hello, you can call me willow. i'm an air sign (libra) ♎︎︎, i'm always busy so this is me asking you to be nice about the slow updates of my stories :) teehee xxx
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𐙚 masterlist 𐙚
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Sanemi Shinazugawa
to where the wind blows // tumblr // ao3 ⭑.ᐟ status: finished
benefits for both partners (ideally) // tumblr // ao3 ⭑.ᐟ status: finished
jealousy, jealousy // tumblr ⭑.ᐟ status: finished
under the table, just you and me // tumblr ⭑.ᐟ status: finished
snowflake in the wind // tumblr ⭑.ᐟ status: finished
lily of the valley // tumblr // ao3 ⭑.ᐟ status: on going
₊˚.༄ Giyuu Tomioka
when i met you // tumblr ⭑.ᐟ status: finished
i think we're alone now // tumblr ⭑.ᐟ status: finished
₊˚.༄ dramione (dracoxhermione)
the year draco malfoy meets hermione granger // tumblr // ao3 ⭑.ᐟ status: on going
tags: smut, dark romance, top/bottom and dom/sub and brat tamer/brat heavily implied, teacher-student prompt, aged up hashira except mui, f!reader legal age, giyu tags along with everyone, demon slayer corps have a sorting house like Hogwarts, hashira is literally found family, no hashira beef, giyu is an introvert but not mean, everyone gets a long, slightly dark implication, f!reader suicidal, f!reader lowkey nihilistic, nihilism slightly implied, morally grey f!reader.
summary:
Sanemi Shinazugawa turns out to be your assigned mentor. As you join the Demon Slayer Corps, you are quietly enticed by him as much as he is to you. You are insufferable, and he is as cruel as he can be. Though, it is not long until he finds out his favorite brat has a secret so harsh, it ruins his reality.
wc: 3,220
footnote: hi I think this story is going to be long or maybe short, trying to write something new and interesting with lousy plot lol. enjoy! no beta reader we die like heroes
might be too ooc for you all 'in character' truther lol
“I don’t want to do this, mother.” Your voice trembling with shock and disappointment, there’s disagreement layering beneath you but nothing can come out with the swirling of negative emotions tipping at the edge of your tongue.
“Yet you must. This is the only thing we can find for you, to be happy.” Mother speaks rather fluently as if she has already rehearsed this with father, who sits uncomfortably on the side.
You didn’t respond with anything, only eyes laced with uncertainty and fuming anger.
“You only go about, sleeping in the mornings and wake up in the evenings. You leave the house at night and didn’t care to comeback until the sun is rising. We are worried for you.” Father added, his lips flat and unamused—no anger, that what worries you.
“I just,” you paused, calming yourself with few breaths, “I have a lot of friends. I visit them every day.”
“Visit them every night! And your friends are all male. Most of them are drunks and waste of space! They are almost as good as criminals!” Mother fumed, father tried to hold her down with his soft grip.
“Above all you are a woman,” she exhaled harshly, “from a respected family. We give you this lavish life to be secure about your future, you are twenty years old already! You should have been married when you’re sixteen and secure us a lineage...but you’re throwing it away for…for…” mother can’t continue anymore, you know where she’s going anyway.
It’s not like she wasn’t correct about your life. You just never think there’s more to world for you to be happy or looking forward to it. Hanging out with those people are just for killing time, and you hate having to have dreading waking up in the morning. You hate your life, for the silver lining.
“There’s something noble you can do…to make a name for yourself and yourself only, to protect your family from evil—from the darkness of the night,” father chimed in as your face dropped once more, you don’t like where this is going, “we are sending you to the Demon Slayer Corps.”
“A what?” You’re beyond confused, eyebrows creasing in dangerous steep.
“I have a friend of a friend, who have a great connection with a swordsman settled in the northern part of us.”
“Wait, you mean I’m going to Ezochi?” You almost scribbled with your words, “…what even is the Demon Layer?!” Dumbfounded, you ran your fingers through your hair.
“Demon Slayer Corps, my old friend, Ubuyashiki agreed to take you into his care, but you need to train firsthand, for whatever it’s worth.”
Within the few weeks of traveling with merchants and pilgrims, you found yourself shaking while being cloaked by the cold weather of Ezochi; settled and nestled perfectly in the most northern part of Japan, it snows most of the seasons—and dangerously cold for the rest.
You continued the journey, following the hand drawn map from your father. It’s not understandable, but for some reason you’ve grown accustomed to the mystery of it all. Father has said to keep everything discreet, even where you’ll be staying for the next few months, years.
Arriving to what looks like the final destination, you dropped all your belongings before a man standing beside you uttered a word.
“Leave everything and follow me.” He disappeared within the coming snowstorm, not knowing what to do, you desperately followed him.
You shouldn’t have done that—you thought, it is now one year into the training. You shouldn’t have listened to anyone, should have dictate your own life. Now you are here, in the blizzard. Dying.
You couldn’t breathe, even if you tried. You think your lungs are collapsing, shrinking, does it even matter? You tried not to panic, but someone who panics tend to panic more if they’re under certain duress.
“Fuck fuck fuck.” You cursed. You are cursing everything and everyone. For the past months you’d been trained under a lot of pressure, not only mentally but physically demanding as well. Not like any other swordsmen that you found out through your mentor, you were actually one of the unlucky one who needed to train underneath his wing.
Why? His breathing speciality is ice. And how does one achieve those? Training in the freaking snowy ice mountains.
Dying is an understatement—for the past six months all you knew was to survive, to fight. Fight for demons, fight for your life, fight for warmth. You barely knew warmth since you’re just cooped in meters of snow. Ugh.
You tried to even your breathing, calming your heart and the piercing pain on your chest.
“Focus, focus!” You grumbled, huffing and puffing through the mask surrounding your mouth. Taking out your sword, you inhaled deep and silent.
When you breathed out, the blizzard swooshed out like it was blew by a strong wind, yes, wind breathing is the core, branched...derived from...whatever that history lesson went over your head.
All the blizzard started forming into an icicle everywhere, piercing out as if they’re frozen; opening a path way for you to walk easily.
And after hours of walking down the mountain, you saw him, your master.
“I’m done with this bullshit.” You stopped in front of him, though your voice’s very angry you’re insanely calm. Dropping your sword in front of him, you crossed your arms against your chest.
“I am done. Fuck this bullshit. I do not wish to suffer any further.”
“But your whole life you’re suffering, at least this one is in front of you, and made you feel alive.” Master replied, and that is the only thing he said before he vanished with the thick falling snow.
You were silent, but his words pierced something in you—wandering up the thick snowy mountain again to avoid master, you ponder all the way to the top.
As much as you hate the snow, the cold, the ice, everything surrounding you is familiar, you are one of them now, like it or not.
Sitting in the middle of powder snow in the peak, you look down as sun starts to rise beautifully—what is there to live for? Looking down at your palms, the scars are not healing perfectly due to the weather—and oh, the tip of your fingers are all blue, almost black. You almost lost all fingers, thanks to master who saved you in the second month, but now the colors are not returning to normal. You are ashamed.
How can everything turn like this?
Life is supposed to be meaningless, now it’s just pile of snow and ice.
Why do you have to train this hard to kill demons? Do they even exist? You need to find out during the final trial it seems. Only if you make it that far before dying in the snowscape.
Why do demons need to kill humans anyway? Can’t they just eat animals since they’re animalistic themselves? Why do gods curse people and turned them into the damned? Isn’t god supposed to be forgiving?
“Whatever,” you breathed puff of white out from your severely chapped lips, ice forming into your thick white lashes. Your blue eyes are almost as opaque as the color of the ice, your hair as white as the snow. You have been pale your whole life, your skin are not merely white, it’s beaming like the color of a pearl in the aquamarine sea.
You aren’t like your parents, they have olive skin and black hair, they said you have an illness—but that illness made you almost ethereal, ghostly—so they cheered for that beauty.
You don’t want to live anymore, you just don’t want to. And joining this training, soon to be demon slayer members, is just pausing your suicide.
“Maybe I can just die now, with the cold.” You murmured, but the thing is you know that no matter how hard you tried to die in the cold, the cold refuses to take you—as if they know you possessed them, you mastered the ice and snow, thus they couldn’t kill you, they empowered you.
Whenever you almost died, you feel like you learned a new power to master the ice, and it’s holding you back from hurting yourself.
But, there is one thing you never tried.
Cutting yourself on the throat with your sword, for instance. Before you continue, a strange cold passed by behind your back,
It’s not the cold you are familiar with, you know how freezing the mountains can get, you know every living things around even it’s unbelievable to have a living being—but you know your way around this place, you know the air, how crisp it can get and how suffocating it is…this wind passing behind you is just not from nature.
“Why do you stop yourself from doing it?” An unfamiliar voice called upon you, he’s just standing right behind. You don’t feel like you want to turn so staying still is your only way of doing so. Your body is frozen still, and not the type of frozen that came from the cold, your muscles are reluctant to neither move nor turn.
You can’t answer the man, his voice wasn’t familiar—not like any other men you have met in your life, his voice ignites something inside your heart…fear?
“No need to answer, my child. I can read your heart as easy as opening an overused book,” he smirked with his own words, you can tell by the way his voice wavered with bubbled chuckles.
“Wh-what do you want?” You asked, voice shaking like an encountered prey. Somehow, in your sick twisted mind, your fear is just momentarily. The rest of your body is burning with questions, curiosity.
“Hmm… I want a lot of things, my child.” He amuses you, his voice trickling closer to your ears, the shivers in your body turned from cold to hot—your entire being is begging for warmth, and the strange man gave it to you without any doubts.
“I can feel your dilemma and I have an answer to it.” He blew hot air to the back of your neck, caressing your white shiny hair in between his warm fingers. You almost lean to the touch, not having someone to care for you for so long—too long everyone neglected you, lashing out only made your parents kicked you out from their house. You want this, whatever this is.
“I have been watching you, and you are the perfect little girl for me. Will you promise me to be good and listen?” His fingers didn’t stop entangling with your long hair, the smooth silky locks are just twinkling within his grasp.
“Don’t give up your human life now, you have better things to look forward to,” he pauses, “…and while doing so you will enter Demon Slayers corps and be the best swordsman to ever exist, you are a prodigy—will make your detestable parents proud, you will make a lot of money to make yourself comfortable, make yourself pretty, find a man who can take care of you…” he goes on and on, your body is still locked in place, although his warmth is making you feel less tensed and awful.
“Revolting, by how the world will end with the war between human and demons. You will lose everything in the end, then die.” His voice suddenly sounded rotten, like he has baggage filled with loath and despicable thoughts.
He fucking smells so rotten now, how can't you catch it?
You tried to turn your body, but it seems like at this point your muscles are shut down with whatever you’re encountering, though from the feel of it, it feels like he’s human but the smell...
“Now is the time for you to ask, ‘how should I stop this?’…” he titters, “…well, the answer to your question is simple. Demons do exist, but they aren’t the pest that everyone is claiming them to be. Peace has always been there, yet ever since the humans decided to eradicate us, we have to fight back, don’t we? All we wanted was just to live side by side with them, not all of us are killers…we just kill people who deserve it, and you humans kill demons, who you all think deserve it. We are all the same, in the end.”
You chortle at his preach, but regretted it afterwards when you couldn’t feel his hands nor his warmth pressed against your back, he has withdrawn himself.
“The Corps that you will be joining, they have a system. The have pillars, they call themselves Hashira. Eliminate one of them, just one, will make a difference to the world.” His voice sounded close, but his body’s already withdrawn far away from yours, you can sense by the heat.
Confused for whatever this is, a dreadful hallucination, you close your eyes trying to wish it away—you have gone looney it seems.
“You hate them, you hate the world, no one deserves you and the world doesn’t deserve you too… why not make it easy?” The ghostly voice of this man continues, haunting your presence and your wake.
“Kill…them.” Is his last words, it doesn’t compare to a full sentence whereas it almost sounded like a sinister whisper and whistle of the highly strong winds, an echo in the cold lonely snowy mountains.
“Hallucinations? Does cold make you hallucinate?” You ask yourself in meep of being internally scared, as soon as turning your head back, snapping it so fast your hair slaps your chin. But there’s no remaining of the mysterious man just now. There weren’t any footsteps on the snow, no prints of his feet nor shoes.
Was he even real? So many things happened in the mountains, you’d be the first to vouch for that. But he felt too real, so real. There was no way he wasn’t real, was he? And what’s all that about… demons are nice, humans are the one hurting them? He must be crazy, if he was real.
But thinking again about it, you sat back on the edge of the cliff while looking at the view covered by snow drizzle.
What if he was right, though? Couldn’t be.
“There you are, I have been looking everywhere for you.” Your master said, shocking you from the daydream.
“Yeah. What’s up?” Turning your head, he brought a parchment of old-vintage looking paper, older than he looks.
“It’s here, your final selection day.”
And there it goes, the breath you’ve been locking inside your chest are grasped away by the doom of this news.
Attitude problem. They can come up better than that honestly.
“Who is she?” Giyu Tomioka’s interest jolt up attention from the rest of the Hashira, since the man hardly speaks if it’s not necessary.
“I don’t know. She looks peculiar.” The Snake Hashira doesn’t shake much to the new joiners, but he is indeed curious for the particular one who stick up like a sore eye.
“look at her hair, it’s so unique! she is so pretty.” Mitsuri gawks, hands clapped smoothly.
“I heard she survived the final selection without a scratch. What a blissful luck from Buddha.” The Stone Hashira adds the lore of your survival to the pillars.
It is true, you survived without a scratch, or maybe someone arranged things to happen? No way your master has strings that deep even to the demons.
Maybe you were just lucky.
The unlucky child peppered with luck isn’t so bizarre right?
You are so ready to die, though. But death seems rejecting you every time.
“Her breathing is also amazing to learn. She quickly trained to a branch of a technique, she didn’t master any basic breathing it derives from.” Shinobu catches in, not shifting an inch from her seat but empty eyes prolonged her gaze on you.
“Hee? I remember needing to master fire breathing first with Rengoku-san! It was fun and fiery and boom~” Mitsuri replies, clapping excitedly when she remembers all the fun time shared with Rengoku, the flame hashira.
“Yeah I remember mine too.” Muichiro chimes in, his eyes lost in a maze of haze.
“Her breathing technique is ice, that is not new but rather old and never been mastered in a long time. I heard, the last Ice Breathing user is last seen hundred years ago. It is derived from Wind and Water techniques, so mastering it will be needing a person who are skilled in both breathings.” Rengoku adds to the discussion, such a young girl possessing that power is remarkable, not to mention it is in par with how weird the situation is with Tanjiro Kamado and his demonic sister, Nezuko Kamado.
“And yet… there she is, inhabiting that talent without knowing the basics?” The sound Hashira doesn’t sound demeaning, but he got his own question regarding you.
Sanemi doesn’t join with conversation, but it does ignite his curiosity at you. The man was the only one sitting on his side not looking at the garden as the kids all tiredly gather for the entrance and greeting ceremony. But you, you stood out too much even physically, it pains his eyes.
“What a sore look.” He spits, turning his head just a little to take a glimpse of you. He doesn’t like you. At all. The resentment is organic and quickly developing in himself.
Every kids will be sorted for the time being for further assessment accordingly, especially if they have mastered their breathings they will be assigned to each of the Hashira’s estate to sleep and rest. Meanwhile the Butterfly Estate will remain open for everyone.
Everyone, just the five of you new joiners, are called upon which estate they will stay for their first few years, honing their skills to hopefully be a successful Hashira with your own lands. You keep wanting, wishing to at least be placed with someone nice.
Nobody look nice, except the beautiful girl with pink and green hair.
Please let it be her, please let it be her…
A kakushi stands in front of you, holding a small parchment of paper as he cleared his throat, about to read who you’ll be staying and practicing with for unforeseen future.
“The Wind Hashira, Sanemi Shinazugawa.” The kakushi reads aloud, everyone fell silent and some new joiner dude’s eyes bulged out completely, he definitely knows something you don’t.
By the look of the rest, the Hashiras, they don’t look quite pleased as well by the assessment.
The silver haired man doesn’t say a thing, though he quickly got up while dragging his sword, before placing it on his shoulder blades. He approaches you, and nothing about him smells or looks familiar. He’s a lone wolf alright.
“You are painfully stark compared to other kids.” Sanemi sneered the moment he reached your side, having him called out to be your housing master for the time being actually not in his list. He doesn’t babysit weird people, and by the looks of it you are his upcoming trouble.
“And that makes the two of us.” You raised your almost translucent brows, rolling your eyes as you speak.
“Huh?” Sanemi looks down again, not believing his ears.
Benefits for Both Partners (Ideally) — p.10/10 The End
this is a request from anon but I accidentally deleted it while trying to edit (im new to Tumblr) so im reuploading it for anon's bday! happy birthday anon (huhuhu ごめんなさい (ó﹏ò｡)
part one click here
click here if you want to read in Ao3
pairings: sanemixreader/sanemixf!reader
genre: angst, smut, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, forced proximity, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers but it's too late, unadulterated hatred.
summary:
"The Demon Slayer Corp faces a threat: the dwindling population of their kind. The Ubuyashiki family, desperate to preserve the demon-slaying lineage, initiates a controversial program. As part of this mandate, you're assigned to bear the child of one of the most powerful and yet unstable Wind Hashira: Sanemi Shinazugawa.
As a skilled but also headstrong woman belonging to an infamous medic clan in the village, there was definitely resistance in the beginning, but it all comes down to the both of you to either make it work or be the disappointment of everyone."
wc: 34,862
footnote: hi we have finally concluded this journey. I feel so happy to finish this one, let's meet on my other projects!
Everything Sanemi Shinazugawa has done to this point is futile, fruitless. You were long gone, longer that anyone had ever expected.
Sanemi tried his best to follow whatever lead he has, which was none—but you weren’t there anymore, you just felt like ceasing to exist the moment your scent was covered by the pungent one of the demon. You were gone.
After couple of weeks Sanemi tried to find you, he was advised to let you go by the council, by council he meant the pillars and Kagaya Ubuyashiki himself, and the one who refused to let you go was Amane Ubuyashiki, silently sending Sanemi letters of information of what could’ve been your sighting; yet none, not even Sanemi himself believe you are still alive. Eventually, you are presumed dead.
Couple weeks ago, the day of missing
“Let me go!! Let me go you bastard!!” You screamed on top of your lungs, feeling claws gripping deep into the back of your thighs as you flew up in the beautiful night sky. Screaming made you tired, catering to ooze the dark blue midnight sky was your only chance of surrendering—at least there was the beautiful moon, beaming it’s white ray of lights to your demise.
The demon doesn’t let you go, however chose a place to land far from everywhere. You didn’t think you were still in the area. He took you somewhere far, somewhere far out of town.
“Where am I?” Gasping through labored breath, your lungs felt like it was empty. It was him, Muzan, the weird man with crimson orbs—should’ve known he was a demon, the moment he appeared nowhere with his weird looking self. You really underestimated yourself way too much with the kind of knowledge you had, maybe being with Sanemi dumb you down by a lot.
“These questions are going to get you killed, child.” His voice calm, which scared you even more.
“Then kill me!” You yelled, thumping your fist on your chest so hard you felt a sting.
“With my pleasure.” Muzan walked to you, dragging his feet as if emerging a type of panic in you, in which it worked.
“Then why am I still alive until now?!” You tried to buy yourself time, but Muzan had already settled in front of you with his claws dragging on both sides of your temple.
“I still need to get something out of you.” He sneered, digging his claws slowly inside your skin, it punctured in a way that you wished someone would just beheaded you by now.
Seeing the fear dancing in your eyes, Muzan had a blast of watching the panic gnawing your wake. He got so fucking excited he started cackling, stopping his claws midway inside your skin.
“You really are special.” He hummed, taking his claws out of your skin as you wailed in pain, “Do you want to be mine?” He asked, not so innocently but his eyes are twinkling in a demeaning way, licking the blood from his nails.
“You will make a pretty good demon, my demon. You will be mine instead, standing beside me as we conquer this world onto a new one. We will make a world filled with power and dominion in which we are liberated.” Trying to bemuse you, his knuckles traced the flowing blood on the sides of your face, playing it around like it’s the most exquisite thing he’d ever witnessed.
“You are beautiful, my child.” He purrs, almost like he really wanted you to be his.
“Don’t touch me.” You sobbed through ragged breathing, holding back the aching pain of your wounds and fear.
“So, you refuse my offer?”
You looked away, unable to think straight. Maybe being a demon is much better, maybe there is a freedom in walking under the moonlight?
“Too bad.” He practically slammed your whole body to the ground, you heard a bone cracked, but didn’t know which one.
Before puncturing you with his might, Muzan looked you straight in the eyes—he fucking loved the fear out of you, but this? You were surrendering with tears gathering in your eyes, the left one trickled earlier than the right, as it sparkled beneath the moonlight’s hymns. Muzan never hesitated before, why the fuck did he now?
“You are such a beautiful creature, it is too bad that lowlife fuck love you too much. What was his name again? Shinazugawa.”
Your brows furrowed, ceasing into the sadness expression Muzan had ever witnessed in humans.
“I don’t want to live anymore, please…” you beg, your cries are getting heavier but you weren’t screaming or struggling. You were done with the world, you were ready to die.
Muzan titled aside, amused by this reaction. He approached your face with his, sniffing you as if trying to find any reason you would lie to him about wanting to die; not out of fear of him, you just really want to die no matter what.
“You really meant that, huh?” Even he was amused.
“Yes. Please.” You begged, sweet breaths tickling Muzan’s face. He was angry as fuck, he wished he could take you as his and fuck you everywhere he wanted.
He has a deep obsession with you, he just tried to conceal it.
It all started way back in the village, where the people heal for money and fame—some healed for fun and good, but mostly that village reeked with unredeemable people. Demon Slayer Corps worked with the village, to heal their swordsmen and swords maker.
Muzan had to see the village himself before destroying it, and there you were, he saw you so deep in the woods healing wild animals, the animals that had potential to maul you in its prime; yet you didn’t deter, healing them still. It struck something inside Muzan, something he didn’t know yet was so primal he was driving himself crazy.
He wanted to eat you, make you his, keep you and use you as he please.
He wanted to hunt you.
He craved you.
“You were never afraid of monsters, do you?” Muzan asked, this time he really wanted to hear you say it, although he knew the answer all too well.
You were confused, not able to answer him or digest his question even a bit.
“Hmm.” Was the last thing he mumbled before you lost all consciousness as you felt nothing, but burning pain all over your bloodstream.
Three years later…
“Help!!! Help!!!” A villager screamed its lungs out, trying to outrun something, someone?
“What the fuck is that sound?” Obanai’s shock is apparent but not as much as the demon slayers kids who ran together with the scared villager, they look like they’ve encountered something beyond comprehension.
“Let’s go, Obanai.” Sanemi quickly brings his sword, jumping through the night as he owns the wind. Obanai sneaks behind, his moves are as agile as a snake, slithering through the night as the road agrees with his every moves. They both look beautiful, as if dancing with the night sky.
And just the moment they arrived on the ground of the castle, an eerie atmosphere greets them like a warm welcome home.
The castle looks like it has been abandoned for years, like hundreds of them. The stones around corrodes, leafs and flowers have grown and latched akin to it. Like it was part of it, like they are never separated.
A big flower, still not blooming finally appears in the center of the chamber—both Sanemi and Obanai jerk away from the pulp, not wanting to hurt or get close in any way.
“We need to get around,” Obanai alarms the silver haired man, pointing his sword to the other side of the chamber.
“She’s inside, the demon. I can smell her so-,” Sanemi cuts himself, as he takes in the scent of the demon deep inside his lungs, he coughed out blood as blood spurts from his mouth and nose, “do not breathe in! The spores!” Sanemi rips his Haori in half, covering his nose and mouth as quickly as he can, soon Obanai follows.
But as his punctured lungs reviving, he can finally catch the scent. It is all too familiar, he used to smell this scent all over his estate, his body, his hair.
This scent used to be all over your skin. Your lips. Your pussy.
Horror flashes before Sanemi’s eyes.
“It can’t be…” he almost dropped on his knees, Obanai saw and quickly sought out to him, standing just beside him—close and tight, not letting him deter.
“This demon is using her blood demon art to distract us, Sanemi.” Obanai concludes, as he steps in front of Sanemi, knowing the latter is too distracted to be using any breathing techniques.
“I know.” Breathing through the pain, Sanemi heaved as he tries to even his breathing.
The flower soon enough blooms, opening it’s petal beautifully as a woman, no, a demon, sits inside right on the bud.
“Hmm… hi you two…” You smiled, not sinister, but beautiful.
Both Obanai and Sanemi are too shock to function, their breaths hitched as their hands deter with confusion.
“You two look so serious! Loosen up!” You joke, swatting your hand in diminishing motion, but both of them still look too stunned; their brows furrowed so deep it would leave a mark, their eyes shot wide like an orange.
“You…” Sanemi tries his best to utter a word, mumble it out through his mask, but you can still understand that he can’t say anything clearly due to the shock. Both of them are in complete shock.
You change, almost too drastically—none would have recognize you unless they were truly close to you, like Sanemi was.
“Me.” You rolled your eyes, meeting Sanemi again after a long time is truly the cherry on top of your night. Only nights you have for the last three years, only nighttime is enjoyable for you and Sanemi has to ruin it for arriving.
“Why are you…” you take a step out of your flowerbed, the vines of flowers quickly handed your feet as you make your sultry walk to your husband, the vines making it’s way, “….always haunting me.” Standing in front of Sanemi, he’s still as tall and as big as he always been. This shit turns you on so much.
“Humm, delicious.” You purr, Sanemi swats his sword in front of you but the vines snatched his precious sword away, throwing it to the other side of the chamber.
“So impolite! You are in my house!” Anger trickled your bloodstream, for some reason, ever since becoming a demon being angry is so much easier than holding back your feelings back when you were human; although the memories are almost distant now, you can only remember the hatred.
The way Sanemi treated you, the way he always chose Kanae, the way your parents were… everything bad is just in your head, bending like a dead flower. But was it all really your memories?
Sanemi doesn’t say anything but he is furious, you can see from his eyes—though there are regrets and yearning far beneath his pale orbs.
“And you, you’re not welcome here.” You said, directing it to Obanai as your right hand extended to his side—soon the vines of flowers followed your hand movement, gesturing a wrap, then swooshing your fingers like throwing motion; as quickly as possible the vines started wrapping Obanai tightly, slamming him out of the castle through the stonewall.
“Now that he’s away. Oh, don’t worry he wouldn’t die just like that won’t he.” You chuckle, finding Sanemi’s silence funnier than before.
Sanemi still doesn’t budge, but this time you didn’t hear his heart hammering anymore—he has calmed down, he controls his emotions pretty well. You nodded in agreement, tilting your head side to side as if studying him from near.
He doesn’t budge, instead he grabs you by the neck and draws your face closer to his masked one.
“What a disgusting little thing you have turned yourself into.” Was Sanemi first words to you since three years ago.
You grabbed his mask and ripped it off, slashing his face with your nails.
“Such an ugly thing to say to your wife, husband.” You giggle, tripping away from his grab as easy as fleeting flower petal in spring.
“Do you like my arts?” You whisper, now already appearing behind him without any trace, Sanemi’s jaw almost dropped from how taken aback he is, he could’ve been killed…but he isn’t.
Sanemi did look, he take a beat to look at all the flowers surrounding the castle and you, it is indeed exquisite, but he can feel the evil looming and ogling from everywhere.
You, oh, you; you look the most unforgettable and unforgiving. Your hair is not auburn anymore, it has turn absolutely red, as bright red as fresh blood from a freshly killed deer—your face, it is still as beautiful as ever, you were born with it. The freckles in your face has turned into small little flowers, as if they are tattooed on your skin. He couldn’t get enough of thinking about your skin… it is olive, but it looks like it’s always wet, like you have been smothered with oil.
Your legs are slender, wrapped with vines of pinkish flowers, Sanemi doesn’t know what type of flower it is, but he knows there’s no time for him to ponder the most mundane things when you’re already trying to slash him in two.
Sanemi jumps away, avoiding the slash of big, thick, long vine trying to slam him into two parts.
“Whoops.” You placed your hand on your mouth, covering it like a little kid found stealing candies—your nails are red, with shades of black down to your fingers up until your wrists, from wrists until your arms the colors of your skin has been splotched with green—a vitiligo.
“You fuckin’ missed!” Sanemi shouts as you hiss, jumping on the flower petals you made to chase Sanemi who tried to flee the chamber, you swish your hand as vines of flowers started to crowd him, aiming for his ankles and legs.
“Get off me you fucking demon!” Sanemi roars, slamming his sword so deep in your vines that you wail like a screaming ghost—some of the vines are connected with your body, any slashes from it will occur on your skin.
“Oh husband, you’re fucking stupid to do that!”
“I’m not your husband, I never was.” Sanemi’s roaring with anger, but hearing that coming out of his mouth doesn’t hurt you as much as before—it doesn’t make you feel anything but an unfinished anger, something deep and wretched buried inside you; it’s calling to you, wailing to you…but it seems distant, like a light seeping through a deep hole. You don’t know why it angers you, but it does although you can’t quite put your finger on it.
“Till death to us apart!!!” You beam, trying to giggle your way out of the anger as you jump high—soaring in the chamber, ready to hammer Sanemi with your waves of vines; he knows your moves, as soon as you’re approaching him, you’ve changed your course as he avoided it.
Diving down to Sanemi, he has his sword ready to slash your neck—but you know he’ll do that, he was your husband…right? Eh, why does the memory falter away? Who is this guy again? I knew him right? Sanemi Shinazugawa my husband… is he? Whose memories were this?
You swirl to the side, letting the vines of flowers overwhelm him instead of yourself—you made yourself around him, standing just behind the tall man as you blow a nectar on him.
“Fuck!!” Sanemi screams, the nectar spreads on his back all the way to his face and neck—it wasn’t just a normal nectar, this thing burns human. It will lit their skin on invisible fire, it cracks them up until the layer underneath, all the first few layers will be gone and if it’s not rinse as soon as possible, they will have nothing but their bones.
Sanemi doesn’t know this, but he knows curses and blood demon art so close to his heart that it felt like a gospel for him—the man quickly took the vial he has hanging on his waist and took it, smashing the glass on the floor as soon as he finished.
He jumps meters away in front of you, “If you try to kill me, you need a better way, wife.” Sanemi spat, but his form is ready to dive down as slash you into two.
“You sure you don’t miss me?” You tried to ask him, still playing with your vines of flowers.
“Never did.” The skin starts to grow back again, slowly but surely. Shinobu’s mixes.
“And you’re sure you don’t love me?”
“Tonight I’m going to put an end to your terror of this village.”
“Terror? I only eat those stupid pervert men. I don’t eat kids and women.” Your face disgusted, tongue out with finger pointing inside.
Confusion flashes in Sanemi’s eyes, though it sounds like he’s reaching and scrabbling his own brain like a beggar—it feels like you’re trying to tell him something, knowing you told him which should’ve probably been your secret.
“What do you mean by that?” Sanemi darts a question back to you, his sword swinging on his side.
“Children and women, I just don’t want them. My hunger quench more towards men, especially perverted men. Evil men. Men in general…” you climb the vines on top of the ceiling, seating yourself comfortably on the swing; it seems to have made out of your own flowers, “…and I don’t like men. They are all evil. I don’t think there was a man in my life who was good enough to me.” You twirl your hair as your legs hung, clutching on the swing of vines as your body hanging upside down, like a bat.
Even in your death you’re playful, the demon version of yourself is more carefree, still hardheaded but not crowded with deep sorrow anymore—Sanemi thought.
He hates demons to every core and inch in his body, but talking to you seems captivating, maybe it’s the nectar that allow his mind to be bent.
“I was your husband once,” Sanemi stalks you like you’re his prey, watching every move you make as you’re dangling upside down from the vines—he’s trying to find your weakness but it seems like you hide it so well, as you twirl your burning red hair.
“You were, but you were such a bad husband to me, though.” You giggled, this time it sounds haunting that Sanemi’s shoulders shudder.
“Was I?” Sanemi’s voice deep and teasing, squatting down just below you, he taps his thighs, allowing you to come down like you’re his pet. You tilt your upside down head to the side, curious as you let yourself glide down to his lap.
“Show me how bad I was to you,” he whispers, leaning into your lips as the last millisecond he used to slash your throat, though he doesn’t get deep enough; he still got to slash your skin, which means you do have weakness.
Being lured by unwelcome attraction.
You scream, your wails filled the chamber like an echo from hundreds of crying maiden, Sanemi close his ears as he feels blood trickling down from his earlobes.
“Allow me to show you how you’ve hurt me, husband.” You sob, throwing every moves you’ve got to hurt Sanemi, but he hides well behind the wooden desk using it as his one and only shield.
“Face me!” You scream, puncturing the wooden desk with arrows of your flowers. Sanemi knows he will be defeated this time, for some reason your power exceeds any demons he has ever encountered in his life. He met lot of them, some are lower moon demons.
He never encountered an upper moon before. Could it be? He ponders, his breath hitched.
“Come out, come out and play!!!” You yell, abstract moves you’ve been throwing at him—though with all the power you have, you are not well trained for any combats.
Sanemi rises from the back of your wooden desk as something inside him clicked, standing firm and tall; his sword placed firmly on his shoulders.
“You’re going to die tonight, upper moon demon.” His voice wretched, puzzled with pain and rage—how could he possibly let this happen?
You bow deep, mocking him, mocking everything this man has ever done to you.
You and Sanemi drive towards each other in unfathomable speed; face to face with him, he’s seconds away from slashing your neck with his sword, and you’re seconds away from puncturing him with your blades of leafs flying on your shoulders, ready like arrows—you know this will be the end, the anger inside you are screaming to kill him, only him, as if there is unfinished rage inside you towards this man.
You couldn’t remember all the details lately, it’s all faltering away from your brain. Who is this man again? Why am I so angry towards him? He was my husband, right? Wasn’t he? Shinazugawa… silver hair… purple eyes… who is he? Why am I crying?
And in those milliseconds before death, everything slashes between his and your eyes, you can almost see him open his mouth, muttering something so soft you can only hear it now as someone with amped hearing.
“I’m sorry, for everything. I’m sorry for not loving you properly. But I couldn’t, it will always be her.” Sanemi whispers as his lips reaches your ear.
Oh. Now you remember. Kanae Kocho. His first love. It was all a blur.
Sanemi slashed your neck clean with one swing, as you changed your nails to a sharp root and stabbed it on his chest—right on; puncturing through his heart all the way to his back making your arm went through his whole body like a nail on a firm wall.
“That was really mean, Sanemi…” your head rolled away from your body, facing Sanemi who is hugging your headless body close to his as your arm punctured through his upper body still unmoved, Sanemi cries.
“I really did love you, even for awhile.” You sobbed, your head starting to dissipate slowly.
“I know.” Sanemi answers, coughing a lot of blood from his mouth as his body drops beside your dissipating head.
“I tried to love you, I did.” He mirthlessly laugh, all the blood came spurting out from his mouth.
“Maybe on another life, would you let me…” he coughs again, this time everything feels numb already, “…let me be your proper husband. To love you with all my heart.” He closes his eyes, finally accepting he’s dying alongside you.
“I will.” You whisper, watching him die first as your eyes slowly disappear from the reality as well.
“I will find you…” Sanemi whispers, calling your name for the last time as he finally exhaled his last breath.
You disappeared into the beautiful night, the moon and stars finally greeting you with a hollow smile on their faces.
Hundreds of years later…
Autumn of 2026,
“What is wrong with him, truthfully?” Your quirky friend, Mitsuri, reaches out to take the coffee from the campus’ canteen. It is packed today, everyone just wished to have a warmer shelter, the wind is blowing really hard outside.
“Him, him who?” You’re still gasping for air, being late for the morning class is hell already—but nothing beats being late to a class which you chose out of a whim, this class teaches about brief history of the world, and these two weeks it’s going to study about the time Japan faced an overwhelming murder case in which people are constantly dying and dismembered at nighttime for over hundreds of years.
“Him. Professor Shinazugawa. The new history lecturer. The last lecturer had to resign ever since his wife suddenly passed away-,” Mitsuri pauses herself, trying to chug down her cafe latte, “…wait… you didn’t know? Why is your face so shocked?” Her green eyes bulging out.
“Because I wasn’t in class this morning, duh.” You rolled your eyes, ordering one hot chocolate with extra whipped cream just for the fun of it, it’s autumn anyway.
“You should’ve seen the new guy. He’s like…” Mitsuri words falter away from her mouth as she looks behind you with horrors, you on the other hand was still busy scrolling Spotify for a new whimsy autumn playlist, waiting for your mug of hot chocolate.
“Like??” You didn’t take your eyes off your phone; well manicured nails with vines of flowers embroidered on each of your nail beds, the typing sound crisp enough, “I mean I understand you probably have a big fat crush on him. Let me guess, tall, muscles bulging, eyes deep with sorrow and trauma… he probably wears glasses low enough just to be an aesthetic. Oh plus he’s probably a pervert wanting to fuck one of his students.” You amuse yourself, laughing so hard just thinking about it.
“You were absent in my class this morning, and this is how you apologize for missing a session, young girl?”
What. The. Fuck.
“Oh shit- I mean holy fuck- no, fuck, I’m sorry you must be Professor Shinazugawa.” You turn around too fast that your hair is slamming the hell out of your own face, puffing out the strands on your face, you finally see the tall man crowding you, he’s so freaking tall and doesn’t look like he’s normal sized like other men.
Holy shit he is fucking hot.
He’s wearing a shirt and the arms rolled up tidily, glasses with a frame that is not too thick for his own good—his muscle is flexing with every moves, like it’s about to rip apart. His hair is fucking silver, too clean as it is pushed back. His face is clean, with jawline too sharp to even be called a jaw, his cheeks are a bit hollow as if he has been skipping meals.
He’s wearing a very normal trousers that fit his formal shirt so well, his belt is mesmerizing as much as his thick winter boots as if he’s going to war in the snow next month.
But his eyes… his eyes depict that he is carrying a lot of sorrows, this is the first time you’ve seen someone with eyes too grey it is almost purple.
When Sanemi looks at your face, his breathing stopped in an instant—your hair is auburn with red highlights, he assumes you dye it. Your polo shirt is too tight, 3 buttons from the top are unbuttoned leaving your bear cleavage to be seen by every fucking person in this goddamn campus. He almost shifted in sudden primal possessiveness; it fucking scares him because he barely knows you.
You have a thick scarf placed beside you on the stool with your thick long jacket, all brown colored. Your skirt is the same color as your polo, it’s navy blue and too short for his own good—but your stocking is also brown, though lighter than your scarf and jacket. You are wearing winter UGG for your shoes.
You are charming in his eyes. The sudden attraction burns his chest through his back, what the hell?
“Professor Shinazugawa?” Snapping out of his own trance, Sanemi cleared his throat before taking off his specs.
“You, meet me after your classes. We need to talk.” His voice low, cowering you with his deadly gaze, he passes by you—grazing a little as he’s reaching for his order.
When he reaches near you, his nose caught scents that is too familiar for him to ignore, it is mixture of wisteria, white flower, jasmine, and honeysuckle… with a tinge of fresh grass, and washed laundry.
Sanemi’s eyes are almost teary as he quickly wipes it off, you caught a glimpse of it before touching his arm—you never initiate anything towards a man, for a big reason you’ve hated being touched by a man or getting near them, so your hand flying by itself to touch Sanemi was too much.
Both of you are in shock, before you quickly gather up your stuff and flee, but without noticing Sanemi has quickly caught up on your small hurried steps.
“Why are you following me!” You scream, you’re not scared of him although he’s very intimidating, you just wanted to be left alone.
“I’m not following you, it’s your hot chocolate order.” He replied firmly, stopping just few steps away grabbing your hot chocolate order with his own hot coffee.
“Come and take it.” He orders, arm stretching out your drink.
Without hesitating, you take timid steps towards him, taking the drink away from his grip.
He watches your every move, eyes maintaining on you.
You look up, staring into his gaze with your big orbs. Lashes fluttering shy.
this is a request from anon but I accidentally deleted it while trying to edit (im new to Tumblr) so im reuploading it for anon's bday! happy birthday anon (huhuhu ごめんなさい (ó﹏ò｡)
part one click here
part ten click here
click here if you want to read in Ao3
pairings: sanemixreader/sanemixf!reader
genre: angst, smut, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, forced proximity, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers but it's too late, unadulterated hatred.
summary:
"The Demon Slayer Corp faces a threat: the dwindling population of their kind. The Ubuyashiki family, desperate to preserve the demon-slaying lineage, initiates a controversial program. As part of this mandate, you're assigned to bear the child of one of the most powerful and yet unstable Wind Hashira: Sanemi Shinazugawa.
As a skilled but also headstrong woman belonging to an infamous medic clan in the village, there was definitely resistance in the beginning, but it all comes down to the both of you to either make it work or be the disappointment of everyone."
wc: 30,009 and counting
footnote: hi sorry for posting again I just cant wait to quickly finish this and onto my next story!!
Trigger warnings: suicide attempt
You ran.
You don’t know how long you've been running, only stopping in between your tracks to take a breath. Your chest is pounding frantically, sending twinge of pain everywhere in your body but stopping means you’re giving up.
Maybe you do try to kill yourself by failing your heart. Who knows.
“Fuck everything. Fuck!” You exhaled so hard, your heart beating out of your chest. It is insane you can still breathe even though it is so hard to catch an air. Once you’ve calmed down, you realized you’re already so deep in the forest.
Your heart settled down, the weather feels cold against your skin now as chills prickled onto your skin, that feeling is coming back again… the worthlessness.
“I don’t deserve to live am I?” You ponder, lamenting as your eyes stare into the abyss of darkness.
“It is good if a demon came right now and kill me. Even better if they take me away from this place and turn me into one.” You mumble, gathering your tired legs against your chest, the night has gone relentlessly cold. You shiver down to the bones.
Seeing a piece of broken stones beside you, there is no thinking twice to it.
Your life has been shit your entire life, the healing clan that you feel apart of was just a facade of how your parents treated you. Chuckling by the fact that you’re an unreliable narrator in your own life, blocking all the bad memories from back in the village and pretend everything was okay.
Nothing has ever been okay in your life.
You killed men, after all—though they were all dangerous, perverted men but they were human and you took their lives. It has been haunting you, crisp in your wake.
On the other hand of not so important memories resurfaced, parents expected so much from you, father beating you every day like it was his sport, and for the weirdness of them all the whole village was crazy in worshipping the lake—talk about looney bin.
The pain, heartbreak you’re having is not just mere sadness because a man wouldn’t love you back after months of being together and fucking wholeheartedly, it’s never merely about Sanemi not accepting you for being his pretend wife.
The heartbreak, the pain, is about all the lives that you could have if only you were not born in this lifetime. If only you can skip your life right now to live another one far in the unforeseeable future.
The life you could’ve had if you didn’t take other people lives now you know you’re cursed and doom to live a reincarnation to burn off your sins.
To ponder, it is the fact that nothing is ever right, and you feel out of place the whole time. But at least by being someone’s pretend wife you had something to do with your life—building your own happiness away from your village; have your own farm in which Sanemi silently and solely gave to you.
He presented you a luxurious and lavish estate for you to roam, do your art and cook. He never had once asked you to be a maid in his life, he just lets you be… a free bird, although still caged and chained to his name.
But at the very least you were free and yet your heart yearns for more, for real love—in which Sanemi couldn’t give.
But you are humans after all, you always want more and in your life more means pain.
When you yearn more, pain and danger seem to roam your way—scarring you for good. Those lives you took…maybe it is good that you take your own life right now to redeem yourself.
Or so you thought.
Your tears haven’t stopped streaming down your wet cheeks, you’re hiccuping through your breath and the night just get colder and colder, mind is spiraling over the same things. You just wish to die right now, right here, not until a familiar voice greeted you.
“Well hello, look who it is.” Muzan bows, standing tall and firm with his hands on his back.
You didn’t bother to reply, only look at him with your bloodshot eyes and nodded with respect, before taking off the scene.
But Muzan, the strange man that he is, halt you from fleeing.
“And where do you think you’re going in this scary night, young lady?” He asks, not moving an inch from where he stands. The aura that he emits is giving you the fear for whatever reason it feels much better to be in the wild rather than being with this… whatever this stranger is.
“I’m going home, my husband is probably looking for me.” You replied still trying to be utmost polite, not wanting to hurt or set this stranger off. Last time this happened, you had to kill those perverted men.
Stop. Thinking. About. It.
“I can promise you I’m not a monster, young one.” As if he reads your mind, you nodded once again before walking back home.
“It won’t change anything, you know.” He adds, your little feet stopped.
“What do you mean?” You turn back, eyes maintaining on his crimson orbs. The man is peculiar, his skin is too white for his own good; as if he’s not part from your world. His eyes are red, crimson in color—a complete stark with his dark black hair which looks like it is the darkest hue of the palette. Who is this mysterious foreigner?
“Going back there, to the place that made you like this.” Muzan took his steps closer to you, as he reaches your body he’s already crowding you with his lean built. You flinched, feeling scared for no apparent reason.
“Do not be afraid, my child.” He adds again, giving you a handkerchief for your tears.
This is so wrong. If anyone from the village see that you’re engaging with another man so deep in the forest it will set everything backward, it will make everything worst.
“I really need to leave,” you sounded breathless, you can’t find your voice or strength to do so.
“It won’t change a thing, and you will always find yourself back here again with tears in your eyes.” That was the last thing Muzan said before he lets you go.
And he was a hundred percent right. Going back to the Wind Estate made everything worst. Sanemi is avoiding you at every moment he can, he will flee whenever he sees you arriving in the same place as where he’s standing.
He avoids you like you’re the plague and it pains your chest to see something like this. The relationship was going smooth, but you realized it was because you were trying too hard to please him where he has just been avoiding and accepting your silence.
He’s only there for the sheer sex.
Buddha, what have you got yourself into?
But the days got easier for a tad bit, you are busy.
Doing everything you can to take your mind off, doing the nonexistent laundry, cooking for yourself, farming, went to the nearest mine to look at some crystals, tend to the animals in the farm.
The cows aren’t talkative, same with your pretend husband Sanemi. But at least the cows give unsolicited head-butts every now and then which made you calm enough to finally have the courage, conjuring the question that you’ve been holding back to ask Sanemi.
The night isn’t too young, the dining room is empty but you sitting there with your tea. Suddenly the door opens, and before it quickly gets slammed shut, your mouth blasted the question out loud.
“What is happening to us?” You ask Sanemi, voice loud and bold as he’s getting ready to leave the dining room, the owls outside be the witness.
Sanemi is silent, but his eyes are showing different kind of emotions. There’s whirlwind of pain in his eyes, as if he wants to say it out loud, vomit the words out.
“Say something.” You practically begged him to talk at this point, but there he is again, going mute and mouth sealed shut; diverting his purple orbs somewhere else, anywhere but to look at you.
“Be a man and talk to me now, Shinazugawa!” This is a rare case where you yell—though not too blaring, yet your body flinch by how strong you’re holding yourself up till now.
Sanemi doesn’t move and yet the horror in his eyes when he realized your words was something else entirely.
“What do you mean ‘us’? There is no ‘us’ to begin with.” Sanemi spat, turning on his heels once again. His massive height used to turn you on, but now it’s just overwhelming for you to see that he’s out of reach, torturing your fears.
You feel like someone is strangling you, your throat is too tight, so tight that breathing feels secondary right now.
“But I am your wife!” Slamming your perfectly brewed tea on the wooden table—you stood up for yourself, literally.
“You’re nothing else but a tool for the corps! Don’t you get it? or you’re just too shallow to understand the game here?!” Not continuing his aim for the exit, Sanemi took steps to get closer and closer towards you instead, closing the gap between him and you.
The dining room is silent now, the space around seems like it’s too vast. Too big. But he feels too far, although you can vividly feel his breath skittering on your skin.
He’s boiled, oh, his blood boils whenever he looks at you.
The wretched hate he has towards you, the unadulterated pain he has screwing inside him whenever you’re around… but sometimes your lips, eyes, and your voice felt like a siren—drowning him, eating him alive, limbs torn bits by bits.
You’re drowning him sober, suffocating the man with your song.
“Oh now you’re fuckin’ quiet huh? Don’t run your mouth when you don’t know what ya’ ass talkin’ bout.” His accents slips up as much as the anger in his eyes seeping down to his flaring nose. Shoulders rise high, and quickly lowers—he’s trying to even his breathing and holding back.
“Why am I never enough? When am I going to be good for you?! I don’t even want to be here!” Your voice is achingly loud, painful on your throat and head. Sanemi was about to leave you alone, but hearing this question arise again sets him off more than he thought he’ll let himself.
“Why? You never really love me, do you?” Your sobs are coming out uncontrollably, and if you looked pathetic before now you look more than miserable and shameful.
You grabbed the hem of his Haori, shaking his body as if it will do anything.
“You’re blaming me for everything didn’t you? As if I have control over anything! I was sold like a broodmare and got matched to bear your fucking children… as if I do not have control over my body!”
“Shut up! I didn’t ask for this too, I never want this for myself. For us!” Sanemi didn’t push your hands away from his hem, but he grabbed both of your arms—trying to get his words straight into your brain. Short-circuit it may seem.
You scoffed, the man just still didn’t get it, huh? If you didn’t feel the way you feel this whole time, him bringing Kanae’s picture in his Haori wouldn’t be a big deal. He’s so dense and shallow.
“Sanemi, don’t you get it? I’m falling in love with you!” The words just blurted out of your mouth, featherless and fearless.
Sanemi drops his grip on your arms, as if he saw Kanae’s death two times in front of his wake.
The silence that went through the room for the second time sent both his and your ears ringing, it’s too quiet that the nature couldn’t react. The owls have stopped hooting, and the wind has stopped reacting.
The space and time is in pause, mutually listening to what is happening in the Wind Estate.
Sanemi was too stunned to utter a single word, until he decided to say something equally shocking.
“How would I know about your ‘feelings’ when all I feel when I see you is just hate.” Sanemi’s words were piercing, but his tone flat and monotone. You look up at him, panting with rage as your eyes craze on his left and right eyes, his hair is pushed down tonight—covering him from the truth of your gaze.
Fucking crazy bastard.
“You hate me?!” You scoffed, running your fingers on your scalp as you feel like your chest is going to burst any moment, “I hate myself more, Shinazugawa! How can you ever realize my feelings for you when all you think is just Kanae! She’s fucking dead! MOVE ON!” You screamed, face red as if it’s going to explode. Oh you feel dizzy.
And for Sanemi it was the last straw before he lost it.
“What did you just say?” His growls with disgust, threatening you.
“I said what I said.” You lowered your voice, not to cower but you’re going to pass out if you keep exploding like a freaking bomb. You’re taking your breath gently, softly; slowing your heart rate.
Sanemi sneers, he takes tons of steps back from you until he’s bumping the exit door, he has a vile smirk plastered on his face as if you’re just a demon he encounters.
“Because you’re not goddamn fuckin’ Kanae. That’s why! It should have been her. It should have been her with me. Wed to me. Bearing my children, but what? I am stuck here, to relive my duty, to be with you! It is disgusting for you to even think of falling in love with me when all I did was just using your cunt for a child and fuck you with hate. Such a shame for you; you’re so broken inside that a monster being nice to you is where you draw the line for love.”
Oh.
Oh.
Oh.
You shake your head not believing the thing that came out from Sanemi’s mouth. You have read his files, you have talked with Ubuyashiki about his personality and upbringing—but you never know it will be this rotten, this broken, wretched and unfixable.
The man is a monster, just like everybody else thinks.
“This is why Kanae died. She is a karma for you because you’re such a vile human being.” You mumbled, but you know he heard it, he did; that’s why he left the room without uttering another words but slamming the dining room slide door so hard it breaks into three pieces.
The Kakushi were in fact standing just outside the dining room, ready to serve you and the husband, but the fight break off so they had to listen to everything, awkwardly and painfully.
“What are you lookin’ at!” Sanemi yells at every one of them before they all running out of the hallway like rats.
“Shinazugawa-sama…” one of the kakushi stutters, her shaking hand pointing to the destroyed dining door.
“What?!” He barks back, slamming his fist on the wooden pillar of his estate’s hallway.
“Mrs. Shinazugawa… where is she…she’s gone…” the kakushi voice was weak, her shaking index finger is still shaking horribly, as if thunder has struck her consciousness, “…someone…something…took her…” she almost fainted in place.
Sanemi looks around quickly, but didn’t find any trace whatsoever.
What is it? A demon? How? This place is surrounded by hectares of Wisteria trees. Thus, why now? Why tonight?
That means, the thing who took you have been waiting—bidding it’s time on the ticking bomb.
Something clicked inside Sanemi’s scrambled thought. It is definitely a demon as the pungent smell suddenly strikes his and the rest of the kakushi’s noses; everyone grunted in unison.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He paces, grabbing his swords that he’d left outside the dining room. He gears up within seconds, chasing down the path to his estate’s exit towards nothing but shadow of the long, terrible night ahead.
reading a “there was only one bed fic” and the characters have decided to share the bed as long as they stay on their sides. i’m really glad they figured that whole mess out and am excited to read about them staying on their sides of the bed until morning^-^
༘˚⋆𖦹.˚ summary: Draco Malfoy, a death eater slash student in Durmstrang, is an assigned assassin with one ultimate order to kill Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, a top student in Hogwarts. Not only because she is a mudblood, she will also contribute in the downfall of Lord Voldemort according to the prophecy they received.
༘˚⋆𖦹.˚ words count: 4,233 counting
༘˚⋆𖦹.˚ posted in Ao3 as well (here)
༘˚⋆𖦹.˚ parts: ch.1 (and counting)
chapter summary: Draco sees Hermione for the first time and wishes he can finish the 'job' quickly. he can't stand her, not her caramel hair, not her golden brown eyes and certainly not her freckles. he loathes her.
It has become clear that Hermione Granger doesn’t like the Dining Hall when it’s overly crowded with hundreds of students gathering, chitchatting very loudly. She doesn’t mind public spaces, but she prefers public spaces where everyone is quiet and diligently listening to a speech or a class, and right now the Dining Hall hasn’t officially started the dinner yet—everyone acts like chattering monkeys in the jungle.
“For the love of Gods, I can’t concentrate!” She groans, slamming the book she has been hanging her nose on for the first time tonight.
“Mione, we’re going to have dinner! Why are you bumming yourself out again?” Ronald Weasley, who has his eyes everywhere, starts to notice her annoyance. He then shifted near to her just to make her calm down a bit.
It doesn’t work. Hermione gets even more restless.
“Stop. What are you trying to do?” She sneers, one eyebrow shot up.
“Making you feel a bit better?” Ron asks back, unsure of what he’s doing.
But it kind of works, although it is really hard for the caramel-haired girl to admit.
They laugh together about how silly everything has become—the eight-year-olds, they’ve spent the entire years together since the first one, and never once has Hermione wished things to be different. She loves this.
Harry Potter has been busy plotting against Lord Voldemort with Albus Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix. Hermione and Ron are also part of it, but not as knee-deep as Harry in it. The sixth year was a turning point for the order’s activation, since it has been known that the Death Eaters have been very brave attacking muggle cities and citizens.
Shaking the thought in her head, she focuses back to what’s important right now. Love. Relationship. Kindling with friends. Everything is just the way it is, and to be honest she knows a war is brewing—she’s ready, she will be.
Not realizing when she’s so down in her own head, Harry has finally settled down beside her with the cutest grin on his face. A stupid one.
“What? Why are you smiling like that?” Hermione raises another eyebrow of hers. These two boys are going to make her wrinkle faster than any potion.
“The plan is going to work.” Harry just simply whispered under his breath, his eyes as green as the meadows.
“Plan? What plan?” Ron chimes in, his red hair glowing with the candles in the hall.
“Later. Tonight I’ll tell you.” Harry quips quickly before Dumbledore steps up to the podium.
And with that, the dinner will be starting soon.
“…and before we start the feast, I would like to welcome a transfer student who will be joining us for the rest of the year. The final year.” The old man sounded like he’s having the most fun his entire year, before clasping both of his hands together like the mastermind he is.
“A very talented young man who will be joining Slytherin house for the final year, a strong wizard from our beloved brother school. I am sure everyone remembers the fourth year!” He nodded towards the Gryffindor table, yeah no one can forget that time Harry got pulled into the game and all hell broke loose. Lost a student.
“No, not the Beauxbatons!” He tried to shush the excited crowd of boys cheering.
“I welcome our one and only transfer student from Durmstrang!”
With that the whole school went silent as the door opened, only to reveal a tall-looking man with hair as white as the snow, no… it’s not white. His hair’s almost as bright as a unicorn’s silver tail, his hair is silver?!
His eyes are soulless, his face too white that his jawline popped sharply. His cheeks are a bit sunken, not the type of malnourished one—but just entirely good genetics. He has his hair pushed back, clean and formed. His uniform is red, like a soldier with brown-black fur latched from his left shoulder down to his right waist. Waist, yes… his waist looked like he had worked out tirelessly, his shoulders broad and strong it will be painful to bump him—as if Hermione can bump him, he’s too tall for her own good… taller than Ron.
He is so preppy. So serious.
“So curious.” Ginny murmurs as if she read Hermione’s head. The curly-haired girl cleared her throat before jabbing the ginger beauty with her elbows.
“He’s probably just going to be another ruthless bully like Pansy Parkinson.” Hermione tried to remind Ginny, as the latter looked like she was enjoying the view too much.
He walked very slowly, like he owned the game, like he owned the entire Dining Hall—like he knew his place and who he was. There was a determination in his gaze, a strong hatred and pale rage clouded with sadness. He looked like he was a trouble who was in deep.
Hermione took her gaze back to her book, now that the hall was quiet.
The moment the intense boy stood beside Dumbledore, he scanned the room as if he were looking for prey.
Bingo.
The boy set his eyes on the curly-haired girl. Her caramel hair stood out amongst her ginger-haired friends and the blondes. It was such a color, he thought.
She had her nose deep in her books, her brows furrowed, earning her early wrinkles—he thought again. But her lashes were thick as if she had cried a lot, making them grow longer and longer. Her eyebrows were not as bushy as her hair; they were rather formed well.
The disgusting things sprawled across her face— what was that again? Freckles. They looked so prominent on her—he fucking loathed them. Dirty-looking, like the mudblood that she was.
He hated her already.
“Welcome to Hogwarts! Do you mind introducing yourself? A story to tell the Hogwarts students about Durmstrang, or the reason that you are sent here?” Dumbledore shifted aside from his podium to give the pathetic boy a way.
Draco eyed Dumbledore for a few seconds, thinking the old man knew about the mission Death Eaters sent him to do, but no way he knew; no one was around at the time, not even Severus Snape.
“Draco Malfoy from Durmstrang Institute. Thank you.” Bold. Loud. Cold. Draco tips his head sternly before managing himself to leave the podium. Dumbledore opens and closes his mouth immediately as the boy finds his own seat already, in the pool of Slytherin—where he belongs, with his childhood friends.
From the end of his seat, he’s greeted with warmth and a lot of chit-chat from his fellow childhood friends. For the first time in a long time, the silver-haired boy smiled genuinely. But his smile immediately drops when his eyes yet again catch his prey, Hermione Granger, who finally stopped reading her books as she was busy chewing.
She’s chewing whilst laughing with her friends. Draco assumes they are… Ronald Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom… and… he snarls.
Harry Potter.
If he can choose who he hates more than Hermione Granger, it will be Harry Potter. But then he can’t choose at all. For the very least, Potter is half-half. Whilst Granger?
“Pathetic mudblood.” Draco mumbles from his lips, covering his mouth with the silver cup he’s drinking from.
Pansy Parkinson laughs as she heard that, nodding alongside him as she tried to get closer to his broad shoulders.
“I miss you, Draco.” She purrs, but he doesn’t care. He never does. Not to anyone.
The first class of the day is potions.
Draco Malfoy is ahead in his class. The boy is too smart for his own good. He’d aced everything ever since the first year until his last one. So joining the classes again wouldn’t be much of a problem for him. He knows the academic system in Durmstrang is much more advanced and prone to combat instead of textbooks. He can manage.
He can manage until that freaking mudblood came into the classroom with books thicker than the rest.
“Morning!” Hermione chirps to Parvati Patil, who’s sitting alone at the front. She left the boys to fend for themselves who chose to sit at the back,losers Draco thought.
He watches her, the way her hair tangled everywhere in the caramel curl bush, the way her feet drag into the class as if she will have the happiest time in it whereas he can tell that potions is her least favorite by the apparent eye bags under her eyes.
Last night her eye bags weren’t that dark. It was okay at best. She hadn’t slept more than four hours for that kind of eye bags, he knew for that is how he is trained in Durmstrang most of the days too.
He looks away, not wanting to look desperate.
Hermione settles herself adjacent to Draco’s seat, but Parvati starts to whisper something towards her that fished her attention.
“That’s that guy.” She whispers, trying to be lowkey but Hermione, the awkward ball that she is, made it painfully obvious whom they’re gossiping about.
“You know he wouldn’t even be interested in you even if you’re in Slytherin, Parvati.” Pansy exclaims, wanting the whole class to hear.
Goyle and Crabbe laugh so hard, but Zambini and Nott only snigger. Malfoy on the other hand is unamused.
“It’s okay. At least she doesn’t have a wretched personality to worry about unlike certain someone.” Hermione bites back, not bothering to look back.
“What did you just say to me?” Pansy fixed her seat, leaning into her own table to listen clearly—Draco who sits beside her has an expression change, he’s enticed.
“I said that you have a wretched personality.” Hermione adds, finally looking back at Pansy, eyeing her with her golden-brown eyes.
Huh. Draco didn’t see that last night, the bright color of her eyes.
He doesn’t care, crossing his arms across his chest as he leans back into his seat—amusing in the catfight that is about to happen.
“For a mudblood, you have such a big mouth, bushy.” Pansy bites her harder, the whole Slytherin kids are throwing ‘woo’.
“At least I have hair, you don’t even have an inch of what I have.” Hermione throws back, biting her bottom lip, knowing that it hits Pansy’s nerves. But she bit it for her own reason; she’s holding back tears and anger.
Draco still doesn’t have an expression on his face, but Hermione’s eyes shake for a second, and it lands on Draco’s pale orbs.
They lock gaze for merely seconds before she stares back at Pansy.
“And she’s still way smarter than you too, bowl hair.” Ron chimes from the back as Gryffindor kids ‘boo’ them back. Harry’s cackles are crispy in the room, but his eyes are filled with worry—he knows firsthand how Hermione feels about being called a mudblood.
Hermione clears her throat as she slowly turns back to her seat, Draco still watching her with trained eyes.
Her shoulders are shaking, not too hard to be noticed by just anyone until one focuses on it, and damn… as much as he loathes her, it is so hard to unfocus from the girl.
Hermione crumpled her fist so tight that it starts to change color to white; he stares as she dugs her nails deep into her palm…
Interesting. She has issues.
Draco tilts his head to the side; he smirks; Hermione can be called any names but hates being called a mudblood more than anything else. It is something damning in the first place; also, the shame she has is big; she hates being a mudblood, but she can’t blame her parents. She is torn in her own place.
Fickle, easy to break. He thought.
But he can’t hate her out loud like everyone else. The energy he has to hold back not calling her all the slurs is too big; he’s enhancing it every second. But he has bigger missions.
Draco needs to befriend her by the order of Lord Voldemort, or at the very least, can be someone she talks to. He needs to know the inside of Dumbledore’s army through her, and once he’s done taking all the information he needs, he will do the thing he has been waiting for, to kill her.
Though the class started with drama, it ends pretty briefly and well.
As everyone slowly leaves the class for individual learning, Hermione takes her time to pack all of her books before she dashes off to the professor, asking all the things she didn’t get in the class. Draco watches as he needs to stay behind as well for this is his first class ever in Hogwarts, thus having extra assignments.
“Miss Granger, you can study with Mister Malfoy if you’re still unable to understand. I am sure Mister Malfoy would be delighted to have a friend. You kids can study from each other, yes?”
And that is how the two of them ended up alone in the potions classroom.
“Um, hi.” Hermione coldly greets him; she doesn’t particularly have any problem with him as she remembered he wasn’t part of the kids just now who call her names or laugh at her.
Draco doesn’t answer. He fucking hates her.
Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood.
“So, which one do you don’t understand?” She asks, innocently as her eyes beam with curiosity. She’s watching him with those big brown eyes of hers; it gives Draco the scares as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat; why is his heart beating faster than normal?
Hermione still has her eyes on him, her lashes thick and long, fluttering with the morning rays of light that puncture through the small windows of the basement classroom.
Why the fuck is she glowing?
“So?” She hangs her question with an awkward smile; she still tries to get into his head.
Draco shakes his head slowly with brows furrowed; his face looks pissed.
“What do you mean?” He asks back. This is the first time she heard his voice so clearly and close to her. She didn’t quite catch his voice back in the Dining Hall as she was busy with her readings.
She’s taken aback at how heavy his voice sounded like. It’s not high-pitched like Nott, it’s not as gruff as Zambini—surely not as kiddy as Harry’s voice or mumbled like Ron’s.
Draco’s voice is heavy with an accent, like his cords are framed by the mountain of rocky ice and snow.
Like deep, buried, cold.
Hermione shudders before stuttering, “Uh—that, you know.” Bollocks, she gives up talking.
“I understand everything. I don’t need your help.” He replied curtly. The smile in her face drops as it flips to hurt.
“Oh. I apologize.” She mumbles, shifting back into her own space in front of him before digging her own books and notes.
Too. Damn. Hard. Why is it so hard to play nice to her? Is it because she’s a mudblood? Mudblood is a wretched thing that has ever happened to the wizarding world.
Draco exhaled so hard as if he’s exhausted of thinking, spiraling. He clears his throat before starting over.
“I mean, I already know everything since the curriculum is advanced back in Durmstrang Institute.” He tried so hard to sound normal. Inside, he is fuming with disgust just to talk to her. But he needs to do this, for the mission, for the war.
“Interesting!” Her mood is so easy to play with. Draco places his chin on his own palm before assessing her. Hermione looks at him weirdly before looking down at her books and herself.
“What?” She asks, confusion laced in her words.
“You surely don’t have any idea of what you’re doing in this class, are you?” Draco’s lips fumbled into a disgusted pout. Hermione, knowing that he hits right on the spot, opens and closes her mouth like a dying fish.
“That is not nice to say out loud, you know.” She tried to change the subject, still staring at Draco’s lazy eyes.
“I was just saying, it doesn’t take bollocks to guess one.” He adds, “I can teach you this potion at least.” He points to Draught of Peace.
“That one is so hard to master, I haven’t been able to do it for ages.” Hermione frowns, scratching her head with her lousy wand.
Even her wand is as ugly as she is, a mudblood.
Draco proceeds to listen to Hermione explaining where she has her problems, where she always gets the potion wrong.
And yet, although he is fuming inside and his face shows no emotions but flat, listening to Hermione has made Draco, somehow, in his own challenged way, forget that he is part of the war that is about to happen.
That he is a soldier, a skilled assassin in the Death Eaters who has gone on missions to murder many lives, muggle and mudblood, on his hands.
༘˚⋆𖦹.˚ summary: Draco Malfoy, a death eater slash student in Durmstrang, is an assigned assassin with one ultimate order to kill Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, a top student in Hogwarts. Not only because she is a mudblood, she will also contribute in the downfall of Lord Voldemort according to the prophecy they received.
༘˚⋆𖦹.˚ words count: 4,233 counting
༘˚⋆𖦹.˚ posted in Ao3 as well (here)
༘˚⋆𖦹.˚ parts: ch.2 (and counting)
"You will need to kill her."
The sound of fire crippling, burning the remaining woods Dobby took just an hour ago. This house, his house, is always his favorite sanctuary whenever he visits back from Durmstrang, library is his favorite spot to hide from his dotting mother, Narcissa Black Malfoy and his nagging father, Lucius Malfoy.
Malfoy Manor is his place, it's the only place he feels like he is safe from the pressure of everyone, the pressure of school and the heavy burden of being a Death Eater.
The Assassin.
And now he is sitting there, in the head of the dining table in their manor, Lord Voldemort. Draco doesn't know what entice him to choose Malfoy Manor to be the headquarters of meetings with the murderous Death Eaters, but he can't say anything, he can't say no. He will never say no to his Lord. As the sacred 28 family of the Wizarding World, the choice is to be one of them or die trying to deny, the sacred 28 is rooted in pureblood supremacy, in the beliefs that wizarding family needs to be clean of all mud, of filthy blood and somehow along the way it matches with Lord Voldemort's ideology.
"Harry Potter belongs to me and I know he will die in my hands, but we have another problem..." Voldemort's voice have the notion of being breathy, almost throaty as if he doesn't have the energy to talk, it was like a hiss of a snake. It never settles right with Draco, the way he's talking always sets the silver-blond haired off. "There is this girl... his friend," he stops, looks around but nobody ever dare to look him in the eye, no one.
"A mudblood will contribute of my downfall, she is fighting with Harry Potter." He chuckles, demeaning and disgusted. "A mudblood." he repeats, now he doesn't laugh, not anymore. His voice stern and clean, he got up from his seat.
"A mudblood will kill me!" He yells, slamming both his pale fits on the table, the table where Draco shares delicious dinner with his family every night, the table where he will celebrate Christmas with his dotting mother, the table he crammed up his homework. He flinches, his shoulder jolted up.
"That will never happen, my Lord. I can kill her for you, quick and easy my Lord." Bellatrix Lestrange grovels, she shoved her chest out with shoulder high and broad-she knows she can do it, easy to kill mudblood for her, it is her sport.
She twirls her hair, nodding in agreement to herself with doe crazy eyes pleading to the Dark Lord, Draco sits in silence and disgust.
"No." Is the only answer Voldemort utters, he looks around the room as if deep in thinking, his piercing red gaze lowered when he sees Draco with his blank stare and face, emotionless. He is detached.
"I want you, my boy." His disgustingly long nails pointed to Draco, the paleness in his face spread even more, his eyes slashed with horror in split second before he grounds himself to normalcy.
Show no emotions. Show no emotions. Show no emotions. Show no emotions. Show no emotions. Show no emotions. Show no emotions. Show no emotions.
"Yes, my Lord?" Draco clears his throat, nodding to Voldemort.
"You will infiltrate Hogwarts, meet her and kill her."
"How do you want me to do it? Quick or?" The pale looking man still has his blank stare with no emotions, but now his pale blue orbs focused on the Dark Lord.
"No. Slow. I want you to take your time, there is no need to rush my young boy." Voldemort hissed, his long nails petting Nagini, his beloved snake, "We have time... my friend here still need to do his bidding with the ministry, I want everything in my hands first before I make any more move. I want everything to conclude beautifully, gracefully." He continued, the snake is now traveling across the dining table before going back to her master.
Draco hates snakes.
"I want you to see Hogwarts, study how they protect the castle, find ways for us to get in without causing any ruckus, befriend her... asks her questions about the castle, about Harry Potter. Whatever you need to do as a genius young boy to make my plan a success, I will reward your family a fortune." Voldemort nods, he keeps nodding slowly as if wanting Draco to understand what he meant without ever needing to repeat, he loves it when his followers just understand him.
He hates needing to teach them anything, or guide them.
"But my Lord, he is in Durmstrang now doing his last semester and I-" Lucius Malfoy's voice is shaking, very much apparent that he is scared to voice out his opinions but he fears nothing more than Draco Malfoy being a student in Hogwarts.
He did his best to send his little boy to Durmstrang, his enough power and money he has succeeded in sending him away where only pureblood enters the school, distancing his only son from the hogwash of Hogwarts.
Voldemort stops his motion on touching Nagini, yet his red gaze still remains in the skin of his beautiful snake. The corner of his mouth lifts up, and it shut Lucius immediately with whimpers of apologies he uttered, hiding behind his long silver hair.
Draco doesn't hear the crackling sound of the woods anymore, the fire has burned out long time ago for that the entire dining room has gone colder, shivers running down his spine to his ankles. It's cold, he hates cold. He hates Durmstrang.
Cold. Durmstrang is cold. Latched on the alps of snow and ice. He hates cold.
He feels cold.
Draco shifts uncomfortably, hugging himself softly, trying to warm up.
"You start tomorrow, Draco..." Voldemort stands behind him, he doesn't notice his moves... yet what to expect from a man like him, is he even a man at all. Draco hears Voldemort whispers before he vanished into thin air with Nagini, never to be seen until he is called upon or he calls. He feels warmer now, better, his paleness gone.
Tomorrow is the new start of year, he finds himself dragged to eight year in Durmstrang already, what a great surprise. Every year he comes back to that school he wishes he can somehow kill himself so that he can escape the heavy feeling on his chest that is twisted like a rust screw.
He doesn't like Durmstrang, he wants to be in Hogwarts for his childhood friends all went to that school, he was separated from the kids ever since they were just ten going eleven, he hasn't seen them for a long time as well for their schedules somehow clashes. Zabini, Nott, Parkinson, those are his friends whom he misses dearly.
Before he gets up from his seat, the fireplace burns with green fire, floo from who?
As if the universe answers Draco's mind, Igor Karkaroff appears from the fireplace, he is a notorious Death Eater who has been the headmaster of Durmstrang for a while now. Nobody is brave enough to knock him down, some whispers are saying that he is part of the Death Eater, which is foremost true, but no one believes that Voldemort is back.
"You, young man, apologies for the sudden plan but I have already arranged your move to Hogwarts. Temporary of course, your father begged me not to move you permanently so I talked with Dumbledore that my smartest student in the final year will be joining Hogwarts for a student exchange kind of thing, I don't know that he is that dumb and oblivious to accept you maybe it's the age talking."
He laughed, taking the scotch from the small table near the fire place before gulping it down like it is water. He has the energy to talk for a long time, quickly as well, Draco doesn't like him tad bit.
"Thank you, sir. Father, mum." Draco nods to each one of them, but only kisses his mother on the cheek. He leaves the dining room and closed the door behind him, before he sighs the longest breath, his eyes are trailing along the hallway of his manor. He feels weird, as if he is excited.
He looks down to his sweaty palms before squeezing them, he feels more alive than ever.
Hai!!!! How are you doing? :3 I wanted to see if I could request a sanemi x reader where maybe Mitsuri is talking to reader and tells her that she should try to be open to love in order to help her destress from her job as a slayer. Reader admits that she already has someone shes in love with. Mitsuri just happens to put the pieces together that its sanemi. Reader expresses her insecurities that he deserves someone thats not as average as she thinks she is and that she would never even be on his radar. Mitsuri gets called away so reader is walking back to her place just to find out sanemi was around the corner and had heard everything. He in turn confesses! You can take it anywhere you want with it!! Thank you <3
Snowflake in the Wind
pairings: sanemixreader/sanemixf!reader
genre: slight angst, fluff ♡
wc: 3,708
answer: oh this is such a great request I immediately finished this in one sitting I feel so inspired and domestic writing thissss!! thank you
Another training bites the dust. You are the only Demon Slayer member who is using the Ice Breathing technique; moreover, you are not exactly just another ‘member’ since you’ve been newly promoted as Hashira. The Ice Hashira.
The title? Yes, it does sound good, but to remind you that everything you’re doing here just leads to perdition… the title doesn’t sound good at all, but a burden.
Maybe you’re being harsh, or the stress of mastering the breathing technique that has come naturally to you feels a bit stressful. Not to mention you’re training with the coldest and alarmingly ruthless Hashira of them all: Giyuu Tomioka and Sanemi Shinazugawa.
Training with Tomioka was a bit easy; he didn’t talk much, which made everything less awkward and more physical demand on 1v1. But training with the latter, on the other hand…
“Nightmare!!!” Mitsuri, the Love Hashira, squealed from afar just by seeing you. Did she read your mind, or is she implying something else? You wouldn’t put your coin to guess with this one; she’s weird, all right.
Weird, but your favorite Hashira of them all.
“What is it this time?” You asked her, still walking slowly towards her, dragging your exhausted feet after dueling with Sanemi. His barking orders and whatnots are starting to rummage through your ears; it hurts, literally.
Dropping all the formalities with Mitsuri has been the norm between you and her, just the two of you.
Excited squeals escaped her mouth yet again; she dashes towards you, expanding her toned arms to get a hug out of you.
“I miss you so much!! My bubbles!!!” She excitedly exclaims when you hug her back, wrapping your less toned and muscular arms around her toned body. She is built very well, amazingly strong and muscular. You envy her strength—combat strength and agility are amazing.
Mitsuri grabs your face; she studies you for a beat, then she bit her lower lip dramatically; she then sighs loudly in front of your face—what? What is it this time?
“You look so stressed out, my love…” The beaming smile that’s usually plastered on her face like a summer festival mask is nowhere to be found tonight; she looks palpably sad.
“I’m just tired, love.” You tried to amuse her by touching her cheeks as well, but seeing there are no blush splattered on her cheeks means that she meant business when she looked worried.
“Umm, exhaustion itself doesn’t look like this, bubbles. You are always filled with joy even when you’re tired. What is it?” She tried to drag you down and sit by the porch of the Hashira headquarters.
Ever since a year ago, Master Ubuyashiki has made a beautiful quarter for the Hashira. He created a bathhouse inside with steaming onsen and a view of a mountain. He also has rooms built for rest and sleeping, another space he made for the Hashira to wind down with tea and snacks. Since the other mansion was made for meetings, this one is made soundly for decompressing.
And tonight, you needed it most rather than coming back to your own estate first thing after intense practice.
Settling down by the porch with your legs dangling down towards the pebbled garden, Mitsuri comfortably slouched beside you as she rested her head on your shoulder.
“I can feel it, you know. When people don’t feel alright inside.” Her voice now sounded more like a murmur. She whispered calmly as she exhaled soft breathing from her nose.
“Yeah.” You quip. Can’t think of anything else when the stars in the dark sky tonight are so exquisite—there are so many things to be thankful for, but your heart yearns for more.
Sanemi.
Out of all people, why him? The unforgiving, ruthless guy who ditched his own brother. The guy who would hurt a fly even if that fly didn’t do anything wrong. The guy who barks orders around like his life depends on it. The guy who wouldn’t mind hurting anyone in front of him.
Yet you found everything about him gratifying—the way he’s ruthless to the ones who deserve it, selfishly fought, and secluded himself from everyone so that when he passed, no one could feel the pain as much as he did in his life.
Yes, you can read him as easily as an open book. But at the same time, you can never get close to him, to talk more than “one step forward with deep breathing” or “your form is a mess, you will die in seconds.”
It is so hard to get close to him, to merely talk out of practice duties.
He never sees you.
He never knows you are always there hoping he’ll bat a single gaze on you.
He moves with the wind, nonchalant, always there, but invisible.
Mitsuri stares at your longing look, your gaze is fixed on the starry skies, but hers is on yours.
“You should give love a chance.” She smiles with her words, you know even without seeing her face. Her eyes are sparkling with hope.
“Huh?” Caught off guard, you stare back at her slouched body resting against your shoulder blade.
“Yep. You need to give love a chance, bubbles. If you keep pondering about it but never make an actual move, it is futile in the long run.”
You slowly turn your head back up and stare at the starry sky again.
She is right. You never actually make the move because you’ve always implied that Sanemi is not interested.
It is true. He is not interested.
“But, even if I tried, I don’t think that person is interested in me. It’s not just the cold demeanor… I mean, give Tomioka-san as an example. He is cold, but I can talk to him, you know? He’s responsive in his good days, but even in his bad days, there is still something human.” You grumbled, thinking of all the interactions you have with Giyu—making him as someone you can compare with Sanemi is actually quite stretching and delusional, since Giyu is not even almost the same as extracted from the world as Sanemi.
Giyu is an introvert overall, but Sanemi is…
“Different.” Mitsuri answers your head as if she’s reading your palm for the future.
“Different?” You question her back, not knowing what she meant by that blunt statement.
“The person you yearn for is different from Tomioka-san, bubbles. You can’t just put people in boxes knowing everyone is raised differently. Moreover, the people that you know, the members… the Hashira… they are all inherently different. Everyone has their own thing, and you need to approach everyone with how it fits them nicely. And you too.”
“So you assume I need to have a romantic relationship with someone from the Corps?” You raised your eyebrow playfully, nudging her body.
“I do not assume. You did. I was just continuing where you started. I just remind you to be open about love, but suddenly you’re referring to Tomioka-san as an example from someone…” before Mitsuri trails off, your palm covering her lush lips annoyingly.
This time the pink-green haired girl actually did assume.
For some reason, there is no way you have kindled a romantic attraction with anyone outside the Corps since you’ve been here when your age became two digits, yes, 10. You are the only kid practically raised in the Estate, and you have no hobbies of going out to town except when it’s snowing and you itch to watch the snow falling in the city atmosphere.
“I know, I know.” You rolled your eyes, pushing her away from you playfully once again as she finally settles up from her seat beside you. You didn’t know that she knows, you just assumed she’s trying to matchmake you again with the Stone Hashira.
“I do give love a chance, you know?”
“Hmm? Like how?” Mitsuri playfully slurred, grabbing your silver white hair—white, as sparkly as the snow, into her palms before braiding it for fun.
“I know that the person I’m attracted to will never look at me, he will never like me or even give love a chance. That person is someone very strong, and also very well-guarded on the heart and love factor. He had loved before, but that woman passed away all too fast. I don’t think that person will ever love again. What he had for her was so strong, or so I was told.” You tried to explain slowly, but talking this out loud just made your eyes heavy with tears.
“Also,” you tried to continue, Mitsuri humming a song so softly that it calmed your mind, “he is an amazing person, he deserves someone as amazing as he is. He is strong, resilient… he is someone I admire but only from afar. I don’t think I will ever be close to him, or can form a conversation long.”
“Hmm, have you ever tried?” Matsuri asks, almost finishing her braids on your icy hair.
“No, but I already know the result. It will be fruitless.” You slouched, placing your chin on your palms before exhaling loudly.
“This is why I told you to give love a chance, bubbles.” Matsuri replied, her tone is so soothing that it makes you think twice to drop a name of this guy you’re interested in.
“I am an average girl, after all. I am not pretty with raven black hair. I don’t have a beautiful breathing technique like all the girls here—I’m not trying to compare or wish to be seen differently, or that I just want attention from saying this…”
“I understand. I know what you mean, bubbles.”
“…I don’t think I deserve to be loved, or that at least from the person I want to be close with. Even though we’re in the same world, there is still so much space between us. Like the ocean with the moon. I’m average at best, and the guy that I’m interested in deserves someone better than me, stronger, prettier… someone right. He never looked at me the way I look at him, and there is always this coldness, awkwardness? I don’t know. I think he even knew that I’m not worth spending his time on, who am I anyway?”
Mitsuri looks at you and sees your little blush sparkling on your pale cheeks. She immediately understands, but what breaks her heart is that the sparks came from the tears rolling down your eyes.
Who else can pull this kind of reaction from you in the Corps?
No one but Shinazugawa.
It is a wild guess, though. Mitsuri is your best friend, and she keeps in touch with everyone you’ve interacted informally with, which is almost everyone except Shinazugawa.
There is always something going on with you and him, and there is always some tension between Shinazugawa and himself whenever you try to sit near him during meetings.
And there is always that look of peace and calm whenever you arrive at the meetings—unharmed.
But there is always anger and fury in his eyes, anxiety popping from his neck from when you arrived at the meetings with scratches and bandages.
And there is you, who always look at Shinazugawa whenever he’s not looking. Who always adds ten more minutes to your time with him whenever you’re sparring, and Shinazugawa lets it happen.
Who always leaves him water after a hot training day, and he finishes that water quickly whenever you leave his estate.
And now it all clicks to Mitsuri like a last missing puzzle.
Her eyes beamed excitedly.
Before anyone could break the little tension, a crow arrives for Mitsuri, reminding her of a meeting tonight in the city.
“Where are you going?” Your head tilted aside. Where is she running off so quickly? Wiping your tears off, the pink-green-haired girl pumped up her gears, ready to take off.
“I just remember I have a meeting, a dinner meeting with Iguro-san! Oh, I apologize, bubbles. I need to leave. We’ve been dying to try this new place in town for months now! I will get back to you tomorrow, I promise!!!” She screamed talk as she ran out of the estate. You can hear all her words until she skittles out of your sight. She is loud and strong, her lungs are top-notch.
With a nodding smile, you also take your small feet back to your own estate.
The walk was not long. The entire land was bought out by Master Ubuyashiki—hectares of hectares of hectares of land all in this area are for the Demon Slayer members. There are mansions of the Hashira sprawled everywhere circling the land, so it is a safe place to walk in—adding the Wisteria plantation that goes on all around the estate.
You skip with your little walks, sadly humming the song of the snail. The night is bright, stars are dancing in awe with your little hums.
Nothing is certain like this peaceful night without the demon hunts, killings, and people dying—there are out there, but for one night, you want to be selfish and just enjoy the time you have for yourself.
But your breath hitched when you saw him.
“Shinazugawa-sama. Have a good night.” You bowed, he’s your senior after all. Bet he’s walking down to his estate from sparring with someone up in the peak.
But oh Buddha, does he look so good. His uniform is open as usual, bare chest with that scar mark proudly scarred on his tan skin. He has a bit of disheveled hair, little stubbles on his jaw and chin… fuck.
His biceps are tight and stretching out the cutting of his haori, the veins of his hands running down to his palms; rugged, jagged, heavy.
You gulped.
He doesn’t reply, as usual. He casually nods without even battling an eye for you.
Typical. But your heart feels heavy, so it’s better to quickly remove oneself from the situation.
As you take another step, this time without the skipping and the humming, you can feel the air breeze quite warm in this cold night.
“Wait.” He commanded.
Your heels halt, turning around to see his tall figure already shading the moon and the stars from your vision.
“You’re cold?” He tried to make a conversation out of the sudden?
“No, I am not cold, Shinazugawa-sama. Why?” You ask him back, clueless.
“It’s just- erh, I can feel that you are cold.” He shrugged, awkwardly.
“Huh?” You question him again before he exhaled annoyedly as he hastily grabbed both of your palms—his eyes staring at you with “I told you so” looks.
Oh. He is so warm.
“Hmm, it’s normal temp for me though.” You giggled, just trying to take all of this moment in your head since it is so out of character for him to do any of this.
This marks the first time the Sanemi Shinazugawa touched you outside of sparring and exercise. You are blasting with joy and confusion.
“Is it?” Sanemi trails off, it feels like he is captured by the delicateness of your palms.
His words are lured out of his mouth like sailors being lured by sirens, he keeps holding your small hands in his big, heavily trained ones. He can feel your skin as cold as ice, but it quickly melts with his warm ones.
“I am cold by default, Shinazugawa-sama. I am Ice Breathing user.” You told him matter-of-factly.
Sanemi doesn’t budge, but this time he looks down at you so intensely that you realized his eyes are hovering over you, and if you’re brave enough to look up it will be an awkward staring contest with his mauve eyes.
Then you remember Mitsuri’s chirping advice to always be open for opportunities.
So, you looked up.
“I’m just trying to make small talk.” He stares at you intently. Indicating you that he knew something, something he shouldn’t have known.
“What do you- oh!” And it hits you, he was there just now when you talked with Mitsuri about that one person you like.
And now there is nothing but silence, with hoots of owls circulating the space. Sanemi doesn’t take his eyes off you nor his hands away from the grip, he casually entangled his fingers in between yours, locking it tightly.
Now you really realize how small you are compared to him, like everything.
“You’re such a snowflake.” He murmurs, with confusion laced in your face as a result.
“What?” Your head tilted aside again, he almost kills himself when you did that—too adorable for him, he hated it when you tend to do that during meetings because it takes off his attention span of how important strategies are but nothing more important than seeing your quirks live in front of him
“You are not easy to catch, even if someone did it will melt quickly in their hands.” He whispers but his eyes are still focused on your glowing orbs—your eyes are pitch black, contrasting to everything in your skin.
Your hair, brows, and everything else are as white as silvery snow. Your nail beds are pale, your cheeks are white and rosy red. Your skin is pale white as a corpse and you are cold all the time, but your eyes are a stark color of your rest.
You look away, not knowing what is happening and where this is going. Your eyes are trained forward, looking at nothing but his bare, scarred chest.
“Look at me,” his thumb flickers on your chin, “look at me.” He repeats, his thumb caressing your chin.
With heavy thoughts, you tilt your head again to look at his eyes.
There is a lot of anger, a lot of anxiety, and storms, but once you soften your eyes, his follows.
“Like a snowflake, you’re passing by ever so quickly. It is so hard to really look at you and admire you, as you think you are the same as other snowfalls. But each snowflake is different, they have unique carvings. Am I right?” Sanemi’s voice is calm. Eerie because the man was never this stable, he always raised his voice everywhere with everyone.
You nod.
“Answer me.” He demands, his thumb still caressing your shaking chin.
“Yes. Each snowflake is unique of its own.” Your voice tried so hard to escape, but with shaky breath it sounds like you’re whining.
“And to each their own.” Sanemi adds, his thumb still maintaining a calm motion on your chin, his other hand still holding your cold one.
“To each their own.” You repeat, still trying to digest what he meant by everything.
“You are deserving of love, you are unique. There is nothing average about you. From the outside, everyone is the same indeed, but when you look at them very closely, they all have different carvings with them, and that made you unique. You are a snowflake, after all.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your voice is small, timid, and scared. What if this is a prank? Is this what you think it is? You tried to look for something inside Sanemi’s eyes—mischief, lies, or jokes… but the man was never that part; he’s always serious, naturally rigid, and angry. Jokes and smiles are not his life.
“You are my snowflake.” Sanemi affirms, taking both of your hands now and holding it tight to make sure you get the gist.
A man that he is, he never once takes his eyes off of you, and that means he meant it.
“From the moment I laid my eyes on you… I have fallen for you. But I know in this world we’re living in, there is no space for love. But by day, my feelings just grow and grow.”
“But weren’t you in a relationship before this?” You awkwardly tried to take yourself out of this too-good-to-be-true situation. Maybe you passed out somewhere, and this is all just a dream.
“I was never with her. She was just my friend; I told her everything about you even before you became a Hashira. And when she passed, it was hard for me, but it was harder for me to approach you because no one else believed I am worthy of your time. I mean, look at you.”
“I’m nothing much; I’m just a girl.”
“You are the girl, snowflake.”
Feeling like you have turned into a mush, which is never, Sanemi quickly grabs your waist to steady yourself.
“Is this all too much for you right now?” He worries; now his voice turns a bit stern like he’s trying to compose himself; he thinks he has said too much in too little time.
“No, no, please. It’s just that this is all so…” you trailed off, but seeing his worries started to cloud Sanemi’s eyes, his expression started to spiral into embarrassment; you quickly grabbed his face before muttering “fuck.”
You crashed your lips onto his, pressing it flat just to make sure that he’s where he has to be.
Words are not your forte, and it is also not Sanemi’s biggest tool and favorite thing to do. So the moment you tried to pull away from him, he quickly wraps his huge arms around your fickle figure, pulling your petite, small body into his caged hug—his lips still capturing yours, hungry and wanting for your attention.
Rough, but sweet.
“For someone who looks scary, you surely taste sweet, like Ohagi.” You mutter against his opened mouth, his steam of hot breath trickling your whole face as he grunted with annoyance, picking you up effortlessly in his care.
“And your lips are not cold as snowflakes as I imagined it to be. You’re going to be the death of me.” Sanemi groans as he took a while to look at your flushed face, your cheeks rosy red and lips lushed pink from his kisses. His eyes are shaded by your white strands and lashes—he was pissed for not being able to be with you before, but now he is beyond pissed off for the reason he needs to share your beauty with everyone else too now that he assumes you’re his.
