened around the silk of your robes– what would be called cruelty in your homeland, here, it’s called strength and it was shouted and celebrated.
Giyuu was driven back step by step closer to the stone wall, his defense held barely from his draining stamina. Sparks flew from where their blades met, sweat streaked down their temples from the exertion and smeared the slight blood– from Giyuu’s brow and the shallow cuts along their arms where their swords nicked the skin.
Then Sanemi kicked him back brutally– once, twice– that Giyuu’s chest plates dented and knocked the air out of his lungs, the sound of his armor scraping the stone made you wince. Your mother’s hand flew to her mouth.
Your brother's grip around his sword faltered and it slipped from his grasp, clattering on the ground. Sanemi seized the opening with no hesitation and pressed his blade against Giyuu’s throat, making a thin trickle of blood spill. The arena erupted in cheers.
“Yield.” Sanemi commanded with an edge of triumph and fury.
Giyuu’s jaw tightened as his eyes glared with cold fury at his opponent that bested him and humiliated him. His mouth moved but his words were lost beneath the soldiers' cheers of victory. Whatever your brother replied, it made the Crown Prince of wind’s expression shift.
The sword dropped from Sanemi’s hand, before he yanked roughly your brother’s hair and swung his fist hard with Giyuu's face. Your heart sunk in your chest.
They grappled with their armors clanging and their fists striking flesh sickeningly– blood splattered on the stone. Giyuu retaliated with his fists, his rage breaking through his usual composure as he struggled against Sanemi’s weight and strength. The Wind prince had the upper hand from pinning down the Water prince by his throat, strangling his throat– Giyuu’s face flushed a deep red from the lack of air.
This was no longer a spar to test skills.
It was a violent brawl.
And the crowd roared with excitement while panic shook both the Wind and Water monarchs. The Water king and queen, along with the Wind queen, rose abruptly from their seats with alarm cracking through their royal restraint.
“ENOUGH.” King Kyogo’s voice boomed thunderously across the arena, silencing the crowd at once with his authority.
The guards surged forward to pry the Princes off each other, it took eight men to drag Sanemi back as he strained against their grip. Giyuu was hauled upright by the other guards but he swatted their hands away, refusing further assistance. Both Princes were bruised, battered and humiliated in front of their courts.
The Wind king stood and addressed the two heirs– who now bowed in deference to him.
“Is this the example you wish to set for your people ? If you bleed over insults in front of them, they will bleed over less.”
He fixed his first born.
“You have won the spar, you have shown your strength. But a general who cannot leash his temper buries his own men.”
Then his eyes flicked to Giyuu.
“And you, Water Prince, you were disarmed and defeated fairly. And yet, you chose provocations when silence would have preserved your dignity.”
“This marriage is meant to bind our kingdoms. It is for survival. The flame kingdom watches both our borders and sharpens their blades. If you two cannot stand in the same space without spilling blood, then do not insult me by pretending you will stand together when war comes.”
Only then the two princes rose from their bow and limped off the arena escorted by guards. Soon after they joined the marble balcony, each silently taking their family’s side. Giyuu slumped on the chair next to you, his bruised skin and hair were slicked with sweat, blood ran down his nose and his throat still bore a deep red handprint that was slowly turning purplish.
You fetched your handkerchief and pressed it to Giyuu’s bleeding nose to stem it. “Brother…how could you suffer such brutality at the hands of a savage ?” Your voice was hushed with deep concern and contempt.
He heard it.
The word made a vein bulge on his forehead. Sanemi didn’t turn his head, he didn’t react outwardly. He kept his eyes forward as his hands curled into fists at his sides. He nearly snapped at you but he held his tongue and exhaled through his nose. He could still feel Giyuu’s insult ringing in his ears.
“A Prince should know restraint, but I suppose a dog only knows how to bite and bark.”
That coastal bastard spat on his honor in front of his soldiers– Battering him had soothed the insult briefly.
He could still feel his father’s intense eyes on the back of his head, waiting for any further offense. Kyogo had not raised him to bark back at foreign royalty, he had raised him to endure and hold his rage within him until it could be used when needed.
Savage.
It did not help that he had despised you the moment his father had spoken the words betrothal and alliance.
At dusk, the feast began without you. You had offered your excuses with a low bow of your head– the fatigue of the travel, the thinner mountain air– the Wind king studied you for a long moment before granting you his permission.
The palace corridors were quieter and dimmer away from the banquet hall. The candle scones lined the stone walls, their flame trembling from the soft breeze slipping through the passageways. You stepped onto one of the outer balconies that overlooked villages clinging to the mountainside. You could see smoke from fire hearths, scattered torches flickering across the distance.
The sharp wind currents traveled freely through the valleys, making you shudder. Your sheer dark blue veil fluttered and lifted from your shoulders as it brushed against your cheeks.
This would be your view. There were no rolling tides, no salty air or open blue horizon.
Only stretching green hills and cliffs. You could already feel the homesickness settling in your chest.
“I was told the feast was in your honor.” His voice– low and strained with displeasure– came from behind you by the arched doorway. You didn't even hear him approach and stiffened before turning to him.
He had shed his armor for a court attire, he looked less menacing but still as intimidating. He wore a tailored slate-blue doublet with a high collar, it was embroidered with intricate patterns- almost shimmering in the candlelight. Dark metal clasps ran down the center to fasten it. White sleeves extended beneath the vests, and a short black mantle rested over one shoulder clasped with a silver brooch by his collarbone. A purple bruise has already bloomed on his jaw.
You dipped into a shallow curtsy and he bowed in return just enough to be proper. The formalities felt stiff and strained between you.
“The journey was long,” you said calmly. “I required air.”
“The mountains tend to remind the visitors where they hail from. ” he said with clear implication. “especially those accustomed to the coast.”
He stepped forward onto the balcony until he stood beside you at the edge, though he kept a deliberate distance and fixed the villages below as the wind ruffled his hair and mantle.
“Your concern for your brother was…fervent," he said with no subtle sarcasm.
“Is that mockery, your Highness?” your brow furrowed slightly, starting to feel irritation, but you still kept your gaze forwards.
“I would not dare,” He replied flatly before pausing for a bit. “Though I was intrigued by your choice of words.”
You finally glanced at him. “And what words would those be?”
“Savage.”
The howling wind whistled between the stone pillars. You felt the color drain your face for a moment. He had heard you.
“I witnessed you strike him after he had already been disarmed and defeated." you said quietly. “Concern seemed appropriate.”
“He insulted me,” Sanemi said at last, with a stern tone. “In my father’s arena and before my soldiers"
“And would that justify strangling and battering my brother before both our courts?”
“He questioned my honor.”
Your expression didn't change. “Then your honor must be very easily shaken.”
His head snapped towards you. “ You speak boldly for someone who barely knows the man she is provoking– or how little patience he has for it.”
The wind pushed the hem of your veil against his arm , and he instinctively reached out to shove the fabric aside irritatedly. The balcony’s torchlight didn’t reveal much, your features remained blurred beneath the sheer layer and denied him the read on your expression–- or as fully as the veil allowed. Any hint of resentment or dread, anything beyond your unsettling formal composure– which grated on him.
“Tell me, Princess,” his voice lowering slightly. “have you always obeyed orders so readily ? You follow your father’s will without question.”
“I follow orders that ensure my people’s safety and survival.”
“And in this…farce,” he continued. “ Was your own safety considered?”
“My safety,” you replied steadily. “will be my husband’s responsibility.”
his eyes narrowed at you.
“A husband who cannot protect his own wife is dishonored,” you continued. “Surely the Wind kingdom would not tolerate such weakness. Or are you suggesting, Your highness, that you would be the one to cause me harm?” you added with your voice unwavering. Another gust of wind snapped your veil against his chest before falling back.
“Do not,” he growled, strained with anger. “put that in my mouth.”
“I was merely asking a question.”
“You are implying an accusation.”
“If the thought angers you, then perhap–”
He stepped closer abruptly and it was unmistakably threatening. He stood near enough before your face that you could feel the warmth of his breath through the veil.
“I do not harm what is under my protection,” he said through gritted teeth. “Not my soldiers. not my people. And certainly not the bride this damned alliance had saddled me with.”
“You speak of dishonor,” he went on with his temper surfacing openly. “Yet you assume I would endanger what keeps our Kingdoms safe from wars and bloodshed.”
“...You have given me little reason to doubt it.”
“Do you always judge so quickly or only when it comes to those you favor ?” He said coldly. “You saw one moment of me and deemed me as some uncivilized barbarian.”
“And yet, Crown Prince,” you replied quietly. “You have done nothing to prove otherwise.”
That was the final straw. He fixed you with a death glare, a vein pulsing at his temple. For a second he looked like he was on the verge of shouting at you but instead he exhaled sharply through his nose.
“You shall see soon enough,” he muttered irritatedly while turning away. His boots stomped the ground as he strode back to the archway. Before he disappeared into the corridor, he threw one glance over his shoulder.
“Gaze your fill, Princess. These lands will be your only view henceforth.”
The Water court had been given guest chambers within the eastern wing of the Wind palace. From the windows, one could see the vast magnificent gardens— a floral paradise with running fountains and carved marble statues, often covered with mist in the early hours.
The Wind King was determined to show proper hospitality to his guests before the union of their Kingdoms. Hunts were arranged in the forests that stretched down the mountain's foothills. From your own chamber windows you could sometimes see them assembling in the lower courtyard at dawn with your father and brother among them.
The Wind knights moved with efficiency with their spears and bows slung across their backs. Their horses stamped against the cobblestone with their breath steaming in the chilly morning air.
And among them there was always one figure who stood out.
His white hair stirred in the wind.
Your betrothed mounted swiftly his steed, his sword resting at his hip. He spoke briefly with his father at his left before the hunting party rode out.
You mainly stayed in your guest chamber. The servants of the palace had opened the windows that first morning– thinking perhaps you would appreciate the fresh mountain air, you had thanked them gently before asking for the windows to be closed.
It was colder than what you were accustomed to.
Invitations were delivered daily and each time you declined politely with a reasonable excuse.
The first invitation arrived the third day before midday, a maid bowed deeply while presenting a folded parchment. It was from Her Majesty the Queen of Wind given the wax seal.
The queen invited you for a walk in the inner gardens and wished to show you its blooms. It was written with genuine warmth as if the queen hoped the walk might help you feel less like a stranger in the palace.
“Please convey my sincere gratitude to Her Majesty for her kindness.” You said gracefully to the maid as you folded the paper.
“ However, I fear the sudden change from the coast to the mountain air has left me somewhat lightheaded. I do not wish to present myself before the Queen as I'm recovering. ”
The maid bowed and withdrew quietly.
The second invitation came from the princesses Sumi and Teiko, the younger sisters of the Wind heir. The two girls appeared at the doors themselves, whispering excitedly before the guards announced them. Both peered curiously at you when the doors opened, taking in your unveiled face within the privacy of your chambers.
“There are falcon nests along the lower cliffs,” Sumi started eagerly.
“And the falcons soar back at sunset,” Teiko added.
“Brother says they’re not dangerous if we stay back.”
“We thought you might like to join us to observe them in the western tower.” Teiko said.
You listened patiently and smiled at the two earnest children. You could see the genuine hope in their eyes and curiosity too– no doubt, about the woman who would become their older sister very soon.
“You both are very thoughtful to invite me,” You said gently, lowering your gaze slightly. The disappointment began to show on the young princesses' faces before you even finished speaking.
“Unfortunately I have been occupied with the preparations of the ceremony and have been learning the customs of the Wind court. I fear I would only slow your adventure.”
The girls glanced at each other, Teiko’s shoulders sagged. “Oh.”
Sumi recovered quickly, trying to sound polite. “Perhaps another time then.”
The girls bowed before leaving. Through the closed doors you could faintly hear the younger one protesting in the corridors while the elder shushed her.
The third invitation was from the King himself.
Late afternoon during the second week a servant arrived bearing the message that His Majesty the King Kyogo would be pleased if you joined the royal hunt the following morning.
It was a rare courtesy, the King did not extend such invitations lightly.
“Please tell His Majesty that I am very deeply honored by the invitation,” you started calmly.
“However, I must confess that I have a faint heart and I have never grown accustomed to the sight of blood during hunts. I fear my presence would only be a burden upon the riders.”
Even the servant hesitated, his face paled a bit, clearly uncomfortable with delivering a refusal to the king. He attempted to persuade you to accept but it was futile.
Through those two weeks, the palace’s staff noticed the Water Princess rarely left her chambers. The servants entered and exited quietly with trays of tea and half-touched meals, the guards stationed outside your doors caught only occasional glimpses of you. Even the ladies attending you began exchanging glances.
You only appeared where absence would be unexcused.
The feasts were unavoidable. To refuse attendance at the evening banquets would be an insult to King Kyogo and Queen Shizu.
So each night the great hall of the palace was filled with music, nobles gathered in their finest attires, wine flowed freely while servants carried platters of roasted meats of all kinds– even the roasted deers and mountain goats they hunted– across the long tables beneath the chandeliers.
The Water monarchs sat beside the Wind monarchs at the high table.
Your father spoke with the Wind King– discussions of trade routes with the fellow Stone Kingdom, of naval protection along the coasts, of the growing tension and threat from the south where the Flame Kingdom expanded its borders.
The queens spoke softly, exchanging polite conversations and compliments with practiced smiles. Giyuu kept mostly to himself and quietly ate his meal, while the six younger princes and princesses of the Wind conversed among themselves.
You sat at your designated chair– beside him, at his right. He rarely spoke during these feasts, he listened when addressed and answered his father or the captains of his army seated further down the table.
He didn’t even bother sparing a glance at you, he was already irritated enough without acknowledging your presence. And when the meal ended, he excused himself immediately.
Every night, without fail.
For those two weeks Sanemi had avoided you just as deliberately. The training yards, the military councils meetings and strategizing, the outer towers. He avoided the eastern wing like the plague.
If he learned you were invited at some courtly outing arranged by his mother, he found reasons to be elsewhere. If his younger sisters spoke about visiting your chambers again, he redirected them towards the falcons or invited them to watch his training drills and sparring matches– or anything to keep them busy.
It was better to leave you in your quiet corner. Better than listening to endless whispers about your forthcoming marriage. Because his patience had worn dangerously thin, his temper ready to explode– especially after that conversation at the balcony.
The court and servants murmured quietly among themselves– of course no one was foolish enough to dare gossip within the earshot of the volatile Crown Prince. They would face serious consequences. Some said you are delicate— that perhaps the sea raised fragile people. Others suggested you were shy and intimidated by the Prince’s reputation.
But Sanemi knew better, it wasn’t timidity. It was excuses. It was measured distance– and it was irritating as hell.
It was already the day before the wedding, the days had begun to blur in the short time you lived in your chambers. The scent of soothing herbs and coal burning in the small bronze braziers around the room spread through the air, the chirping of the birds filled the silence.
You sat beside the windows with a book resting in your hands, its pages describing the flora and trees that grew across the lands of the Wind kingdom. Although their names were unfamiliar to you, the hand-drawn illustrations captivated you enough that you found yourself studying them longer than the text beside them.
There was bustle in the corridors beyond your doors, many footsteps and murmuring voices, along with the occasional grunts of strains from carrying something heavy.
Before you could rise, the guards outside announced the arrival. “Her Majesty, the Queen of the Wind Kingdom.”
You stood at once as the doors opened. The Queen entered first, graceful and ethereal in her pale green robes of the finest silk with silver leaves embroiderings. Her expression softened when she saw you, her gaze lingered for a brief moment to take in your unveiled face.
Behind her came several servants bearing lacquered chests and velvet trays, they filed into the chambers carefully.
“I see that you were reading,” The Queen said gently, seeing the closed leather book still in your hand. “I hope we did not disturb you.”
“It is no disturbance, Your Majesty,” You replied as you lowered yourself into a respectful curtsy. “Your presence honors these chambers.”
Shizu smiled at the formality.
“I thought it proper to visit you before tomorrow,” she said while gesturing to the servants to begin placing the heavy chests around the room. “A bride should not face such a day feeling alone in a foreign court.”
At her nod, the servants opened the lids. Inside were robes of silk and brocard– rich fabrics embroidered with breathtaking patterns and stones that shimmered in the morning light.
Another chest with velvet lining held jewels– ranging from bracelets and necklaces to delicate emerald coronets. And most important of all, the ceremonial crown for tomorrow.
One servant stepped forward last with a tray, presenting the small jewel casket. The Queen herself took it and offered it to you.
“This was crafted for you,” She said softly. Inside rested a ring of white gold with a large and deep green emerald at its center, the band had small engravings of wind motifs.
It was your wedding ring. Tradition– both in the Wind and Water Kingdoms– dictated that it should have been given to you by the groom himself.
“My son was meant to present this to you,” she added with her calm yet apologetic tone– and faintly weary. “However…Sanemi has never possessed much patience for ceremonies.”
You handed your book to a nearby servant to hold before you reached for the ring to study it closely for a moment, then returned it to its box. “It is beautiful, Your Majesty.”
“I am pleased it finds favor with you, my dear.” she replied with a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes.
“You have taken an interest in our lands?” Shizu asked, glancing at the title of the flora book.
“I thought it wise,” you answered. “If I am to live here, I should acquaint myself with it.”
“Then you must not limit yourself to the small collection of these guest chambers. The palace libraries will be opened to you. All of them.”
“You are most generous,” You said quietly with a bow of gratitude.
Shizu dismissed the servants with a graceful gesture, leaving only the two of you among the scattered gifts. The Queen looked you over thoughtfully for a moment before smiling.
“You are remarkably calm,” she said at last. “Most young brides would be frightened.”
You lowered your eyes slightly. “I do not believe fear would change the outcome, Your Majesty.”
A faint laugh of sympathy escaped her lips. “No, I suppose it would not.”
She then moved closer to you with her voice softening.
“My son can be…a difficult man.” She started. “His temper has always run ahead of his judgment– even as a child.”
She paused searching for the right words. “But for all his faults, he is not cruel. And he has never failed those entrusted to his care. Time has a way of softening what pride first rejects.”
The memory of him viciously battering your brother in the arena flashed briefly in your mind, but you kept a composed expression.
“I will remember your advice, Your Majesty.”
Shizu gently took one of your hands in both of her soft ones, her touch warm and comforting. “I hope that you will find something here worth calling home. And if the palace becomes too silent or too large for you…you are always welcome to seek me out, dear one.”
With that, the Queen of the Wind took her leave.
The night had settled over the Wind Palace. You could still hear the sounds of the evening feast being carried through the corridors– the faint music and toasts of the nobles. You had excused yourself as soon as you finished your meal and the Queen of Wind granted you permission. Giyuu glanced at you from his plate.
Now in your chambers, the servants had long since finished arranging the lavish gifts. The robes rested carefully folded across the carved chests while the jewels glittered softly beneath the lamplight.
You had returned to your book but your eyes had stopped following the words long ago, your thoughts drifted to the ceremony. By tomorrow's morning you would become a man’s wife before witnesses, and with it would come duties not only to him but to his kingdom as well– alongside the duties you carry for your homeland. At only nineteen years of age, you would take him as a husband and he would take you as a wife by oath and obligation not by lo–
A knock at your doors broke the silence and the guards opened them without question, your older brother stepped inside. He paused beyond the threshold with his eyes sweeping slowly across the room, taking in the chests, robes, jewels– they lingered on the emerald crown resting upon the small marble table.
Without a word, he crossed the room and sat quietly at the edge of the bed beside you.
“You have been well received,” he said after a while. His expression was stoic as usual, but his voice carried an unreadable undertone beneath its calm.
“They are generous hosts.” you replied.
“That they are.” he nodded before the silence stretched between you two.
He rested his forearms on his knees as his blue eyes fixed again the ceremonial crown, gathering his thoughts.
“Surely, you must know that you will still remain a Princess of the Water Kingdom,” he said eventually, his eyes finally meeting yours. “Even if tomorrow you wear emerald instead of sapphire.”
You felt your chest tightening at his words but you didn’t interrupt him.
“When Tsutako left,” he continued quietly. “the palace felt…emptier. Father said it was the price of peace, but peace does not make absence easier.”
He paused while your fingers tightened slightly around your sleeves. “It will be the same with you…” he said, for a moment his composure nearly slipped.
“I will think of you very often.” he added and your throat tightened.
“Brother–” you started shakily but he shook his head gently.
“You do not need to pretend before me.” He withdrew something carefully wrapped in a handkerchief from his doublet hidden pocket.
“Your wedding gift.” he said, holding it out to you.
You unfolded the cloth slowly with trembling fingers. Inside was a delicate silver hairpin shaped like a curling wave, and at its center sat a light blue sapphire that reminded you of the sea at dawn.
“I had the royal jewelers craft it before we departed.” he said. “The coast stones are rare in these mountains, I thought it best that one remained with you.”
Before you could stop yourself you leaned in and wrapped your arms around him, your eyes watered and your breath hitched as you buried your face against his attire’s fabric– hiding it from his gaze. Giyuu stiffened slightly at first given he had never been comfortable with open displays of affection, but his hand rested gently against your shoulder.
“I will write to you as often as I can, worry not.” you said as you finally released him. your eyes still stung but you took in a breath to keep composure.
“Rest well tonight,” he said quietly as he stood to leave. “Tommorow will be…tiring, Crown Princess of the Wind.”
You let out a choked scoff at your new title. but at the door Giyuu paused briefly.
“And if he ever causes you harm,” your composed brother added, yet the quiet threat was unmistakable. “Send word.”
PEACH! Do you think the first time you’re with Sanemi intimately he is scared to hurt you? Maybe not hurt but more like doesn’t want to mess up, un purify, or end up not being what you want? Genuinely my dream is to be inside this mans head while something intimate goes down for the first time.
OHHHH YES YES YES I CAN TALK ABOUT THIS FOR HOURSSSSSS
WARNING! NSFW BELOW!
I did a little exploration of this headcanon in Compass and it comes up again in Wind and Moon. But short answer: absolutely. 200%. Multiple things influence him with respect to intimacy, the largest and most obvious of which is his father and how Sanemi witnessed Kyogo’s treatment of Shizu (his mother). Sanemi canonically isn’t blind to how others perceive him — brutal, cruel, rough. He’s acutely aware of it and actively encourages it in a desperate attempt to keep his loved ones far away and safe. So of course, that’s going to come back and bite him in the ass the first time he even considers getting intimate with someone because fuck, they know what he is. How could you possibly want him knowing he’s exactly the monster you must think he is, the same one his father was? In that regard, he probably thinks you’re stupid or have zero sense of self preservation, in which case, he’s going to protect you from yourself. And that means he resists.
Naturally, he can’t do that forever because at the end of the day, he is a lonely boy with so, so much capacity for love. So his apprehension to intimacy shifts course — it becomes about shielding you from being tainted by him. He’s dark, fucked up, too traumatized for anyone to genuinely want the cowardice and weakness beneath his hardass exterior, and if you touch him and let him touch you, you’ll only expose yourself to it. It doesn’t matter that your fingers on his cheek make him feel whole, chase away all memories of the scars marring his skin until he forgets they’re there all together. It doesn’t matter how badly he wants to explore the soft planes of your body with his hands or mouth, map out every inch of you until he knows you like the back of his hand. It’s dangerous because he’s dangerous, and you’re good. He doesn’t deserve you and you’re supposed to be smart enough to know that.
I think, when he’s finally worn down though and unable to hold back any longer, he’s still very in his own head. He’s extremely delicate in how he handles you and constantly checks in — when he kisses you, when he tentatively begins undressing you and hesitates when undressing himself, when he’s got you spread out on the bed while he sits between your thighs, nothing separating you except a few inches of space and his one last hesitation. He’s asking you if it’s really what you want, throwing you every out he has just in case you make the smart decision and back out. But, you don’t, and Sanemi is helpless when it comes to you, so he obeys your soft commanding please, and gives himself up to you.
During the deed? Sanemi’s very cautious. Don’t get me wrong, he feels fucking incredible and it takes an enormous amount of self restraint he’s not sure he has to not bust the second he’s fully seated inside you. It’s his singular focus on you that keeps him from doing so, and he’s so attuned to how your eyebrows scrunch with the slight discomfort of having him fully in you that he can’t really give a fuck about how amazing he feels. He feels only slight anxiety, knotting in his stomach, and fear hardening in his throat because he knew it, you regret it, this isn’t what you want and above all, he’s hurting you —
Yet, you strip him down and flay him open when you pull him in for a kiss, shyly roll your hips up to meet his, signaling you want him to move. After that, Sanemi’s mind finally goes blank and he lets himself be lost in the moment. Oh, it’s passionate. Deeply intimate, something most would be surprised to know Sanemi Shinazugawa was even capable of. He’s wrapped up in you, arms tight around your waist, your shoulders, face buried in the crook of your neck while you two rock together and become one. Yeah, he probably gets a little emotional (even if he’d rather swallow his own sword before admitting it), but how could he not? You trust him enough with your body to let him bend it to his, make it his, and for the first time he doesn’t feel like a brute. He feels like a man, every bit what his father wasn’t. And he swears, in that moment, he will do everything, become anything, to be the man you don’t just want but deserve.
One arm is locked tightly around your waist, the other, your upper back, his hand cupping your opposite shoulder as he holds you in place against him.
There’s a burning in his eyes, one that he conceals by keeping his face buried in your neck. Atop him, you begin to shift and squirm, no doubt overstimulated and desperate to be relieved from the friction his body creates, but his hold on you only tightens.
Not yet; he’ll let you pull away soon, and then he will withdraw from the haven of your body. He just needs another moment, a chance to steady himself against the waves of emotion swelling and crashing inside his chest, beating against his lungs. That’s all he needs; one more chance to find his footing somewhere among the rubble, because nothing remains of him, now. There are no great, castle walls, no armor that’s left, to guard his heart. You’ve shattered it all and waded through the pieces of his defenses without so much as a scratch. Now, you hold it on your hands. It is a broken, bleeding thing, and he can’t imagine it’s worth much at all, but it’s yours all the same.
Because Sanemi loves you.
He loves you unlike anyone or anything else, and it’s as overwhelming as it is beautiful, so he just needs another moment.
PEACH! Do you think the first time you’re with Sanemi intimately he is scared to hurt you? Maybe not hurt but more like doesn’t want to mess up, un purify, or end up not being what you want? Genuinely my dream is to be inside this mans head while something intimate goes down for the first time.
OHHHH YES YES YES I CAN TALK ABOUT THIS FOR HOURSSSSSS
WARNING! NSFW BELOW!
I did a little exploration of this headcanon in Compass and it comes up again in Wind and Moon. But short answer: absolutely. 200%. Multiple things influence him with respect to intimacy, the largest and most obvious of which is his father and how Sanemi witnessed Kyogo’s treatment of Shizu (his mother). Sanemi canonically isn’t blind to how others perceive him — brutal, cruel, rough. He’s acutely aware of it and actively encourages it in a desperate attempt to keep his loved ones far away and safe. So of course, that’s going to come back and bite him in the ass the first time he even considers getting intimate with someone because fuck, they know what he is. How could you possibly want him knowing he’s exactly the monster you must think he is, the same one his father was? In that regard, he probably thinks you’re stupid or have zero sense of self preservation, in which case, he’s going to protect you from yourself. And that means he resists.
Naturally, he can’t do that forever because at the end of the day, he is a lonely boy with so, so much capacity for love. So his apprehension to intimacy shifts course — it becomes about shielding you from being tainted by him. He’s dark, fucked up, too traumatized for anyone to genuinely want the cowardice and weakness beneath his hardass exterior, and if you touch him and let him touch you, you’ll only expose yourself to it. It doesn’t matter that your fingers on his cheek make him feel whole, chase away all memories of the scars marring his skin until he forgets they’re there all together. It doesn’t matter how badly he wants to explore the soft planes of your body with his hands or mouth, map out every inch of you until he knows you like the back of his hand. It’s dangerous because he’s dangerous, and you’re good. He doesn’t deserve you and you’re supposed to be smart enough to know that.
I think, when he’s finally worn down though and unable to hold back any longer, he’s still very in his own head. He’s extremely delicate in how he handles you and constantly checks in — when he kisses you, when he tentatively begins undressing you and hesitates when undressing himself, when he’s got you spread out on the bed while he sits between your thighs, nothing separating you except a few inches of space and his one last hesitation. He’s asking you if it’s really what you want, throwing you every out he has just in case you make the smart decision and back out. But, you don’t, and Sanemi is helpless when it comes to you, so he obeys your soft commanding please, and gives himself up to you.
During the deed? Sanemi’s very cautious. Don’t get me wrong, he feels fucking incredible and it takes an enormous amount of self restraint he’s not sure he has to not bust the second he’s fully seated inside you. It’s his singular focus on you that keeps him from doing so, and he’s so attuned to how your eyebrows scrunch with the slight discomfort of having him fully in you that he can’t really give a fuck about how amazing he feels. He feels only slight anxiety, knotting in his stomach, and fear hardening in his throat because he knew it, you regret it, this isn’t what you want and above all, he’s hurting you —
Yet, you strip him down and flay him open when you pull him in for a kiss, shyly roll your hips up to meet his, signaling you want him to move. After that, Sanemi’s mind finally goes blank and he lets himself be lost in the moment. Oh, it’s passionate. Deeply intimate, something most would be surprised to know Sanemi Shinazugawa was even capable of. He’s wrapped up in you, arms tight around your waist, your shoulders, face buried in the crook of your neck while you two rock together and become one. Yeah, he probably gets a little emotional (even if he’d rather swallow his own sword before admitting it), but how could he not? You trust him enough with your body to let him bend it to his, make it his, and for the first time he doesn’t feel like a brute. He feels like a man, every bit what his father wasn’t. And he swears, in that moment, he will do everything, become anything, to be the man you don’t just want but deserve.
"To outlive everyone is it's own kind of death, for immortality is the cruelest way to measure grief."
England, 1888.
There is something in the countryside that the villages cannot agree on. Some say it is a devil. Some say it is a beast. Some say it is pale as birch bark and tall and beautiful that it makes the eyes water, and that the beauty is the last thing you ever see. The bodies it leaves behind are drained so completely that the physicians have no word for what possible cause of death.
Nobody who has seen it clearly has survived to describe it.
Well nobody, until you.
You met him in the middle of a storm at midnight. He was pale, scarred and unnervingly beautifu--and remarkably ill-mannered too for his staring. You thought he was simply odd, that he had terrible social skills.
You did not think about him again until you kept running into him- only ever after dark, only ever by lamplight or moonlight, always watching you with an unreadable expression, if you were honest, it was beginning to feel rather excessive for a mere acquaintance.
You did not know that every other living thing that had ever met his gaze had lost itself entirely due to his curse--that travelers abandoned safe roads to follow him into the dark, that hunters lowered their weapons and walked toward him instead of away, that wolves lay down at his feet. For over two centuries nothing with eyes and breath had ever looked at him and remained itself.
Perhaps some curses are only another name for fate.
Cw: violence, gore, blood, character death, slow burn, angst, grief, loneliness, supernatural elements and curse, injury, emotional manipulation?, guilt, age gap obviously, gothic horror, period-accurate attitudes and social constraints, morally complex character dynamics, vamp is moraly grey, predator/prey slight undertones, soulmates, obsessive but romantic love, eventual smut.
Marble, 20's, Poem yearner. Depressed but repressed. Writting to sate my maladaptive daydreaming.
Fandoms: can't really say this is a multifandom blog since I mainly write about KNY for now.
I do not take any requests given I write whatever I want, but my in inbox is always open for comments and questions of any kind.
Rules: MDNI. Only +19. I don't feel comfortable interacting with minors so if I see an ageless blog I will block it.
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All of the deviders I use are from: @diviniyae, @saradika-graphics,@the-aesthetics-shop, @somebitchprobably-graphicdump. Their deviders are absolutely STUNNING and diverse so go check them out.
