Fandoms & Stuff

✨ What the Spirit Endures (Sanemi x Reader) ✨

A slow burn Reader x Sanemi with canon twists, original characters, raw and unfiltered emotions, angst, and tension that simmers into tenderness… and eventually, heat (smut implied). Planned for 18 chapters.

Description: Your performance on Mount Natagumo stuns the Demon Slayer Corps. Your spirit is unshakable, your strength undeniable-and everyone takes notice.

Everyone except Sanemi Shinazugawa.

To him, your light is just another weakness to crush. But the more you endure his fury, the harder it becomes for either of you to ignore the pull between you.

---- Chapter 1 : The Mountain's Spirit----

The air on Natagumo Mountain reeked of blood.

Mist clung to the trees, heavy and suffocating, while moonlight fractured across broken branches. Screams echoed faintly through the forest—the desperate cries of demon slayers caught in the web of terror that lived here.

The trio had fought bravely, but it wasn’t enough.

Tanjiro’s lungs burned as he forced another swing of his Nichirin blade, his arms trembling with exhaustion. His breathing technique faltered, rhythm breaking as his vision blurred. Every muscle screamed that he couldn’t keep going.

Zenitsu lay slumped against a rock nearby, body paralyzed and skin mottled purple from poison. His shallow breaths rattled in his chest, sweat dripping down his pale face.

Inosuke staggered to his feet again, refusing to stay down. His boar mask hid his expression, but his ragged voice cracked with pain. “I… I won’t… lose!” His arms shook as he raised his blades, his body clearly at its limit.

And then the forest shifted.

A shadow moved through the mist—unhurried, calm. A presence unlike the chaos of battle. The fog itself seemed to bend toward it, as though it recognized you.

You stepped into the clearing.

Your black kimono, patterned faintly with sakura petals, was cut short at the thigh. A white sash glowed in the moonlight, wooden sandals pressing lightly into the dirt. Over your shoulders draped a white haori, the Demon Slayer crest etched bold on the back.

Your hair framed your face, catching the pale light. Skin glistened faintly with sweat. And in your hands… twin blades, white as bone, gleaming as though alive.

The air trembled. A hum rippled outward, steady and calm, like the beat of a heart.

“Who—” Inosuke started, but his knees buckled, his body collapsing under his injuries.

You exhaled slowly. The mist shivered. Raising your swords, you took a stance none of them had seen before—not Water, not Flame, not Insect. Your movements carried not rage or fury, but spirit.

Spirit Breathing.

Your blades cut the air in silence. Each swing was a prayer, each step a ritual. White light trailed behind every strike, slicing through the webs that bound the trees and demons alike. Lesser demons shrieked as they were cleaved apart, their bodies dissolving into ash before they could even cry out.

But deeper in the woods, a heavier aura descended.

Rui stepped from the shadows.

His pale face was calm, his red eyes glowing with twisted arrogance. Threads unfurled from his hands, sharp enough to cut stone.

“So… this is who the Corps sent?” His smile widened as his gaze landed on you. “You look calm now, but I can smell it. The fear under your skin. You’ll break like all the others.”

His aura pressed down on the clearing. Tanjiro forced his body up, desperate. Nezuko broke from her box, stumbling to his side. Together, they struck—Hinokami Kagura igniting his blade, her blood bursting into flame.

For a moment, their bond shone bright. Rui’s head rolled from his shoulders.

But his body did not fall.

“You thought you cut me?” Rui sneered, his head reattaching effortlessly. “Pathetic.”

Tanjiro collapsed, Nezuko staggering, both unable to move again. Rui’s threads lashed out, countless razors screaming toward them.

And then the world stilled.

The webs were severed mid-air.

You stood before them, blades glowing faintly, white light humming through the clearing. Rui’s smirk faltered.

He tilted his head, mocking.

“And who are you supposed to be? Another weakling pretending to be strong?”

Your voice was quiet, but sharp enough to cut the silence.

“No. I don’t pretend. My strength is not for cruelty. It’s for protecting.”

Your blades crossed. The hum grew louder, vibrating through the air itself.

Spirit Breathing, Seventh Form: White Lotus Severance.

You surged forward. Rui’s threads multiplied into a storm, but your swords cut through them like paper. Step by step, you close the distance, your movements precise, inevitable. Rui’s eyes widened as your blades traced an arc of light across his neck.

This time his head fell for good. His eyes widened in disbelief, fury fading into ash with the rest of him.

The forest exhaled. The suffocating weight vanished.

You lowered your swords, breath steady. Your gaze flicked briefly to Tanjiro and Nezuko, alive but barely standing.

“Rest,” you said softly. “You’ve done enough.”

From the trees, two Hashira had arrived—too late to act, but not too late to witness.

Giyu, Tomioka’s hand gripped his hilt, jaw tight. He had wanted—expected—to finish Rui himself. But now he stood in silence, watching another take the final blow.

Beside him, Shinobu Kocho’s lips curved faintly. “Well,” she murmured, violet eyes sharp. “Seems we weren’t the only ones to arrive tonight.”

Giyu said nothing, his eyes fixed on the white glow of those blades.

By dawn, whispers spread like wildfire.

A woman with blades of white light.

A slayer who cut down a Lower Moon where squads had failed.

A presence both calm and terrifying.

The name carried quickly through the Ubuyashiki mansion.

You.

The one they were already calling The White Blades.

----

NEXT CHAPTER:

----Chapter 12: The Weight of Survival----

The silence broke first with a sound no one expected—

a ragged, shallow breath.

“...She’s—!” Sanemi’s lavender-gray eyes widened, sharp and trembling all at once. His voice cracked, the bark he was known for breaking into something raw. “She’s breathing!”

He saw it before anyone else—the faint rise and fall of (Y/N)’s chest, fragile but there. His voice ripped through the stillness.

“Kocho! Now!”

Shinobu surged forward, medics swarming with salves and stretchers. Sanemi’s arm snapped out, feral.

“Don’t touch her.”

“Shinazugawa.” Shinobu’s voice was calm, but carried an edge. “If you want her to live, let them work.”

His jaw locked. For a moment it looked like he’d strike even her—but then his arm fell.

“Fine. Make it quick.”

They worked fast. Poultices pressed into torn flesh. A cloth binding steadied (Y/N)’s slack jaw. Splints shaped for her arms but not tied yet.

Finally, Shinobu gave a small nod. “Stable enough to move.”

Sanemi bent before she’d finished speaking. He lifted (Y/N) carefully, as if the weight of her might split him apart.

“Out of the way,” he muttered.

No one argued.

The journey back was silent. The only sound was the steady thud of Sanemi’s sandals and the faint rattle of (Y/N)’s breath against his chest. Every step felt like a countdown he couldn’t stop. His arms burned—not from her weight, but from the terror that if he loosened his grip, even for a second, she’d vanish. Her blood seeped through the bandages and into his uniform, hot and sticky against his skin.

Still breathing. She’s still breathing. Just keep breathing, damn it.

He shifted when (Y/N)’s head lolled, tucking her closer, jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. His chest rose and fell too fast, every inhale rough, uneven.

Behind him, Mitsuri’s muffled sobs carried. Obanai was silent. Even Tengen’s usual commentary died, his presence a quiet shadow at their flank. And Giyuu—always quiet—stayed just at Sanemi’s shoulder, step for step, a silent anchor.

Sanemi didn’t look at them. He could feel their eyes. He knew what they were thinking—what none of them dared to say aloud: that (Y/N) might not make it to the mansion. His jaw locked tighter. He bent his head until his lips brushed her blood-matted hair, his whisper meant for her alone.

“Stay with me. Don’t you dare quit now.”

After a short trip that felt unbearably long, the Butterfly Estate gates finally came into view, lanterns glowing like faint beacons in the night. The moment they opened, the urgency snapped back into motion—attendants spilling forward, their faces blanching at the sight of the Hashira and the broken body in Sanemi’s arms. Shinobu’s voice cut sharp through the panic, rattling off orders before anyone could ask questions. Sanemi didn’t pause, didn’t wait for permission; he pushed through the threshold as if slowing down for even a heartbeat might steal (Y/N)’s away.

“Room three,” Shinobu commanded sharply.

“Boil water. Fresh linens. Bandages. Wire for fixation. Splints, three sizes. Move.” They scattered.

Inside, the futon was ready. Medics bent low, stabilizing what they could—splints fastened, bandages drawn tight, jaw wired in place. The sharp tang of antiseptic filled the room, clinging to the back of Sanemi’s throat. The soft crackle of oil lamps flickered shadows over (Y/N)’s still body, making her look less like a patient and more like a ghost.

He didn’t leave the doorway until the last medic bowed out. The silence closed in, broken only by the faint rustle of her bandages and the flicker of the lamps. Sanemi stepped forward at last, knees sinking into the tatami beside her. His hand hovered, then finally gave in, brushing the side of her face. His thumb rested just under her cheekbone, rough skin against her bandaged skin. He wouldn’t have dared if she were awake. But like this, it felt like the only way to anchor himself.

“Someone’s gonna have to drag me out of here,” he muttered, low and rough.

“Because I’m not moving.” His shoulders squared as if daring anyone to test him, scarred hands curling into fists on his knees when he pulled back.

No one tried. The room held still for a long while, the only sound the faint rise and fall of her chest beneath the bandages. Sanemi didn’t move, his gaze locked on her face, every shallow breath counted like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground. Then the shoji slid open, wood creaking softly, and the other Hashira began to pour in.

Mitsuri’s eyes were swollen from crying; Obanai’s mismatched gaze darted from (Y/N) to Sanemi; Tengen leaned in the frame, arms crossed too tight to look casual. Giyuu lingered at the back, calm but watchful.

For a moment, no one spoke. They just looked at her. Relief flickered across their faces—relief that she was alive, still breathing. But the relief twisted quickly into something heavier. Guilt.

Sanemi broke first. His voice was gravel. “Kocho. Tell me how bad it is. Don’t hold back.”

Shinobu hesitated, her lips pressing thin. For a moment, it looked as if she might refuse—but Sanemi’s glare pinned her in place. At last, she exhaled.

“She’s stable,” Shinobu said softly.

“It’s a miracle she’s alive at all. Her heart… it stopped. More than once. If not for you forcing her back, Shinazugawa, she wouldn’t be here.”

The words struck him like a blade, but she wasn’t finished.

“But—” her voice wavered, rare cracks in her composure.

“She may never wake up. And if she does… the damage is permanent. Her arms, her jaw—her body won’t recover the way we’d hope. She may never lift a sword again.”

For a moment, Sanemi thought the floor might give out beneath him. Never wake up? Never fight again? After everything she carried? His fists trembled, nails biting deep into his palms. She fought harder than any of us, and this is what she gets? This is what I let happen?

If she can’t fight, if she doesn’t wake up… what’s left for her?

His throat worked, bitter heat burning the back of it. What’s left for me?

He ground his teeth until the tremor in his chest turned back into anger.

Mitsuri broke the silence that followed, voice trembling.

“She… she’s alive. Thank goodness—” Her words cracked into a sob.

“But we let her fight alone. We let her suffer like this.”

Obanai’s voice cut in, sharp as glass.

“She locked us out. She didn’t trust us to stand with her.”

“That’s not true!” Mitsuri snapped, surprising even herself.

“She trusted us more than we deserved. She fought because she had to—because none of us could reach her.”

Tengen’s jaw flexed. “Flashy, sure. But look at her. Broken. Was it worth the cost?”

“Don’t diminish her.” It was Giyuu’s voice, calm but edged with rare emotion.

“She didn’t just fight. She endured. When we hesitated, she moved. When we doubted, she still shielded us. That matters.”

The words hung heavy in the air. For once, no one could argue.

Sanemi finally spoke, his voice ragged, breaking through the silence.

“She’s stronger than all of us. So shut the hell up.”

Every head turned toward him. His fists trembled where they rested on his knees, his eyes locked on (Y/N)’s bandaged face. His words weren’t just defense—they were confession. And the others saw it.

“Indeed she is.”

The words drifted in like silk, soft but undeniable. The Hashira turned as Ubuyashiki entered, Amane guiding his frail frame. His smile was faint, as warm and fragile as candlelight. But beneath that warmth was something sharper—an undercurrent that made even the air tighten.

He moved with slow grace to her side, lowering himself until his presence filled the room. His hand hovered just above (Y/N)’s bandaged arm, the gesture tender, reverent.

“She is stronger than all of us. That much is true,” he said softly. His eyes lingered on her face, then flicked briefly toward the gathered Hashira.

“And yet… strength is not meant to be carried alone. That lesson… is for all of us to remember.”

The words were spoken with kindness, but the weight behind them was impossible to miss. Each syllable pressed down like a quiet judgment, and every Hashira in the room felt it. Relief curdled into guilt, and silence stretched heavy in its wake.

At last, Ubuyashiki’s smile returned, gentle again as he leaned closer.

“Rest now, child. You’ve carried enough. Let your body heal. Let your spirit rest. We will wait for you, as long as it takes.”

The Hashira bowed in silence. They knew what he was doing—offering comfort to (Y/N), but planting a seed in them. This wasn’t the last time he’d speak on this. Tonight was kindness. Tomorrow would be reckoning.

Sanemi swallowed hard, his hand brushing her temple again, his chest aching with guilt he couldn’t shake.

For now, (Y/N) slept—broken, breathing—while the man who loved her learned the weight of waiting.

----

✨Author’s Note: That’s the end of our 3-chapter drop! (Y/N) is alive, but the cost is heavy — Shinobu’s diagnosis cut deep, and Sanemi’s barely holding it together. Ubuyashiki was gentle this time… but we know that won’t last 👀.

Only 6 chapters remain in What The Spirit Endures. The next drop (Ch. 13–15) will be in 2–3 days, and with it comes the Hashira Vigil — and the question hanging over us all: will she wake, or won’t she?

Thank you for sticking with me through the hardest part of the story. We’re in the home stretch❤️✨

----

NEXT CHAPTER:

✨ Author’s Note: If you made it past Chapter 10’s fight scene....congrats! You survived the heavy stuff. This chapter is a little more digestible (I promise, no more emotional chokeholds… for now 👀).

The battle is finally over, but the story isn’t. What’s (Y/N)’s condition really like after all that damage? And Sanemi… how is he supposed to handle the possibility of losing her in his arms?✨

----

----Chapter 11: The Last Breath----

The battlefield was still.

Your father’s severed head lay in the dirt, lips trembling as black blood spread beneath him. Crimson eyes flickered once, softening back to something faintly human.

…(Y/N).

The sound made your chest tighten. Your body shook, tears streaking through the blood on your face. With your jaw shattered, you couldn’t speak. Only a broken sob escaped.

His head twitched weakly, eyes flickering as if something unseen passed before them. For a fleeting instant, there was no malice — only a distant softness, like he was watching someone you couldn’t see.

A newborn’s cry. A woman’s smile. Her arms cradling you close, joy bright enough to fill a room.

His lips trembled. “…I remember now.”

His gaze drifted back to you, ragged and dim.

“You were born shining. Everyone saw it. Even her. I saw it too. And it made me small.”

His jaw quivered, blood bubbling at his lips.

“Your mother… she loved me when I didn’t deserve it. And I knew it. Every smile, every gentle word — it burned, because I couldn’t believe it was real. I hated her for it. I hated myself more. And I made both of you carry that hate.”

A cough rattled through his severed throat.

“I told myself it was weakness, that I had to beat it out of you. Out of her. But it was me. I was the weak one. The coward.”

His dimming eyes locked on yours.

“When you ran, when he took you in… I couldn’t stand it. Him giving you what I never gave. I told myself I’d take it back. But all I did was destroy it. Destroy him.”

The light in his gaze flickered, fading fast.

“I spent my life tearing down the only light I had left. Her. You. And still… you fought. You lived. Even when I tried to crush you.”

His lips quivered, the last breath rattling from his severed mouth.

“…I am sorry, (Y/N). Sorry that you ever had to call me father.”

Your eyes went wide, tears spilling faster. The words cut deeper than any wound. Sorry? Now? After everything he took, everything he shattered. You wanted to scream, to curse him, to ask why—why only now, when it was too late.

But your jaw hung broken. Your lips trembled soundlessly. Only a strangled cry escaped, raw and broken, blood bubbling with it. Tears streaked through the dirt on your face, your whole body trembling with grief.

And then the strength left you. Your vision tunneled, knees buckling as you crumpled, the fight draining from your limbs all at once.

Sanemi lunged forward, arms scooping you up before you hit the stones.

“(Y/N)!” His voice tore through the night as your blood soaked into his uniform.

“Oi—keep your eyes open!” His words were sharp with desperation. His bloodied hand slapped lightly at your cheek, then tapped again, rougher.

“Don’t you shut down on me! Look at me!”

Your lashes fluttered weakly. Each blink dragged longer, your chest rising too shallow.

Shinobu dropped to her knees beside him, kit already in her hands. Her fingers pressed desperately at the worst of your wounds, sleeves soaking red.

“Stay with us. Stay with me.” she begged.

“Kocho, faster!” Sanemi barked, not daring to look away from you. His voice cracked.

“I’m doing everything I can!” Shinobu’s jaw clenched as she pressed harder, eyes darting to your chest.

Mitsuri’s sobs broke loud, hands trembling as she pressed over Shinobu’s. “Please—please don’t—”

“Don’t say that!” Sanemi snapped. His voice broke again as he shook you once, as if the jolt would hold you here.

“You’re not done, y’hear me? You’re not—”

Your vision blurred, edges going dark, the sounds around you muffled into a dull hum. Sanemi’s face hovered above yours, his mouth moving, but you couldn’t catch the words anymore.

So tired… I’m so tired.

Your body felt heavy, distant, like it no longer belonged to you. Each breath dragged harder than the last.

Did I do enough? Did I keep them safe?

The warmth of Sanemi’s hands cradling your face was the last thing you registered. You wanted to tell him not to cry, not to blame himself. But your lips parted and nothing came out—only a broken wheeze.

At least… at least they’ll live. Even if I don’t.

One final tear slipped free.

Your eyes closed.

Your chest stilled.

“No—no, no, no!” Sanemi’s voice broke apart, half fury, half panic. His trembling hand locked around your broken jaw to hold it steady. He bent down, sealing his mouth over yours, forcing air into your lungs. Blood smeared across his face, down his chin—but he didn’t stop.

He pulled back just long enough to slam his palm against your sternum. Once. Twice. Again. Harder. He wouldn’t stop.

“Breathe, damn it!” His words cracked between gasps.

“Don’t you pull this shit—breathe!”

Mitsuri wept harder. Shinobu’s hands hovered, useless now, trembling too much to help. Gyomei’s prayer shattered mid-chant.

Sanemi didn’t see them. Didn’t hear them. His body shook with every push, teeth clenched, breath tearing from his lungs.

Giyuu stood a step away, silent as always, watching Sanemi fight a battle already lost. He saw Mitsuri collapsing, Shinobu trembling, Gyomei’s beads slipping through his fingers. For once, even he couldn’t stay still. His hand rose, hesitating—because he knew what it meant to be the last one holding on.

At last, his palm settled firm on Sanemi’s shoulder.

“Sanemi.” His voice was low, steady.

“She’s gone.”

For a moment, Sanemi didn’t move. His lips hovered above yours, his hand still bracing your jaw. Then he looked down.

Your body hung limp in his arms. Eyes closed. Face pale beneath the blood. No rise. No fall.

Reality struck harder than Giyuu’s words.

Sanemi pressed his forehead to yours, his voice rough through clenched teeth.

“You carried it all alone. And I let you.”

His gaze lifted, eyes burning, fury raw but aimed at himself.

“I set it off. I made them doubt you. I was the one who barked at you, pushed you away, told myself I couldn’t stand you. And when you needed me most, I wasn’t there. I should’ve known you’d never betray us. I should’ve known you’d give everything for us anyway.” His voice cracked, guilt ripping through every word. “…I should’ve known.”

The silence crushed them all. Mitsuri sobbed harder, collapsing into Shinobu’s arms. Shinobu’s lips pressed tight to stop their trembling. Gyomei’s beads slipped from his hands. Tengen lowered his eyes, face pale. None of them spoke, because Sanemi was right.

Their fear. Their suspicion. Their silence. It had all let you down.

Sanemi bent back over you, pressing his forehead hard to yours, his voice frayed to a whisper.

“We should’ve known.”

His words trembled against your skin, but you couldn’t hear them anymore. The weight of your body in his arms dragged you down, further and further, until even the battlefield sounds dulled to nothing. His voice, Mitsuri’s sobs, Gyomei’s prayer — they all slipped away like echoes underwater.

Darkness pressed at the edges of your sight. Then, a soft weightlessness.

When your eyes opened again, the battlefield was gone. White haze stretched endless before you, soft and weightless beneath your feet.

You wandered without aim, each step heavy, until you saw it: a great silver tree, glowing faintly. Beneath it stood two familiar figures.

Your heart tightened.

“...Grandpa? Mom?”

You broke into a run, collapsing into their arms when you reached them. For a moment, there were no words. Only your mother’s arms clutching you, your grandfather’s hand steady on your back.

“I missed you,” you sobbed into her chest.

“My baby.” She kissed your hair, voice trembling.

“I’ve waited so long to hold you again.”

Your grandfather’s voice rumbled low, thick with feeling.

“You’ve grown strong, (Y/N). Stronger than I ever imagined.”

For a moment, you let yourself believe you were safe.

But the cracks widened. Through them, you saw the battlefield again: Mitsuri’s sobs. Shinobu’s trembling hands. Gyomei’s prayer breaking. And Sanemi—clutching you, wild-eyed, forcing his breath into your lungs.

The sight shattered you.

“I can’t,” you whispered, grief spilling.

“I gave everything, and it still wasn’t enough. I’m tired. And they doubted me. They accused me. Even Sanemi pushed me away. Why should I go back to that?”

Your mother brushed your tears, her own streaming.

“Because it’s your choice, baby. Not mine. Not his. Yours.”

Your grandfather’s hand pressed firm on your shoulder.

“We cannot choose for you. But know this—you are not their doubt. You are (Y/N). Whatever you decide, it will be yours to carry.”

The moment their words faded, so did they. The warmth of their touch slipped away, the silver tree dimming until you stood alone in the endless haze.

“Wait—!” you cried, reaching out, but there was nothing left to hold. Only silence. Only the echo of their voices in your chest.

Your knees hit the ground, your chest heaving as you clutched yourself.

I love them. Even after everything. And maybe… maybe I was starting to love him too.

But love wasn’t simple. Love pulled at you, begged you to return, but fear whispered just as loud. To go back meant facing their doubt, their pity, their apologies. To go back meant carrying their grief, their guilt, their eyes watching you as if you might shatter again.

I want to see them. I want to see him.

But what if it hurts again? What if I can’t bear it?

The fear twisted through you as sharp as any blade. You pressed your palms to your face, sobbing into the white haze. I’m scared.

There was no answer. No hand to steady you. No arms to hold you. Just your own shaking body and the choice that was only yours to make.

Your tears spilled faster, but for the first time, you felt your chest ease.

It has to be for me.

Your hand trembled against your chest. I owe it to myself. To the girl who survived him. To the woman who endured. I deserve to live. And if I give myself that chance… maybe they deserve one too. Not because they’ve earned it. But because I can give second chances. Starting with me.

Your tears streamed freely, but your voice was steady.

“I choose me.”

You lifted your head, voice trembling but sure.

“I choose to live. Not because it’s simple. Not because I’m unafraid. But because I owe it to myself to try. I know going back will hurt. I know I’ll have to face their doubt, their pity, their guilt. I’ll have to face my own.”

Your hand pressed tighter to your chest, knuckles white.

“But living was never supposed to be easy. Surviving never was. If I can carry the weight of everything I’ve already endured… then I can carry this too. And maybe this time, I won’t carry it alone.”

The haze trembled, cracks of light splitting through the white expanse.

Then it shattered.

Sanemi was hunched over you, forehead pressed to yours, his body trembling. His hands still braced your jaw, refusing to let go.

“Sanemi,” Shinobu murmured, her voice shaking.

“The medics will be here any moment. You… you have to let her go.”

His grip tightened. “Like hell I will,” he rasped.

“She’s not leaving my hands.”

His breath broke against your bloodied skin.

“Damn it, (Y/N)… don’t you do this to me…”

Then it came.

Sharp. Wet. Alive.

Your chest jolted with a sudden gasp, your body convulsing once before air forced its way back into your lungs. Blood bubbled at your lips, but it was breath.

Sanemi froze. His head snapped up, eyes wide.

“…(Y/N)?”

Another ragged inhale. Shallow, but real.

“(Y/N)!” His voice cracked, splitting into a sob as he hauled you tighter against him, his forehead pressing to yours. His voice shook, breaking through clenched teeth.

“Don’t you ever pull that shit again.”

The Hashira stood stunned, frozen in silence. Their awe and their hope trembled in the air, heavy with guilt, heavy with relief.

But Sanemi didn’t hear them. His whole body shook as he held you close, his breath uneven, refusing to let go.

For once, Sanemi Shinazugawa wasn’t raging. He was just holding on.

---

NEXT CHAPTER:

----Chapter 6: Shadows Between the Silence----

The fight lingered.

Sanemi replayed it more than he wanted to admit—her calm stare, that sharp who are you, and the way maybe it’s you burrowed under his skin. He told himself it was nothing. He told himself she didn’t know a damn thing. But every time Genya’s face lit up in her presence, every time he saw her move through the Corps with that steady ease, the words carved at him again.

(Y/N) carried the weight differently. She had walked away with her head high, but the echo of his voice replayed. Pathetic. Easy. She didn’t show it—wouldn’t give him or anyone else that satisfaction—but when night fell and silence pressed in, she felt it like stones on her chest.

Still, she refused to let his cruelty harden her. He could spit venom all he wanted—she would meet it with grace. (Y/N) decided she wouldn’t stop leaving kindness at his door, even if he slammed it shut every time. Because if she had learned anything from her own scars, it was that people lashed out hardest when they were hurting.

And that grace was where the shift began.

The first time, it was after drills. She left a plate of ohagi at his side, and he didn’t shove it away. Hours later, the plate was gone, returned to the same spot—spotless, as if untouched. Only the crumbs betrayed him.

The second time, she pressed a fresh canteen into his hand after a mission briefing. He didn’t thank her. Didn’t even look at her. But he didn’t throw it back either.

The third was Genya. (Y/N) found herself sparring with him in the yard, her voice calm where his frustration burned hot. Sanemi passed by. She braced for his outburst, but it never came. Only the faint tightening of his mouth, the twitch in his jaw, before he kept walking.

Each moment was small, forgettable on its own. Together, they built into something else.

And Sanemi hated that he noticed. Where he once barked, he muttered. Where he once shoved away, he let the silence linger. And when he didn’t lash out, he told himself it was nothing more than strategy. Nothing more than keeping her out of his head.

Damn woman’s in my head.

The thought struck sharper every time. Why do I care if she smiles? Why do I— He cut it down whenever it rose, slashing it away like a blade through rope.

That evening, (Y/N) sat alone her legs folded neatly beneath her, eyes lifted to where the stars were beginning to press through the dark. The garden smelled sweet with flowers, but in her chest there was no calm.

The unease that had stalked her for weeks returned, heavy and insistent. A gnawing she couldn’t shake. It felt like something drawing near, a shadow edging closer with every passing day. She tried to bury it under training, under duty, under calm, but in the stillness it always surfaced. Tonight, it pressed sharp enough to steal her breath.

Her fingers tightened in her lap. The Spirit Hashira, they called her now. A name meant to carry strength, to carry hope. But the weight of it sat heavy, and paired with the ache of Sanemi’s words, it pressed against her like iron.

That was when she felt it—Sanemi behind her. She hadn’t heard him approach. Sanemi’s steps were usually heavy, but tonight they carried a caution she hadn’t known he possessed. He stopped just behind her shoulder, close enough that his presence cut through her thoughts.

“You’ll wear yourself out,” he muttered. His voice was gruff, but not sharp. “Always training. Always thinking.”

(Y/N) blinked, startled that he’d spoken at all. Warmth flickered in her chest—light, like the flutter of wings. And for a moment, the heaviness lifted. His presence dulled her unease the way hers dulled his, though neither of them would ever admit it.

“And you don’t?” she asked quietly, steady despite the tug inside her.

Sanemi shifted, arms folding. “Doesn’t matter if I do.”

His jaw worked, but no more words came. He only glanced sideways at her, at the calm way she sat in the fading light. The last of the sunset softened her profile, easing the sharpness of her features. Against his better judgment, the thought slipped through—she’s… not hard to look at.

Heat crept across his cheekbones. He scowled and snapped his gaze away before it could root.

(Y/N) noticed. The faint red against his scars caught her breath, though she looked away quickly, unwilling to dwell. Still, the image stayed with her. Even harshness had its edges softened in the right light.

When her eyes flicked back, she caught him staring once more.

This time, Sanemi didn’t look away. His voice came rough, but lower than usual. “Tch. About before…” His hand flexed at his side, restless. “…I was out of line.”

(Y/N) blinked, surprised by the words.

His throat bobbed, and for a moment he looked like he might swallow it back. But then it came, jagged and raw:

“I’m sorry.”

The words scraped, but they were real. He shifted, eyes narrowing like the admission burned. “You… keep doing things. Small things. Ohagi. Water. Genya. Thought I didn’t notice, but I did. I don’t deserve it. But… I see it.”

(Y/N) chest tightened, though her voice stayed steady. “…That’s all I wanted.”

For a breath, the silence between them was softer than it had ever been. No sharp words, no walls—just the faint calm of sitting side by side while the last light of sunset faded.

When he left, the hush of the garden rushed back in. (Y/N) stayed seated, her hands resting loosely on her knees, her gaze drifting to the stars that now pierced the sky.

And that was when the unease returned—sharper, undeniable. The faint warmth he’d stirred in her clashed hard with the certainty she carried: danger pressed closer with every passing day.

The quiet would not last, not even for the Spirit Hashira.

----

✨ Chapters 4–6 are finally live! ✨

This drop was a lot, but so worth it. (Y/N) has started to settle into the Corps, finding her place with almost everyone. But of course, she managed to touch Sanemi’s softest spot Genya and that was enough to push him over the edge. He ruined what should’ve been her big night… though he did redeem himself.

Still, with Sanemi, one step forward often means two steps back. He’s a hard shell to crack, but the journey will be worth it.

And then there’s (Y/N). What is this unease she feels? What pieces of her past is she still hiding?

Chapters 7–9 will turn up the heat as those answers start to surface through a mission—and everyone will begin to see (Y/N) for who she truly is. ⚠️ Sensitive topics ahead, so please read with care.

Next update will be in 2–3 days 🤠✨

NEXT CHAPTER:

One of my favorite George lines from the books -