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happy new year to you all! i’m so grateful for every single one of you who has supported me, and i can’t wait to see what this new year brings <3

and yes, i was drafting out like three chapters worth of the bodyguard and the secret

chapter seventeen

ch 16 here

⋆⁺₊⋆ pairing: fem!reader x sanemi

⋆⁺₊⋆ summary: sanemi shinazugawa. your bodyguard by order, your tormentor by nature. but while he glares at shadows, he doesn’t realize the real secret is the one you carry inside you.

The training wasn’t too bad in the beginning.

At first, it was simple—controlled, measured, almost gentle.

Tamayo started you with the basics of your blood manipulation: coaxing droplets from your skin, shaping them, directing them, forcing your will into something that had always terrified you.

Then came the healing exercises—tending to small wounds on injured Corps members, finding the delicate balance between intention and instinct. For the first time, you could feel your power, not as a curse, but as something you could command.

Then the regime shifted.

Mitsuri became your combat trainer, and this was an entirely different kind of exhaustion. She stretched you until your muscles trembled, pushed you through hand-to-hand drills, flipped you, tossed you, corrected your stance with gentle taps and sunny praise. By the end of the second week your joints ached, your arms burned, and walking felt like dragging your bones across gravel—but you still showed up every morning, breathless and determined.

And every day, Renji was there.

Quiet. Supportive. Watching from the sidelines like a shadow that refused to leave you.

Tamayo’s tests only grew harsher. She checked your reaction to vials of human blood—easy, surprisingly easy. Years of tending to wounded Corps members had hardened you to the scent, and you handled it without flinching.

But the sunlight…

That became the real nightmare.

From beneath the engawa, Tamayo observed you as you stepped out into the open. The second the rays touched your skin, the burn hit—sharp, vicious, searing. Your flesh blistered in seconds. You clenched your teeth, staggering but refusing to fall, holding on to the last threads of endurance until your vision blurred. You made it—maybe two minutes, maybe less—before you sprinted back under the shade, skin smoking, every nerve screaming.

“Good,” Tamayo murmured calmly. “Again.”

And then she trained you to heal those burns.

To endure them.

To rebuild yourself from the pain.

Every day but one, you trained.

Every day but one, you bled, healed, sweated, and pushed yourself further.

And every day but one, Sanemi kept his distance—as if the mere sight of you poisoned the air he breathed.

Renji, though… Renji stayed for every second.

He stood on the sidelines with a towel, or a canteen, or simply his presence. Sometimes Mitsuri joked that he looked like a worried husband. Sometimes Yushiro mumbled that he was “hovering more than the Wind Hashira ever did.” And in those moments, your heart softened. Warmed. Ached.

Because you knew.

You knew how he felt.

And as grateful as you were, as comforting as his presence could be, your chest tightened with guilt. You didn’t want to cling to him just because you were hurting. You didn’t want to reach for him simply because Sanemi refused to look at you anymore.

You didn’t want to break Renji.

Not when his feelings were so painfully clear.

Not when you weren’t sure you could survive hurting one more person—especially someone who never deserved it.

Your heart warmed at his support…

But it throbbed, too.

Because you already knew.

If he fell for you any deeper…

You wouldn’t know how to forgive yourself.

The evening was quiet, warm, and painted with dusky oranges as you and Renji sat on the engawa steps outside the training hall. The air smelled faintly of grilled meat from the Kakushi cookhouse, and both of you were sharing a pair of freshly made skewers—the kind Mitsuri always devoured in four bites.

Renji handed you one first, soft smile tugging beneath his mask.

“You burned a hole through that tree earlier,” he said, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “That’s progress.”

You huffed, taking a small bite. “It took me two weeks to do that.”

“And? Two weeks is good.”

He leaned back on his palms, mask tilted toward the sky. “You’re learning something no one in the Corps has ever done before. You should be proud.”

You stared at the meat skewer, suddenly not hungry.

“Renji…”

Your voice came out softer than you intended.

He turned to you immediately, and the knot in your stomach twisted.

You couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Not the way he looked at you.

Not the way your heart tightened with gratitude and guilt each time he sat beside you.

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the wooden stick.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you murmured, eyes dropping to your lap. “You’ve been… you’ve been so good to me. And I just… I don’t want you to think I’m leaning on you because of everything that’s happened. Or because I’m trying to fill some.. some empty space. I don’t want to lead you on. I care about you so much, but—”

Renji shook his head and gently cut you off.

“I know.”

The way he said it—soft, steady, accepting—made your chest throb.

“I know exactly how you feel,” he continued, finally lifting his hands to remove his mask. His expression was open, sincere, vulnerable in a way that made your heart ache. “And I’m not asking you for anything. I’m not expecting you to return whatever I feel.”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going, voice trembling just slightly.

“But I’m also not afraid of getting hurt.”

You inhaled sharply.

Renji shot you a small, sad smile, but proud.

“I like you,” he admitted. “A lot. More than I should, maybe. And I know I don’t stand a chance right now. Maybe not ever.”

His fingers brushed yours, tentative but warm.

“But I’m still going to try to be someone worthy of you.”

Your breath hitched.

“And if I’m not the one you choose…”

He exhaled softly, gaze dropping to the half-eaten skewer in his hand.

“I’ll understand. Really. I’ll be grateful I got to feel this at all.”

Your throat tightened painfully.

“Renji…”

He lifted his eyes again—beautifully gentle, heartbreakingly hopeful.

“You don’t have to tell me anything right now,” he said. “Just… let me stay by you. As long as you’ll allow it.”

And something inside you cracked.

Not because you didn’t care.

But because you did.

The moment Renji finished speaking, you didn’t know what to say. You could still feel the echo of his confession lingering between you, quiet but heavy, like a warm blanket you didn’t know whether to wrap yourself in or run from.

So instead… you leaned your head against his shoulder.

Renji instantly froze.

You felt the way his breath caught in his chest before he relaxed, his posture softening as the tension melted out of him. He didn’t move, didn’t speak—he just let you rest there, as if he was afraid anything more might scare you away.

The evening air was cool, cicadas humming softly in the distance. You both sat on the engawa steps, trading bites from your skewers as the courtyard lanterns flickered.

It was peaceful.

Too peaceful.

The kind that made your heart ache.

Because Renji was everything gentle.

Everything safe.

Everything steady in a world that kept pulling the ground out beneath you.

Part of you wanted to fall into that comfort.

The other part whispered a name you were desperately trying not to think about.

Renji must’ve felt your spiraling thoughts, because he nudged you lightly with his shoulder.

“So…” he said, voice light, trying to pull you back into something warm. “If we get married one day, does that mean you’ll be the one who carries me?”

You choked on your food.

A laugh burst out of you—a real one, loud and surprised—before you shoved him so hard he nearly fell off the steps.

“RENJI—!!!” you sputtered.

“I’m just asking!” he gasped dramatically, catching his balance as he held his skewer up like a shield. “You’re stronger than me! It’s a fair question!”

“You’re impossible,” you mumbled, still laughing as you wiped your eyes.

He grinned, cheeks pink behind the curtain of his hair.

And despite everything, the chaos, the heartbreak, the curse, the training, the fear.

You felt… safe.

Safe enough to smile.

Safe enough to lean against him again.

Safe enough to forget, just for a moment, the storm waiting in your chest.

Renji didn’t push for more.

He didn’t demand answers.

He didn’t take your laugh or your closeness as a promise.

He just sat beside you, warm and quiet and patient.

And somehow… that made the confusion in your heart even harder to untangle.

-

Sanemi wasn’t spying.

No—he was checking the perimeter.

That’s what he told himself anyway.

But his jaw tightened the moment he saw you and that Kakushi sitting together under the engawa. Sharing skewers. Laughing. Your shoulder brushing his like it belonged there.

He hated the way something in his chest twisted.

Hated the heat crawling up his neck.

Hated that Renji kept leaning closer.

Sanemi gripped the wooden railing so hard it cracked beneath his fingers, and then a heavy hand slammed onto his shoulder.

“I’ll be damned,” a deep voice drawled behind him, “I never thought I’d live to see the day the Wind Hashira looked this pathetic.”

Sanemi spun around.

“Uzui?!”

There he was—tall, immaculate, shiny gold jewelry, one arm missing, one eye covered, still looking like he strutted straight out of a festival poster.

And absolutely unbothered.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Tengen sighed loudly, dramatically. “I came to visit the Corps. Bring my wives some gifts. Remind everyone I’m still the most flamboyant man alive—even with one arm.”

Sanemi grunted. “Good for you. Now leave.”

“No,” Tengen said flatly.

He hopped—very gracefully—onto the railing beside Sanemi and tilted his head toward the courtyard.

Toward you.

Laughing. Leaning into Renji. Smiling like your heart wasn’t broken just days ago.

Tengen whistled.

“Ohoho. So that’s why you look like you want to punch the sun itself.”

“I don’t—”

“Shinazugawa,” Tengen cut in, “your hair is literally bristling. You’re jealous. It’s embarrassing.”

Sanemi clenched his jaw hard enough to crack a tooth.

“I’m not jealous. I just—”

“—care about her?” Tengen finished, wearing the smuggest grin in the country.

Sanemi froze.

Tengen clapped his lone hand onto his thigh.

“Oh, this is rich. Absolutely rich. Your little flower cuddles up to some Kakushi and suddenly you’re brooding like a man half your age.”

“Don’t call her that,” Sanemi muttered, pulse spiking.

Tengen’s eyebrow shot up.

“Oh? What happened to all that cold, rude, ‘I-don’t-give-a-damn’ bravado?”

He leaned forward, eye narrowing.

“What happened between you two, Shinazugawa?”

Sanemi stared straight ahead.

Bitter heat rose in his chest.

“She lied,” he muttered.

“And you reacted poorly,” Tengen said, not even pretending to sugarcoat it. “You hurt her, she cried, and now she’s sitting with a Kakushi who actually treats her gently.”

Sanemi stiffened.

Tengen made a thoughtful noise.

“That boy, whatever his name is, seems to know how to stay. How to support her. How to listen. That’s very flamboyant on his end.”

Sanemi’s hands tightened until his knuckles blanched.

“I don’t need you lecturing me,” he snapped.

“Clearly you do,” Tengen said. “Because right now, that Kakushi is beating you without even trying.”

Sanemi whipped his head toward him.

Tengen continued, voice softer but sharper.

“She looked at you like you were her whole world, Shinazugawa. Even I could see it.”

He tapped his chest.

“One eye. Half blind. Still saw it.”

Sanemi’s breath hitched.

“But now?” Tengen nodded toward the courtyard. “She’s learning to laugh again, with someone who didn’t tear her apart.”

Sanemi’s throat burned as he swallowed hard.

“It’s… not simple,” he muttered.

Tengen sighed dramatically.

“Shinazugawa. You faced Upper Moons with less hesitation than you face your own feelings.”

He leaned close, voice dropping.

“And if you keep this up, your little flower will bloom in someone else’s hands.”

Sanemi felt that like a direct punch to the gut.

His stomach turned.

His heartbeat climbed into his throat.

His breath came uneven.

Tengen grinned slowly when he saw the panic flicker across his face.

“There it is,” he whispered. “The realization.”

He stood, dusted off his clothes, and gave Sanemi a final pat on the cheek, which earned a sharp glare.

“If you want her… fix it. If you don’t… walk away.”

He started down the courtyard, then paused and glanced back with a wicked smile.

“Also, judging by how close she’s sitting with that Kakushi, I’d hurry. He looks like he’s one confession away from proposing.”

And with that, Tengen strutted off, humming flamboyantly, leaving Sanemi standing there with his heart pounding, hands trembling, rage and longing twisting in his chest as he stared at you… and realized Tengen was right.

Sanemi never thought silence could piss him off.

It’s been a few days since his conversation with Tengen, and his words followed him everywhere. In every damn training session, every sleepless night, every moment he caught himself staring down in the direction of the Ubuyashiki estate.

He’d replayed every word he threw at you.

Every look on your face.

Every moment Renji stood too close, touched your shoulder, made you laugh.

It crawled under his skin and stayed there.

He kept trying to shrug it off. She lied. She’s a demon. It’s better this way.

But the more he repeated it, the more it tasted like ash in his mouth.

And now, at dusk, when the last rays of sunlight faded behind the mountains…

He found himself walking toward you.

He didn’t even know he’d decided to. His feet took him on their own, past the engawa, past the lanterns being lit by attendants, and into the inner courtyard of the Ubuyashiki estate.

He planned to talk.

Or try to.

But the moment he stepped into the courtyard, he froze.

There you were.

Alone.

Silhouetted by the fading purple sky.

You were shirtless, but wrapped tightly in bandages across your chest, arms bare, muscles defined from training, and skin glowing under the last touch of dusk.

You were upside down as you balanced yourself perfectly in a handstand. Slowly bending each leg, one at a time, to strengthen your balance and control.

The movements were fluid. Controlled. Beautiful, even.

Your breath was steady, your arms trembling with effort but steadying each time you focused.

Sanemi swallowed. Something hit him square in the chest.

Admiration.

Awe.

Longing he tried so damn hard to bury.

He took a small step forward, the gravel shifted under his sandal.

You heard it, and your eyes flickered open, glowing faintly in the dusk, and in surprise, you lost balance.

Sanemi darted forward as you tipped, your body falling to the side. He reached you just in time, catching you by the waist with both hands as your legs hit the ground.

Your breath hitched.

So did his.

You blinked up at him, chest heaving, bandaged, close enough that he could feel your breath on his jaw.

“…Sanemi?”

Your voice was soft. Uncertain.

His heart clenched painfully at the sound.

He swallowed hard and didn’t let go.

Not yet.

Not when this was the closest he’d been to you since the mountain.

Not when he’d spent days pretending he didn’t care.

He steadied you on your feet, but his hands lingered a second too long.

“…You’re practicing at this hour?” he muttered, his voice lower than he intended.

You pulled back, just enough to put distance between you, but not far enough to hide the flicker of nerves in your eyes.

“It’s… quieter at dusk,” you said, brushing dirt from your palms “I can focus better.”

Sanemi’s gaze flicked to the faint bruises on your ribs leftover from training.

To the scratches along your hip.

To the raw skin where you’d practiced blood manipulation.

You hurt yourself. Again. And again.

Trying to get stronger.

Guilt twisted suddenly in his stomach knowing he left you alone with that weight. He let you think he hated you. Let you face training, exhaustion, fear—while he avoided you like a coward.

He exhaled sharply through his nose.

“…I came to talk,” he muttered, eyes flicking away for a second.

He cursed internally at how awkward that sounded.

Your breath caught.

“Talk…?”

You asked it carefully, like you weren’t sure if you were allowed to hope.

He nodded, but didn’t step closer… he didn’t trust himself to.

He couldn’t ignore it. Couldn’t pretend he didn’t know what you were anymore because he realized something… every time he pushed you away, the ache in his chest only grew.

“I’m not here to fight,” Sanemi said quietly.

That alone made your lashes flutter in shock.

He inhaled slowly. “I just…” He clenched his jaw, trying to find words he’d never said to anyone. “…I needed to see you.”

The silence between you deepened, and he realized with painful clarity, that maybe letting go of you had hurt him more than anything he could remember.

You stepped back.

Not a big step—just far enough to break the closeness, far enough to remind yourself that your heart was not allowed to hope. Not after everything. Not after the way he looked at you on that mountain.

Your breath trembled as you avoided his gaze.

“I don’t want to talk,” you whispered.

Sanemi stiffened like you’d punched him in the ribs.

“…Please.”

That one word—please—coming out of his mouth?

It made your stomach twist.

You blinked at him, stunned, but you didn’t soften.

“Why now?” you breathed, voice tight. “Why talk now, after all this time?”

Sanemi swallowed, jaw clenching.

“I—”

“No,” you cut sharply, anger and heartbreak spilling into your tone. “You don’t get to show up and act like this is simple. Like you didn’t look at me like I was something disgusting.”

He exhaled through his nose, guilt flickering across his features.

“I shouldn’t have—”

“I felt horrible for lying,” your voice cracked, “I know I should’ve told you, and I take responsibility for that. All of it. But I was scared, Sanemi. I never meant harm. I never wanted to be what I am.”

He opened his mouth again, but you kept going, unable to stop, unable to hold back the hurt anymore.

“And even after everything we went through… after everything we survived…” your voice trembled harder, “you treated me like I was no different than the demons who hurt you.”

Sanemi’s breath barely hitched, but you saw it.

“I was scared,” you whispered. “I still am.”

A long silence fell.

Sanemi stared at you, chest rising and falling too fast. Something raw, unguarded, flickered in his eyes—guilt so sharp it made him take half a step toward you.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “For all of it. I shouldn’t have—”

You cut him off with the quietest, most broken whisper “You told me I should’ve stayed in that cage.”

Sanemi froze.

The world stopped, as your words hit him like a blade to the gut, like something ripping open inside him.

“And…”

Your throat closed.

“You called me a monster.”

His face crumpled—just a flicker, just for a breath—before he looked away like the shame burned.

“I didn’t mean that,” Sanemi said, voice low, tight, almost shaking. “That was… fuck, I was angry, and scared, and I said the worst thing I could have. But I didn’t— I don’t—” He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard. “I’m sorry _______. I’m so damn sorry.”

But you shook your head, tears welling despite your attempts to blink them back.

“You hurt me,” you whispered. “And I know I hurt you too, but… you really hurt me.”

Sanemi didn’t try to deny it.

Didn’t try to defend himself.

Didn’t yell.

He just stood there, breathing shallow, like your words cut deeper than any wound he’d taken in battle.

“I know,” he said finally. “I know I did.”

His voice cracked.

“And that’s why I’m here.”

The courtyard was silent.

Too silent.

You stared at him—breathing hard from the confrontation, chest tight, anger and heartbreak boiling under your skin. Sanemi’s apology hung in the cold air between you, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet. Not with everything stuck inside your chest like thorns.

“…Fight me,” you said suddenly.

Sanemi blinked.

“What?”

“Fight me.” Your jaw clenched. “I need to get this out. All of it.”

He stared, stunned, muscles tensing.

You stepped back, lifting your fists.

“Unless you’re scared.”

That did it.

His eye twitched while his jaw flexed. He took a step forward, letting out a humorless scoff.

“Fine,” he muttered. “If that’s what you want.”

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t need to.

Your emotions did the talking as you lunged first.

Sanemi blocked your punch easily, sliding back a single foot in the dirt. You swung again—faster—your knuckles grazing his cheek as he dodged.

He didn’t counter as he let you hit. Let you swing. Let out everything you’d been holding inside.

But that only pissed you off more.

“STOP HOLDING BACK!” you shouted, swinging harder.

Sanemi’s expression flickered—anger and hurt overlapping.

“You want me to fight you for real?” he snapped, finally stepping forward. “Fine.”

He moved… fast.

His fist slammed into your guard, the force sending you skidding back across the dirt. Your arms shook. You barely held your stance.

He wasn’t even using a fraction of his strength.

“Come on,” he growled. “You wanted this.”

You rushed him again, landing a kick to his ribs—he took it and didn’t move—and you felt frustration claw up your throat.

You hated that he was stronger. You hated that he wasn’t trying. You hated that part of you wanted his acknowledgment.

Your vision blurred with anger.

“FIGHT ME, SANEMI!”

He finally swung back.

Your bodies collided—fist to fist, forearm to forearm—pain sparking through your bones. You ground your teeth and pushed harder.

But he pushed too.

Anger. Hurt. Bitterness.

Everything you both refused to say was coming out through fists and instinct.

You swung again and he ducked. He grabbed your wrist, twisted, and you hit the ground hard.

“You’re angry,” he panted. “GOOD. Use it.”

You snarled and kicked upward, forcing him back. You stood and lunged again—harder, faster, desperate. Your chest burned while your blood hummed, your vision pulsing red.

And then, Sanemi pinned you against a tree using sheer strength alone, panting, face inches from yours.

“You’re not beating me like this,” he hissed. “You’re holding back too.”

“No I’m not,” you seethed.

He tightened his grip. “You know damn well you are.”

Your gaze snapped up to his, furious, trembling, cornered by the truth.

“Then stop lying to yourself,” he growled and paused for a second, before adding, “…stop lying to me.”

That was the breaking point. Your claws burst out first, then your pupils thinned, and then your breath deepened.

Your demon form erupted through your skin like fire.

Sanemi’s eyes widened for a split second, not in fear this time, but because he finally saw you stop hiding.

You shoved him off with inhuman strength.

He stumbled—actually stumbled—and the look in his eyes was electric.

“Good,” he rasped, rolling his shoulders. “NOW we fight.”

And you did.

You collided so hard the ground cracked beneath your feet.

Your claws nearly grazed his cheek as he dodged.

He countered with a heavy punch—you blocked and sent him flying back with a kick he didn’t expect.

He slid, sandals digging into the dirt. A grin—wild, adrenaline-fueled—tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“About damn time,” he muttered.

You didn’t even hesitate as you rushed him with no restraint.

Your fist slammed into his guard.

His elbow caught your ribs.

You spun, claws slicing the air.

He ducked, sweeping your legs.

You caught yourself with your hands and flipped over him.

This wasn’t a pretty spar. It was raw. Emotional. Messy.

A confession in the form of violence.

He grabbed your wrist, and you twisted out. He drove you back, and you forced him to his knees. He shoved you off, and you pinned him. He threw you over his shoulder, you landed and lunged again.

Both of you panting, both of you trembling, both of you bleeding from small cuts you inflicted on each other.

You weren’t trying to kill.

You were trying to feel.

Trying to breathe.

Trying to understand why it hurt so damn much.

And then, Sanemi’s fist caught your shoulder at the same moment your clawed hand grazed his jaw.

You both froze.

You were chest-to-chest. Your breath mixing as your foreheads were nearly touching. Your claws were against his skin while his knuckles were against your collarbone.

You were both shaking. Both unable to move. Both unable to speak.

The fight stopped on its own.

Because there was nothing left to swing.

Nothing left to hit.

Just… everything. Everything you felt. Everything he felt. Everything you both kept drowning in instead of admitting.

Your foreheads were nearly touching.

Not from tenderness, but from the sheer force of the fight, the adrenaline still vibrating through your bones, the kind of closeness that happens only when two people tear into each other because words hurt too much to use.

Your breathing was tangled with his, heavy and uneven.

His hand slowly wrapped around your wrist.

Your claws were still resting at the base of his jaw, inches from cutting him.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you could.

Rain-damp air clung to your skin, warm from exertion. His breath fanned across your lips—ragged, trembling, desperate in a way he didn’t even try to hide now. His eyes burned into yours, not with hate, not with anger… but with something raw and unguarded, something he’d fought harder than any demon.

“Why do you do this to me?” he whispered, the gravel in his voice softer than you’d ever heard it, trembling like he wasn’t used to letting it crack.

Your pulse stuttered.

“Why do you get under my skin like this? Why can’t I—”

He cut himself off, jaw flexing, eyes darting from your lips to your eyes with a helplessness that almost didn’t look real on him.

Your heart slammed so hard against your ribs you swore he could feel it.

His grip on your wrist softened, sliding down until his fingers brushed the inside of your palm. Slowly—hesitantly—he raised his other hand and cupped the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair with a gentleness so at odds with the fight you’d just had that it made your chest ache.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he breathed, voice so low it scraped. “I can’t—”

But he could.

He would.

He was already leaning in.

There was no mistaking it—not the way his breath shuddered, not the way he swallowed like he was terrified, not the way every line in his body strained toward yours as if pulled by something he had no control over.

You felt yourself leaning, too.

Just barely.

Just enough that your noses brushed.

Your lips hovered so close, the warmth of him ghosted over your mouth. So close you could feel the tremble in his breath… so close that one more inch, one gentle tilt of your head, and you’d fall into him completely.

Sanemi’s eyes half-lidded.

The hand in your hair tightened.

His forehead pressed to yours.

He exhaled your name like a prayer he never believed he’d say.

And then, you pulled back.

Not abruptly.

Not harshly.

But with a slow, trembling inhale as you stepped away, your hand sliding out of his grasp.

His eyes snapped open fully, confusion crashing into hurt so naked it twisted through you.

You steadied your voice, though it shook.

You had to.

“I can’t,” you whispered. “Not right now.”

Sanemi didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

The courtyard suddenly felt unbearably quiet, the air thick with everything left unsaid. His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking sharply beneath his skin as he looked away, a breath escaping him like someone had driven a blade between his ribs.

“Right,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “Space.”

He nodded once, stiffly—as if the motion hurt.

Then he stepped back.

For someone usually so brash, so loud, so reckless with his emotions, he was painfully silent now. His eyes flicked over your face, searching—maybe for anger, maybe for hatred, maybe for forgiveness—but you kept your gaze lowered because looking at him only made the ache worse.

He swallowed hard.

Just once.

“If that’s what you want,” he said quietly, almost gently, “I won’t… I won’t bother you.”

You flinched at the choice of words.

He saw it.

His jaw tightened again, but he said nothing else as he turned.

A part of you thought he would pause, just long enough that for a moment, you thought he would look back.

He didn’t.

He kept walking, shoulders stiff, never once glancing behind him as the space between you widened, and the echo of what almost happened hung heavier than any wound you’d ever taken.

And you stood there in the fading light, trembling, breath unsteady, heart aching with the realization that hurting him hurt you worse.

But you needed space.

You needed breath.

You needed time.

Even if it meant both of you walked away bleeding from something you never even touched

Sanemi didn’t remember the walk back to his estate.

One moment he was staring at you—your trembling breath, your eyes full of hurt that he put there—and the next he was storming through the Wind Estate gates, chest heaving, jaw locked so tight it ached.

The air felt too thick.

His skin felt too tight.

His heart..

He didn’t want to think about his heart.

He shoved the doors open and stepped into the courtyard, ready to pace, ready to punch something, ready to tear the entire damn estate down if it meant shutting off his thoughts for even a second—but a familiar presence was already waiting.

Obanai leaned against one of the wooden pillars, arms loosely crossed, mismatched eyes watching Sanemi with that usual unreadable calm.

They stood there like that for a beat—Sanemi breathing like he’d just come out of a battle, and Obanai studying him like a puzzle he was too tired to solve.

“…Shinazugawa,” Obanai finally said, voice low. “You look like hell.”

Sanemi bristled immediately.

“I’m not in the mood, Iguro.”

“You never are.” Obanai pushed off the pillar, taking a few slow steps toward him. “Which is exactly why I’m asking what happened.”

“Drop it,” Sanemi growled.

“No.”

Sanemi whipped around, glaring. “I said drop it—”

“And I said no,” Obanai repeated, tone annoyingly even. “You came back looking like someone ripped your heart out and stomped on it. I’m not leaving until you tell me why.”

Sanemi’s breath hitched—almost imperceptibly—but Obanai caught it.

“Did you talk to ________?” Obanai pressed.

Sanemi’s jaw clenched so tight his teeth hurt.

Obanai waited.

Finally, Sanemi snapped.

“She told me she needed space,” he spit, pacing away and running a hand through his hair. “After I tried.. she just—she needed space.”

Obanai blinked once. “You… tried?”

Sanemi glared at him like he wished Obanai had never learned how to speak.

“I apologized,” he muttered, voice low and raw. “Or I tried to. And then we sparred. And she—she got angry, and I couldn’t—” His throat tightened, frustration bleeding into his tone. “And it got… close.”

Obanai lifted an eyebrow. “Close in which direction?”

Sanemi glared daggers.

Obanai’s silence said I knew it.

Sanemi scrubbed his hands over his face. “I messed it up. Again. She pulled away from me like I was—” He broke off. “…like I burned her.”

Obanai exhaled sharply through his nose.

“You both reacted poorly,” he admitted. “Her for lying. You for… everything else.”

Sanemi’s head shot up, eyes sharp.

“You think I don’t know that?” he snapped. “You think I haven’t been tearing myself apart over that night since it happened? I hated her for lying, I hated myself for caring, and I hate even more that I still—”

He bit his tongue until he tasted iron.

Obanai stared at him for a long moment, then spoke quietly.

“She didn’t lie because she wanted to hurt you. She lied because she was terrified.” His eyes softened, just a fraction. “And we—yes, we—made it worse with how we reacted.”

Sanemi scoffed. “You didn’t call her a monster.”

“No,” Obanai said evenly. “But I still made her feel unsafe.”

Sanemi’s posture faltered, just slightly.

Obanai continued, “Listen to me carefully, Shinazugawa. Whatever she is, whatever her blood holds… she jumped in front of Upper Rank Three for you. She could have died. She should have died. But she didn’t hesitate.”

Sanemi stiffened.

He remembered every detail.

The scream he let out, the blur of your body throwing itself between him and Akaza, the sickening impact of the kick splitting through your chest, and the look on your face when you fell back into him.

“I know,” he muttered. “I know.”

“And you think someone like that deserves to be treated so harshly? The way you treated her?”

Sanemi’s breath stopped.

Obanai’s words hit harder than any punch.

“She lied to protect herself. You lashed out to protect yourself. Both were wrong. But only one of you was trying to fix it.”

Sanemi didn’t respond.

Obanai stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“She cares for you, Shinazugawa. Anyone with eyes can see it. And you care too… you’ve made that obvious to everyone except yourself.”

Sanemi swallowed hard. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” Obanai countered. “You’re just afraid.”

Sanemi’s fists curled.

Obanai waited a beat, then asked quietly,

“…Do you really want her to give her heart to someone else? To that Kakushi boy who isn’t scared of being honest with her?”

Sanemi froze—shoulders tensing, jaw locking, breath halting.

Obanai saw it and he hummed knowingly.

“Thought so.” He turned toward the exit. “I’m going back to my estate. Don’t be an idiot, Shinazugawa.”

He paused at the doorway.

“She took a fatal blow for you,” Obanai added softly. “The least you can do is not push her into someone else’s arms.”

Then he left.

Sanemi stood alone in the silence, fists trembling at his sides, the weight of every word crushing him into the ground.

He hated how much it hurt.

Hated how much he cared.

Hated the thought of losing you more than anything he’d ever feared.

And for the first time, he had no idea what to do next.

-

The moment you stepped back into your room, the weight of everything hit you at once. All the adrenaline from the sparring. All the anger you felt toward Sanemi. All the ache you felt when he pleaded to talk… and how a part of you wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms again.

It all crashed through your chest like a wave you’d been holding back for far too long.

You shut the sliding door behind you and leaned your forehead against the wood, breath trembling.

Your palms were still warm from where they’d touched him.

Your lips still tingled from how close they’d come to brushing his.

Your heart still raced with the memory of his voice—raw, apologetic, desperate.

Gods, you’d wanted to kiss him.

You’d wanted it so badly your knees had almost buckled.

But you reminded yourself… you weren’t going to fold that easily.

Not after what he said to you, and especially not after he looked at you like he wished you didn’t exist.

You refused to let one heartfelt apology erase all the hurt still sitting in your chest.

With a shaking exhale, you pushed yourself off the door and moved toward the small bath behind the screen. You lit a candle, steam curling around the edges of the tub as you sank into the warm water.

For the first time in weeks, your body wasn’t fighting or training or bleeding—just floating.

Your eyes closed, your hair spreading around you like ink, and this is when you began to replay everything.

Sanemi’s expression when he begged you to talk. The way he flinched when you mentioned what he said. The way his voice broke—like he regretted every syllable he ever shouted at you.

Another part of you whispered:

You still want him. Forgive him.

You submerged your face underwater until your lungs burned, hoping it would drown the thought.

When you rose again, gasping softly, you clenched your jaw.

“Not yet,” you whispered to yourself. “I’m not giving in… not yet.”

You stepped out, dried off, and slipped into soft pajamas—a simple lavender yukata with loose sleeves that fell gently around your wrists. Your hair was towel-dried, still damp, framing your face softer than you expected.

The quiet was calming.

For a moment, you thought maybe you could finally sleep. But then, a gentle knock came at your door.

You blinked.

“…Yes?”

The door slid open, and there she stood—Lady Tamayo—elegant as always, lantern in hand, Yushiro a respectful distance behind her.

She smiled warmly.

“Forgive the late hour. I didn’t want to interrupt your rest,” she said, stepping inside. “But I need to speak with you.”

You straightened, nerves flickering. “Is everything okay?”

Tamayo approached, eyes kind yet focused.

“I would like to take you somewhere nearby—nothing far,” she assured gently. “I want to observe how you react to different types of demon blood. It will help me determine the full nature of your condition.”

Your blood ran cold for a moment. Training was one thing. But confronting demon blood head-on?

Your stomach twisted.

Tamayo must’ve noticed the way your fingers curled since she reached out, placing a soft hand over yours.

“You will not be alone,” she said. “This is simply an assessment. And for safety—should Muzan attempt anything—we will not be going without protection.”

She stepped aside slightly, revealing two silhouettes waiting just beyond the hall lighting.

Mitsuri and Shinobu.

Mitsuri smiled sweetly and gave you a tiny wave.

Shinobu simply nodded, eyes calm but sharp.

Tamayo continued, “Both Hashira offered to accompany us, and I am grateful for it. With them by our side, even an Upper Rank would hesitate.”

You swallowed, glancing at the two women—your friends, your teammates, and two of the strongest pillars in the Corps.

Your fear eased just a bit.

“…Okay,” you breathed. “I’ll go.”

Tamayo’s expression softened, almost motherly.

“Good. We leave in an hour. Dress comfortably.”

As she turned to exit, Mitsuri beamed and whispered loudly.

“We’re gonna have a girl’s night with SCIENCE!”

Shinobu sighed. “Please don’t call it that.”

Yushiro muttered under his breath, “Idiots…”

You laughed for the first time that evening.

And as they walked away, you couldn’t shake the sharp ache still lingering in your chest. Sanemi’s face flashing through your mind like a ghost you couldn’t outrun.

But tonight wasn’t about him.

Tonight was about control. Answers. Understanding yourself.

-

The night air was cold enough to sting your lungs.

You inhaled slowly, steadying yourself as the group walked through the quiet outskirts of the Corps grounds—far enough for demons to lurk, close enough for protection.

Your standard Corps uniform felt heavier tonight.

Not because of the fabric, but because of what you were about to do.

You walked beside Lady Tamayo. Yushiro followed closely behind her, alert as always, while Mitsuri and Shinobu kept a respectful but watchful distance.

Tamayo lifted her lantern, its warm glow brushing across the bark of the trees.

“Let’s try to keep our presence subtle,” she murmured. “If we’re too imposing, nothing will approach.”

Mitsuri blinked, realization dawning. “Oh! You mean we’re too scary?”

Shinobu gave Tamayo a knowing smile. “We’ll step back a bit, then.”

Tamayo nodded. “Actually, all of us should.”

Your eyes widened as they all retreated several paces, far enough that their overwhelming aura wouldn’t scare anything off, yet close enough to intervene. The forest changed the moment their presence faded—quieter, darker, as though the night itself leaned in.

Your heart thudded softly.

Tamayo offered a comforting smile from her distance.

“There’s no reason to fear. This is only a controlled trial.”

You nodded, focusing on the shadows. The moon was a thin blade overhead, giving just enough light to paint silhouettes of branches stretching across the path. The silence deepened, pressing into your ears.

Nearly half an hour passed before the air shifted—subtle, but unmistakable.

Your senses sharpened instantly. Something was coming.

You had no time to react before something lunged from the darkness.

Your body moved on instinct.

You transformed in a flash—eyes burning red, claws extending—and kicked upward, your heel connecting with the demon’s jaw and sending it crashing into a nearby tree.

It hit the trunk with a sickening crack.

Groaning, the creature lifted its head, glaring at you with bloodshot eyes.

“Y-you bitch,” it slurred through a shattered jaw, blood pooling under its chin. Then.. snap. Its jaw realigned with unnatural ease, reforming as it spat blood.

“Huh… so you’re not just a human.”

Your crimson gaze stayed locked on him, Tamayo’s instructions echoing in the back of your mind.

The demon narrowed its eyes and sniffed the air.

“You’re not alone, are you? I can smell them… all of them. And—”

He sniffed again.

“Another demon too, perhaps?”

“No.” Your voice cut through the forest, steady and sharp. “Just you and me. Let’s go.”

The demon’s lips curled into a sick grin.

“Well, isn’t this exciting?” he purred, tilting his head as he took you in from head to toe. “I’ve eaten humans, but you’re also a demon. Huh, a half-breed like you?”

His tongue dragged slowly across his teeth.

“I’ve never had a flavor like that.”

Your expression didn’t budge.

He chuckled—low, eager.

“Let’s see what you taste like.”

He lunged.

So did you.

You collided in the center of the clearing, claws clashing, the force rattling the branches overhead. The demon lashed out at your ribs—quick, sharp—and you twisted, but not fast enough. His nails sliced across your side, burning hot as blood began to drip through the fabric.

You hissed, but planted your foot and rammed your elbow into his jaw, forcing his head sideways with a crack. He stumbled only for a heartbeat before sweeping his claws across your arm—deep enough to split skin.

The sting ripped through you.

Warm blood trailed down to your wrist.

He smirked.

“Bleeds nicely.”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting.

You shot forward again, claws slashing in a wide arc. He blocked, but you spun under his arm and kicked his leg out, sending him crashing onto his back.

He rolled away, fast, and came up swinging—landing a brutal strike that raked across your cheek. Hot blood dripped down your jawline.

It stung, but the pain only sharpened your focus.

This is what Tamayo wanted.

A real test.

The demon barreled toward you, teeth bared. You let him get close, until his claws nearly grazed your throat. That’s when you grabbed him—one hand gripping his wrist, the other buried into the flesh of his shoulder, sinking your nails in deep.

His eyes widened.

“Wha—”

You pulled.

His blood surged into you like a rushing current, hot and thick, burning through your veins with a violent pulse. His scream tore through the forest as his body began to shrivel beneath your grip.

The demon clawed at your face, slicing a new line across your cheekbone, then another across your jaw. The pain was shar, but you didn’t let go.

He thrashed, kicked, twisted—nothing worked.

Your fingers dug deeper.

More blood flooded into you.

“STOP—” he choked, voice warbling.

You didn’t.

In seconds, his skin tightened over bone. His arms trembled weakly. His eyes sank.

Then his body collapsed, his skin completely sunken to the bone, and his eyes hollow now, drained of all life.

Silence fell.

Your breath still hadn’t fully steadied when you finally looked down at yourself.

Blood soaked your sleeves… but the wounds beneath them were already stitching themselves together. The long gash on your arm shrank slowly, threads of raw muscle crawling back into place. The scratches on your cheek tingled, closing from the center outward until they looked like faint pink lines.

You panted softly, watching the transformation happen in real time.

Footsteps broke through the trees—steady, urgent, familiar.

Tamayo emerged first, lantern raised. Yushiro was beside her, eyes wide with alarm. Mitsuri and Shinobu followed a step behind, blades in hand, their expressions snapping instantly from readiness to surprise.

Tamayo approached slowly, carefully observing the last inches of your healing gash.

“Hm… interesting. The regeneration is rapid but…” Her eyes softened with a scientist’s apology. “There’s no further change. No tattoo patterning… no physical augmentation.”

Shinobu sheathed her blade. “So this demon didn’t trigger a threshold.”

Tamayo nodded, placing a thoughtful hand near her own chin.

“It appears only higher-ranking demons cause a significant shift in your physiology. This one provided basic regeneration, nothing more.”

Yushiro crossed his arms and huffed. “Which means this entire excursion may have been… unnecessary.”

“Yushiro.” Tamayo’s tone was gentle but corrective.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and swiped the dried blood from your jaw with the back of your hand.

“It’s really fine,” you said quietly. “I… needed the practice anyway.”

Tamayo’s expression softened into something almost maternal.

“Precisely. Which is why I would like to try a few additional tests.. if you are comfortable. There are several more demons in the vicinity.”

Your heartbeat kicked up, not with fear this time, but with a strange, new assurance blooming in your chest. You’d fought. You’d endured. You hadn’t lost yourself.

And you wanted—needed—to know more.

You straightened, rolling your shoulders back despite the lingering burn beneath your skin.

“I can handle more,” you said, voice steady. “Let’s keep going. I want to see how far I can push this.”

Tamayo nodded, pleased.

“Then tonight, we’ll continue. We must understand precisely what happens when you kill demons… how their blood affects you… and how much control you can maintain.”

A flutter of nerves sparked through your stomach, but it didn’t deter you. If anything, it sharpened your focus.

You were scared—of yourself, of your limits, of what you might become.

But you were also done running from it.

— UNEXPECTED MATCH. sanemi/giyu

✧.* pairing: sunshine!reader x sanemi x giyu

✧.* genre: fluff

✧.* a/n: why not do both :)

✧.* SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA

Most people in the Corps were convinced you and Sanemi Shinazugawa were some kind of administrative error.

Because surely there was no universe—no timeline, no celestial accident—where the Wind Hashira willingly chose someone who smiled at butterflies and said good morning to rocks.

Yet there he was, walking beside you through the training grounds, arms crossed, scowl carved deep into his face… while you chattered happily about how cute a group of sparrows looked sharing crumbs.

“And the tiniest one kept hopping on the others like he wanted to be tall—”

“Tch. Birds are idiots,” he muttered.

But his pace slowed whenever you took a few steps ahead. Subtle. Protective. Possessive in that grumpy, don’t-look-at-me tone he had perfected.

Up ahead, Tanjiro paused mid-stretch, blinking in confusion. Zenitsu’s jaw dropped. Inosuke just stared. Even Tengen—flashy, unshakeable Tengen—stared openly.

You waved at them cheerfully. “Good morning!”

Sanemi grunted, which for him was practically a warm greeting.

Zenitsu leaned toward Tanjiro and whispered poorly.

“Is she cursed? Hypnosis? Did she hit him on the head?”

Sanemi’s eye twitched. “I can hear you, you little gremlin.”

But then, you reached up and brushed a leaf from Sanemi’s hair.

It was the softest, smallest touch. Barely anything at all.

Sanemi froze.

The entire training grounds went silent.

Even the wind stopped, like it was afraid to interfere.

Your smile was warm enough to soften steel. “There you go.”

His ears went red.

He swatted your hand away—gently, so gently it was suspicious.

“Quit fussin’ over me.”

But then he stepped half a pace closer to you.

Subtle. Automatic. Instinctive.

Tanjiro’s eyes widened. “He likes her.”

Zenitsu fainted.

Inosuke accused sorcery.

Tengen declared it “unbelievably unflashy.”

Even Giyu—who no one noticed—blinked twice from afar, which was practically screaming.

But the funniest part?

You didn’t even notice the chaos.

You just slipped your hand into Sanemi’s like it was normal.

Sanemi stiffened… then exhaled through his nose, pretending it didn’t affect him.

“Your hands are cold,” he muttered.

“You can warm them,” you said brightly.

“I’m not—”

He stopped.

Looked away.

Muttered so quietly only you heard.

“…fine.”

And he held your hand properly.

Everyone watching lost their minds.

✧.* GIYU TOMIOKA

To most of the Demon Slayer Corps, Giyu Tomioka was less of a person and more of a quiet weather pattern—present, calm, impossible to read, and occasionally concerning.

He moved through the courtyard silently, haori brushing at his ankles, expression unreadable as always.

But then you appeared. You were bright, warm, waving like the sun itself had decided to become human.

“There you are! I brought you breakfast.. look! It has a little smiley face!”

You held up a neatly wrapped onigiri with seaweed shaped into a grinning little mouth.

Giyu stopped walking.

Not abruptly—just a gentle halt, like the world reminded him to exist.

The other Hashira watched from across the grounds. Mitsuri’s hands flew to her mouth. Obanai stiffened. Sanemi squinted like he was witnessing a hallucination. Even Shinobu paused mid-step, eyebrows raised in fascination.

You stepped up to Giyu, close enough that your warmth brushed his arm.

“I made it just the way you like it.”

Giyu stared at the onigiri.

Then at you.

Then back at the onigiri.

Everyone braced themselves since surely he would say something blunt, or strange, or unintentionally rude…

“…Thank you,” he said quietly.

The training grounds froze.

Birds stopped chirping.

Somewhere, Zenitsu dropped to his knees.

And then—THE UNTHINKABLE—Giyu reached out and took the onigiri.

Not stiffly or awkwardly.

Gently.

His fingers brushed yours—barely, briefly, feather-light.

Your smile widened, sunshine incarnate. “You’re welcome!”

A faint, almost invisible color dusted the tips of Giyu’s ears. He looked away, pretending the breeze was interesting.

Obanai whispered. “Did Tomioka just experience an emotion?”

But then it got worse.

You reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Giyu’s ear—soft, casual, affectionate.

He closed his eyes for half a second, like the touch soothed him.

Shinobu’s jaw actually dropped.

Mitsuri squealed into her sleeves.

Sanemi choked on absolutely nothing.

Obanai looked like he had discovered a new form of breathing.

Giyu opened his eyes again and murmured, barely audible.

“You shouldn’t touch me like that… people will stare.”

“They already do,” you said cheerfully.

Giyu glanced around—saw the audience—looked back at you, and stepped closer, positioning himself between you and everyone else, like a shield he didn’t know how to offer any other way.

Soft. Protective. Subtle.

“You should finish eating,” you said brightly. “Or it’ll get cold.”

“I’ll eat it,” he replied, voice steady. “You made it.”

Everyone watching silently screamed.

demon slayer masterlist

⟡ ݁₊ . fem!reader x clones ⟡ ݁₊ .

pt 1

“their reactions to when someone is staring at you.”

a/n: saw @tanobatcher’s tiktok where she wrote out her own head cannons and i NEEDED to write them out. thank you for giving me permission to write this out pooks. doing the commanders and captains first!

✶⋆.˚ CODY - CC-2224

It starts while you and Cody are waiting in line at a small café on Coruscant—one of those rare, quiet days where the war feels far away.

You’re reading the menu, rambling about wanting to try the new pastry, and Cody is just… watching you. Soft, relaxed, genuinely happy to be here with you instead of on a battlefield.

Then he sees it.. some guy at a table across the room, openly staring at you.

Not a passing glance.

Not polite curiosity.

A full-on, shameless, hungry stare.

Cody’s smile doesn’t even falter, but he shifts his stance ever so slightly—shoulders squared, chin lifting.

His hand rests casually on the small of your back, thumb brushing with a grounding gesture for himself more than for you.

You don’t notice.

But Cody sees everything.

He leans in, voice low, teasing, warm against your ear,

“Look at you… collecting fans wherever you go.”

You laugh, nudging him.

“Fans? Please. He’s probably staring at the menu behind me.”

Cody snorts, soft but incredulous.

“Oh no, cyare. Trust me.. he’s definitely here for you.”

You roll your eyes, amused, flustered, completely unaware that Cody has already mapped out five different ways to remove this man from the room without disrupting lunch.

“He’s harmless,” you shrug.

“Mm,” Cody hums, smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Inside, his thoughts are a different story.

Stop staring at her. She didn’t invite your attention. Walk away before I make you.

He keeps his expression light, because the last thing he wants is to ruin your good mood over something so small.

You finally decide on chocolate, and Cody orders for both of you—calm, polite, charming.

But while you wait, the staring continues, and Cody feels every muscle in his body coil tighter.

He doesn’t confront.

Not yet.

Instead, he slides closer, arm brushing yours, claiming you without making a scene.

“Careful,” you tease him. “People might think you like me.”

Cody gives you that tiny, sideways smirk that always melts you.

“Oh, they already know,” he murmurs. And I want them to.

When you run to grab napkins, Cody’s eyes flick back to the man.

One single look—sharp, commander-level, utterly lethal.

Stop. Now.

And like magic, the guy’s gaze drops to his drink, shoulders stiffening, suddenly reconsidering every life choice he’s ever made.

Cody exhales slowly, controlled, tension draining from his posture.

Not because he doubted himself, he just didn’t want to escalate and ruin your day.

When you return, completely oblivious to the storm that almost happened, he wraps an arm around your waist, fingers resting comfortably at your hip.

You raise a brow.

“Possessive much?”

He chuckles, brushing a playful but honest kiss to your temple.

“Well, what can I say? My girlfriend’s famous.”

You laugh, leaning into him, and Cody decides, yep, worth it.

He’ll joke, he’ll tease, he’ll keep it light… because your happiness matters more than his pride.

But Maker help the next person who forgets how to respectfully use their eyes.

✶⋆.˚ REX - CT-7567

The 79’s cantina is unusually calm tonight—soft music, dim lights, clones scattered at tables unwinding after long rotations.

You and Rex sit in a booth tucked against the wall, his arm draped behind you, not quite touching, but close enough that you feel protected.

He looks relaxed even though he wore his armor, chestplate reflecting the warm lighting, helmet resting beside him on the seat.

He’s smiling because you just said something that made him forget there’s a war outside.

And then he sees it.

Across the room, a man—civilian, slouched at the bar—eyes locked on you.

Not accidental, not passing curiosity.

Lingering. Bold. Disrespectful.

Rex’s smile fades, jaw tightening just a fraction. He forces himself to breathe slowly through his nose.

Benefit of the doubt, he tells himself. Maybe he’s looking past her. Maybe he’s not actually staring.

You’re too busy talking, unaware, glowing in the low lighting, and all Rex wants is to stay in this tenderness a little longer.

But then the stranger’s gaze drops—slowly, lingering, crawling—and returns to your face with a smirk.

Rex’s patience snaps like a blaster bolt through glass.

His arm moves from behind you to rest firmly on the table—protective, grounding—as he turns his head just enough to confirm what he already knows.

Yeah. The guy’s staring at you.

Controlled yet furious, Rex exhales through his teeth. Maker, keep me from decking this man in front of her.

He really does try to stay seated.

To ignore it.

To be the reasonable, composed captain you deserve.

He lasts maybe a second.

Then he stands, his plastoid armor shifting with the movement. Smooth, silent, terrifyingly calm, and he starts walking.

“Rex?” you ask softly, confused.

He doesn’t answer, because he already knows what needs to be done.

He reaches the bar and stops right beside the man, close enough that the air shifts, close enough that the entire room quiets.

Rex doesn’t yell.

He doesn’t have to.

He leans in slightly, voice dangerously even.

“You wanna tell me what you’re lookin’ at?”

The man startles, eyes wide. “I—I wasn’t—”

Rex lets out a humorless and sharp laugh.

“Oh, you were. And now you’re gonna stop.”

The stranger opens his mouth, maybe to deny it, maybe to be stupid, but Rex raises a brow, and the words die in his throat.

Rex’s posture is relaxed, hands loose at his sides, but every fiber of him radiates do not test me.

The man swallows hard. “S-sorry.”

Rex nods, like this was a polite conversation about the weather.

“That’s what I thought.”

He steps back—not breaking eye contact—until he’s sure the guy gets the message.

Then Rex turns, face softening instantly when he sees you watching him.

He returns to the booth, sliding in beside you again, armor knocking lightly against the seat.

You give him a look mix of concern and affection.

“You okay?” you whisper.

Rex shrugs, arm returning behind you, this time brushing your shoulder deliberately.

“Fine. Just didn’t like how he was looking at you.”

You smirk. “Jealous?”

He scoffs, but his ears turn the faintest shade of pink.

“Protective,” he corrects, voice quieter. “There’s a difference.”

You lean into him.

“Well… thank you.”

Rex pressed a kiss to your forehead. It was gentle and grounding, everything he wishes the galaxy was.

“I’ll always look out for you, cyare. Always.”

Across the room, the man suddenly finds the floor very interesting.

And Rex?

He goes right back to smiling, because as far as he’s concerned, problem handled.

✶⋆.˚ WOLFFE - CC-3636

It’s supposed to be a peaceful night—just you, Wolffe, and a quiet stroll through a small Coruscant marketplace after his shift.

Shops are closing, lights dimming, crowds thinning.

Wolffe stays beside you, hand instinctively hovering near the small of your back. Not quite touching, but always there if you need him.

He’s in full armor, helmet tucked under his arm, hair slightly mussed from hours of command.

He looks tired, but content.

You’re pointing out a vendor selling tiny holo figurines when Wolffe feels it—the weight of someone’s stare.

Sharp. Intentional. Unwelcome.

His expression doesn’t change, but something in him goes perfectly still.

Without a word, his gauntleted hand finds your waist and gently guides you forward, placing you directly in front of him.

Your back meets his chest, solid and warm, as his legs widen just slightly, bracketing yours.

A wall of armor and possessive silence.

You blink up at him. “Wolffe?”

He doesn’t look at you—he’s too busy tracking the man across the walkway, gaze narrowed to a sniper’s focus.

“Nothin’ to worry about,” he mutters, voice low, controlled.

But his arm stays firm around your middle, pulling you closer, tucking you securely into his side like you belong there.. because you do.

The guy keeps staring—pretending he’s not, but failing miserably.

Wolffe’s jaw flexes once. Twice.

He won’t cause a scene… not unless he has to.

You go back to browsing, unaware of the storm brewing behind you.

Wolffe rests his chin lightly atop your head, positioning himself so his body blocks the man’s line of sight completely.

Then the stranger decides to walk past you both—slowly, deliberately—eyes still lingering.

Wolffe doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t warn.

Doesn’t negotiate.

He just moves.

As the man passes, Wolffe straightens, shifts his stance, and shoulder checks him HARD.

Hard enough to send the guy stumbling, nearly losing his footing, making a few heads turn.

“Oh. Sorry,” Wolffe says flatly, tone so insincere it’s practically a threat.

The man looks up, ready to start something, until he sees who hit him.

The armor.

The scar.

The unblinking grey-striped commander staring him down like prey.

Wolffe tilts his head. Just a fraction as he silently challenges him.

The guy swallows, quickly averts his eyes, and keeps walking fast.

Wolffe watches him disappear into the crowd, making sure he’s gone.

Only then does he soften, hand returning to your waist, pulling you gently back against him.

“You good?” he asks quietly.

You turn, confused but smiling, completely oblivious. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Wolffe exhales through his nose, relief slipping into something warm, almost fond.

“No reason,” he lies, thumb rubbing absent circles into your hip.

You loop your arm around his middle, leaning into him.

“You’re in a cuddly mood today.”

He huffs. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation.”

You laugh and start walking again, and Wolffe follows—close, attentive, protective—eyes still scanning the area, just in case.

Because if anyone else even thinks about staring?

They’re getting shoulder checked too.

✶⋆.˚ FOX - CC-1010

Coruscant nightlife always felt a bit too loud, too bright, too chaotic, but you liked it.

And Fox liked you, so here he was, escorting you to a late dinner during his shift, armor still on, helmet on, posture relaxed for once.

You’re talking about your day, your voice was soft yet excited, and Fox can’t stop staring at you.

Not in the way others do.

His gaze is reverent. Protective. Home.

Then he notices it.

A man at the bar—leaned back in his stool, drink forgotten—eyes glued to you.

Tracking every movement. Undressing you with his stare.

Fox’s pleasant mood dissolves instantly, replaced with a cold, razor-sharp alertness.

You don’t notice since you’re too busy looking through the dessert menu.

Fox does, though. He always does.

He leans slightly toward you, voice calm but edged with steel,

“Stay here a moment, mesh’la.”

You blink. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he says with a reassuring smile. “Just handling a little… administrative matter.”

You don’t even have time to ask before he’s already striding across the room—purposeful, predatory, commander mode activated.

The man doesn’t look up until Fox’s shadow falls over him.

Fox crosses his arms—biceps straining against plastoid, posture perfect and terrifying.

“Enjoying the view?” he asks pleasantly.

The guy stutters. “Wh-what?”

Fox smiles dangerously under his helmet. “I said, were you enjoying staring at the woman I’m with?”

The man’s mouth opens and closes like a dying fish.

“I-I wasn’t staring—”

Fox taps the Coruscant Guard emblem on his shoulder plate.

“Right. Because if you were, that would qualify as harassment. Which, fortunately for you, falls under my jurisdiction.”

The man pales, looking around for help. There is none.

Fox leans closer, lowering his voice so only the man can hear.

“Here’s how this goes. You’re going to stop looking at her, finish your drink, and leave. Or I will drag you out of here in binders, and you won’t see daylight again without clearance codes.”

He pauses, letting it sink in.

“Do we understand each other?”

The man nods so aggressively Fox worries he’ll sprain something.

“Good,” Fox says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

When Fox turns away, the man grabs his coat and practically sprints out of the building.

Fox returns to your table like nothing happened, sliding into his seat, expression calm, voice soft again.

“Sorry about that. What did you decide on?”

You narrow your eyes.

“What did you do?”

Fox shrugs innocently.

“Public safety is my responsibility.”

You give him a look. “…Fox.”

He sighs, reaching for your hand.

“Alright, alright. Maybe I reminded him I outrank literally everyone in this district.”

You snort. “You love pulling the rank card.”

Fox smirks, kiss-creases forming at the corners of his eyes.

“Why have power if you can’t weaponize it in defense of your beautiful partner?”

You laugh, shaking your head, until your datapad pings.

You glance at the screen.

“Um… Fox? Did you just add him to a watchlist?”

Fox removes his helmet as he pops a bite of bread into his mouth, casual as ever.

“Of course. Can’t be too careful.”

“Fox—”

“What? Saves time later.”

You stare at him in disbelief, and maybe a little awe.

He softens, thumb brushing your knuckles.

“I’m never letting someone make you feel unsafe. Not on my planet.”

You melt, because honestly? You believe him.

And somewhere in a database, a brand-new entry reads:

Subject: Creepy bar guy.

Status: Watched, monitored, and extremely unlucky.

✶⋆.˚ GREGOR - CC-5576-39

The hideout was busy today—more civilians than usual had come to drop off supplies: food, medical stock, blankets, spare tools.

You were helping organize it—clipboard in hand, sorting crates, directing where things needed to go.

Gregor was supposed to be helping too.

He was not.

He was leaning against a stack of ration boxes, helmet on the floor beside him, arms crossed, watching you with that familiar lazy grin—like you were the most entertaining thing he’d ever seen.

Then he noticed it.

One of the civilian volunteers—a young guy carrying a crate—kept staring at you.

Not quick glances.

Not accidental looks.

Full-on, wide-eyed, wow who is she staring.

Gregor didn’t tense.

Didn’t get jealous.

Didn’t even frown.

He just let out a quiet, amused little laugh.

You looked over, brows furrowing. “What?”

He tilted his head toward the civilian, smirking.

“You’ve got an admirer.”

You blinked, confused, until you caught the guy doing that lingering stare again.

Your face warmed instantly.

“Oh Maker,” you muttered, pretending to check your clipboard. “He’s being obvious.”

Gregor shrugged like it was the most natural thing in the galaxy.

“Well, of course he’s staring. Look at you.” He waved a hand at you dramatically. “Anyone with functioning eyesight would.”

You swatted his arm lightly. “Be serious.”

He leaned in, voice rich with playful innocence.

“I am being serious. You’re hot. It’s practically a public hazard.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Gregor cut you off—eyes sparkling, grin widening.

“Honestly?” he mused, nodding toward the guy, “Maybe you should give him a chance. Poor kid looks like he’s about to faint.”

Your jaw dropped. “Gregor!”

He held both hands up like he was being reasonable.

“What? I’m just saying, good for him. Look at his taste! Impeccable!”

You stared at him, scandalized and flustered.

He leaned closer, dropping his voice into something softer, warmer—meant only for you.

“But…” his fingers brushed yours, just barely, “you’re already taken.”

Your heartbeat stuttered.

His grin shifted—still playful, but undeniably possessive—like he enjoyed reminding you as much as saying it.

Across the hideout, the staring civilian suddenly found something else to carry—quickly, awkwardly, and in the opposite direction.

Gregor chuckled, satisfied, bumping your shoulder with his.

“See? No need to scare him off. Just had to remind the room who you belong to.”

You squinted at him. “You are insufferable.”

He winked, picking up a crate like he finally intended to help.

“Yeah, but I’m your problem.”

And as he walked past you, he added—just loud enough for you to hear.

“Lucky you.”

✶⋆.˚ HOWZER - CT-7569

The two of you are standing in line at a small open-air café on Ryloth—warm lights, soft night breeze, quiet chatter filling the streets.

Howzer’s shift ended an hour ago, but he’s still in his armor—minus the helmet—arms crossed loosely over his chest, hair slightly tousled, expression relaxed.

He’s listening to you talk about your day, nodding along, eyes warm and focused, because when you speak, he always listens.

You’re mid-sentence when he notices someone a few tables over staring.

Not a curious glance.

Not a passing look.

A lingering, territorial stare.

Howzer’s smile fades just a touch, shoulders straightening.

He doesn’t interrupt you—he never would—but his attention shifts, eyes narrowing slightly.

He watches for a moment, giving the benefit of the doubt.

Maybe the guy will look away. Maybe he’ll realize he’s being weird.

He doesn’t.

In fact, he stares harder—eyes dragging over you slowly, disrespectfully.

Howzer’s jaw ticks.

He tries to breathe through it, tries to stay calm because he hates conflict, hates making a scene, hates the idea of ruining your evening.

But he also refuses to let anyone treat you like that.

So he steps forward—smooth, controlled, radiating authority—and positions himself slightly in front of you, blocking the man’s view.

You pause. “Howzer?”

He offers you a gentle smile. “One sec, mesh’la.”

Then he turns and walks toward the man with a calm, steady, and purposeful stride.

The guy looks up, startled, clearly not expecting a cloned captain built like a wall to approach him.

Howzer stops right beside his table, tilts his head slightly, voice polite, but sharpened with steel.

“Can I help you…?”

Not friendly.

Not genuine.

A warning wrapped in manners.

The man blinks. “What? No— I wasn’t—”

Howzer raises a brow, unimpressed.

“Oh, really? Because you’ve been starin’ for a while. Thought maybe you needed something.”

The tone is condescending and just enough to make the point without escalating.

The entire patio goes quiet, all eyes suddenly on the interaction.

The guy flushes, shrinking into himself.

“N-no, sir. Sorry.”

Howzer holds his gaze for a moment—long enough to make sure it sinks in—then gives a curt nod.

“Good. Then keep your eyes to yourself.”

His voice is calm, quiet, but devastatingly firm.

He doesn’t wait for a response, he just turns on his heel and walks back to you.

You’re staring at him, wide-eyed.

“Everything… okay?” you ask slowly.

Howzer’s expression softens immediately as he reaches you, placing a gentle hand on the small of your back—guiding you forward in line again.

“Yeah,” he says, voice warm now, almost playful. “Just helped someone remember their manners.”

You snort. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He leans down, lips brushing your temple.

“I know. But I’ll never let someone disrespect you, not while I’m around.”

Your heart flips, cheeks warming.

You loop your arm through his, and he pulls you a little closer—protective, but tender.

Behind you, the man hurriedly pays and leaves, head down.

Howzer watches him go for half a second—satisfied—then returns his full attention to you like nothing ever happened.

“Now,” he says, smiling gently, “you were telling me about the part with the flowers?”

And just like that, your night continues—safe, comfortable, yours.

✶⋆.˚ MAYDAY - CC-????

The outpost is quiet for once—snow drifting lazily outside, heater humming, you and Mayday sharing a rare moment of peace at his cluttered desk.

He’s half in armor—pauldrons off, chestplate unbuckled, gloves tossed aside—hair slightly messy, scruff framing that devastating smirk.

He looks tired, but lighter with you there, shoulder brushing yours as you flip through supply logs together.

Then he notices it.

Some visiting lower rank officer across the room—pretending to review paperwork—eyes glued to you.

Not subtle.

Not respectful.

Just staring like you’re a warm fireplace in the middle of a frozen wasteland.

Mayday doesn’t tense, doesn’t posture, he just… laughs.

A low, amused, is this guy serious? kind of laugh.

You glance up. “What?”

Mayday tilts his head toward the man, voice dripping with smug amusement.

“You’ve got an admirer.”

You roll your eyes, dismissing it. “He’s just looking around.”

Mayday arches a brow, no he isn’t, and leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest like he’s settling in for entertainment.

But his gaze stays soft on you—never threatening, never demanding—just quietly claiming.

Then the staring continues.

Longer.

Harder.

Bolder.

Mayday exhales through his nose—still amused, still dangerous.

He shifts forward, elbows on his knees, leaning in close enough that his breath brushes your ear, voice low and wicked.

“Wanna give him a show?”

You freeze, pulse tripping. “Mayday—”

He chuckles again, hand sliding to your thigh—not squeezing, just resting there like it belongs.

His eyes never leave yours.

“I’m just saying,” he murmurs, tone playful but possessive, “a kiss would send a very clear message.”

You turn slightly, meeting his gaze—dark, confident, inviting.

“And what message is that?” you ask, breath softer than intended.

His smirk deepens—dangerously slow, smug, sure.

“That you’re mine.”

Not up for debate. Not a question.

A fact.

Before you can respond, he gently cups your jaw—thumb sweeping across your cheek, touch both reverent and territorial—leans in, and kisses you.

Unhurried and certain. Completely unapologetic.

The kind of kiss that says I’ve waited for this and I dare you to look away.

You melt into him, fingers gripping the edge of his pauldron, and he smiles against your lips because yeah—he knew you would.

When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t glance at the staring officer.

He doesn’t need to.

Instead, he keeps his forehead resting against yours, voice soft but laced with smug satisfaction.

“Still looking?”

You peek over his shoulder.

The man is suddenly very invested in a blank datapad.

Mayday laughs—low, satisfied—and presses one more kiss to your temple, thumb brushing your chin.

“Thought so.”

Then he sits back, arm draped over the back of your chair, posture relaxed, claiming you without touching.

“Now,” he says casually, “where were we?”

Like he didn’t just ruin someone’s self-esteem and mark you as his in one breathtaking move.

star wars masterlist

STAR WARS: THE CLONE WARS / BAD BATCH

wandering eyes (fem!reader) | clone commanders/captains, regular clones

chapter sixteen

ch 15 here

⋆⁺₊⋆ pairing: fem!reader x sanemi

⋆⁺₊⋆ summary: sanemi shinazugawa. your bodyguard by order, your tormentor by nature. but while he glares at shadows, he doesn’t realize the real secret is the one you carry inside you.

⋆⁺₊⋆ a/n: i cannot stop. eat my children. a little short chapter BUT i needed to write and focus on our soft boy renji cause he’s our winner right now

It had been about a week since you revealed the truth. To the Hashira, and to your friends.

A week of pretending you were fine.

A week of trying to smother every thought of Sanemi, every feeling you wished you could rip out of your chest, every weight you now carried alone.

Renji and the others had done their best to keep you distracted.

Mitsuri helped too—bright, warm, endlessly kind—and sometimes Shinobu joined you both in the gardens or the corridors. You expected her to keep her distance, to watch you like a specimen, to hate you the way she hated demons… but she didn’t. Not entirely. Knowing you were family to the Master—and cursed, not chosen—softened something in her, even if only a little.

Then Lady Tamayo arrived, Yushiro in tow.

Your first meeting with her had been strangely calm and terrifying at the same time. She collected samples of your blood, her eyes sharp and unreadable, explaining she needed to study it to understand what you were, how your abilities functioned, and whether they could be controlled.

While she worked in the Butterfly Mansion (to Shinobu’s obvious irritation), she asked you to continue practicing the blood manipulation technique you’d discovered when Ryusuke’s men had chained you.

Which led you to now, in the woods behind the estate, hurling another failed attempt at a tree.

“Fuck!” you hissed as your blood splattered messily against the trunk, losing shape the moment it left your hand.

Behind you, Renji cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

“That one looked better than the others.”

“No it didn’t,” you muttered, glaring at the dripping bark. “Stop lying.”

“Okay,” he squeaked—instantly obedient, instantly quiet—and stepped back a little, sensing your frustration before it boiled over.

You exhaled, shoulders loosening, and finally turned to look at him. His masked face tilted just enough that you felt the guilt settle in your chest. You relaxed your stance, letting your demon form fade, eyes returning to normal, claws retracting.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, voice low. “I’m just… not getting it.”

Renji shifted his weight, glancing at the tree and then back at you, his voice gentler this time.

“You’ll get it,” he said. “You picked it up once. You’ll pick it up again. Lady Tamayo said it herself… your ability is instinctual. It just needs practice.”

You huffed, staring at your palm, still faintly tinged pink where the blood had formed.

“It shouldn’t be this hard,” you muttered. “If I don’t learn to control it, then what happened at the Entertainment District could happen again. I could lose control. I could—”

Renji stepped closer, not enough to crowd you, but enough to anchor the spiral.

“You didn’t lose control,” he said quietly. “You fought against an Upper Rank. That was surviving.”

Your chest tightened, because hearing someone say it so plainly made you realize how badly you needed to hear it.

You swallowed, then lifted your gaze to him—realizing his mask was still on.

“…Can I?” you asked softly, fingertips brushing the edge of the fabric.

Renji froze.

“You don’t have to,” he blurted, a little too fast. “I mean— I don’t mind— I just—”

You gently slipped the mask up and off, revealing his face—flushed, handsome in a quiet, unassuming way, eyes warm and earnest.

You blinked.

“Oh,” you murmured, a tiny smile tugging at your lips. “You look better without it.”

Renji went stiff.

Then red.

Violently red.

Even the tips of his ears burned.

“O-Oh,” he stammered, trying and failing to act normal. “I— uh— that’s— I mean— thank you—?”

You couldn’t help it, a soft laugh escaped you for the first time in days.

He rubbed his neck again, looking anywhere but at you, trying to play it cool and absolutely failing.

“I just meant,” you added, trying to ease him, “it suits you. Your face. You shouldn’t hide it so much.”

He finally managed to look at you—eyes soft, warm, and far too full of things you couldn’t accept.

“I could say the same about you,” he said quietly. “You shouldn’t hide either.”

The words hit deeper than he knew.

For a moment, you just stood there, the breeze rustling the leaves, the scent of wisteria drifting faintly from the manor, the ache in your chest easing into something gentler.

Renji stepped back, giving you space again.

“Want to try one more time?” he asked. “I’ll stand farther away this time. Just in case you, uh… stab another tree.”

You snorted.

“That happened one time.”

“Twice.”

“…Shut up.”

He grinned behind the mask he’d slipped back on, but his voice was soft, certain, steady.

“You’re not alone,” he said. “Not with this. Not anymore.”

You inhaled slowly, letting the air settle in your lungs as you really focused this time.

Your heartbeat steadied.

Your vision narrowed.

You exhaled and let your form shift just enough for the change to take hold—eyes sharpening, fangs brushing your lip, claws extending.

Then, with a steady breath, you dragged your nail across your palm.

Blood welled instantly… but this time, it didn’t spill.

You held out your hand, fingers trembling, and the blood obeyed.

It lifted.

Suspended in the air like a ribbon of liquid ruby.

Renji watched, breath caught, afraid to move and break your concentration.

You guided it—slow at first, then smoother—shaping it the way Tamayo instructed. The blood elongated, twisting, sharpening, until it hardened into a sleek, glimmering dagger suspended in the air.

Your pulse raced.

This was farther than you’d ever gotten since the dungeon.

“…Okay,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Now… go.”

The dagger shot forward, slicing clean through a thick branch overhead—so clean that the top half didn’t fall until a breath later, landing with a crisp thud at your feet.

You stared.

Renji stared.

Then your face lit up first.

“I DID IT!” you gasped.

Renji threw his arms into the air. “YOU DID IT!!”

Before you even realized it, you both ran toward each other, meeting halfway in a tight, spinning hug—laughing, breathless, triumphant, the kind of joy that felt like light cracking through weeks of heaviness.

“You actually did it!” Renji said against your shoulder, his voice warm and stunned. “See? I told you—!”

But his words cut off.

Because a shadow fell over both of you.

You froze.

Renji’s arms loosened.

And slowly—almost dreadfully—you both turned.

Sanemi stood a few steps away on the path, arms crossed, shoulders tight, jaw clenched. His expression wasn’t confusion or curiosity.

It was a glare. A cold, sharp one that sliced deeper than any blade.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Renji stepped back, guilt and intimidation flickering through him instantly.

Sanemi didn’t say a word.

Not a question. Not an insult. Not a single acknowledgment.

He just held your gaze for the briefest, painful second—something unreadable flickering behind his eyes—before he turned sharply and stormed off, footsteps hard and quick against the dirt.

Silence settled behind him.

Renji swallowed.

“…He didn’t seem too happy.”

You didn’t answer.

Your chest ached too much to try.

A sharp flutter of wings cut through the clearing, followed by the familiar caw of a Kasugai crow swooping low overhead.

“_______!” it screeched, circling once. “You are summoned to the Ubuyashiki estate at once! At once!”

You blinked, breath still uneven from what just happened with Sanemi. Renji straightened beside you, shoulders tensing.

The crow landed on a branch, feathers ruffled with urgency.

You swallowed, nodding.

“…Okay. I’ll go.”

Renji looked like he wanted to say something—ask if you were alright, offer to walk you there, apologize for the timing—but all he managed was a small, stiff nod.

You forced a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

“I’ll see you later, okay? Tell the others I’ll be back soon.”

He opened his mouth—closed it—then stepped aside so you could pass. You walked away, and he watched until you disappeared down the path.

Only when you were fully gone did his breath leave him.

Renji stared at the space where you’d stood only moments ago, fingers curling restlessly at his sides. His heart still thrummed too fast—partly from the hug, partly from the way Sanemi had looked at the both of you, like he wanted to tear the earth open.

Renji wasn’t stupid, he knew that look.

He’d seen it in the eyes of men on the battlefield, in rivals sizing each other up, in wolves protecting territory.

Sanemi Shinazugawa wasn’t indifferent.

He was furious, and underneath that fury… there was something else.

Something Renji didn’t want to name, because naming it made it real.

He clenched his jaw.

Someone needed to talk to him.

Someone needed to try to pull that stubborn, volatile, emotionally constipated Hashira’s head out of his own ass before he shattered you even more than he already had.

Renji sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Why does it have to be me…” he muttered.

Because no one else would dare.

Because no one else saw what he saw.

Because no one else watched you crumble quietly when Sanemi left the room.

Because Renji couldn’t stand the idea of you thinking you were alone.

His stomach twisted.

He imagined approaching Sanemi. Then, Sanemi grabbing him by the face and slamming him into a wall.

He imagined dying. Horribly. Slowly. Painfully.

His eye twitched.

“…Okay. Maybe I don’t have to talk to him directly,” he reasoned aloud. “Maybe I could… leave a note. Or… talk from a distance. Or wear extra armor. Or—”

He exhaled sharply, cutting himself off.

“No. She deserves better than a coward.”

He straightened his back, forcing his spine to stop trembling.

He would talk to Sanemi.

Not to challenge him.

Not to pick a fight.

But because someone needed to remind that man that he wasn’t the only person in the world who cared about you.

Renji took one step forward.

Then another.

Each one felt like walking toward his execution, but he kept going.

Because even if his heart belonged to you…

He knew yours was tied to someone else.

And if helping you meant facing the Wind Hashira and possibly getting punched into the next life..

Then he would.

He muttered under his breath. “…I’m definitely going to die.”

And continued walking anyway.

Renji hadn’t intended to sneak like a creep, but somehow that’s exactly what he found himself doing—creeping along the stone path toward the Wind Estate like a man approaching a wild animal’s den. The closer he got, the louder the sound became.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

Not polite training taps.

These were I’m-going-to-kill-the-earth punches.

Renji peered around the corner, and immediately regretted it.

Sanemi stood in the courtyard, shirt discarded, muscles tense and cut like he’d been carved from raw aggression and spite. A thick wooden post—one that looked like it had been sturdy for decades—was now splintered, cracked clean through the middle. Sanemi drove another punch into it, and the entire post shuddered like it was begging for mercy.

Renji stared.

Then stared harder.

Then silently questioned every life choice that led him here.

His gaze dropped to Sanemi’s hands—bloody, torn knuckles, skin split, but the man didn’t even flinch. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the pain. Renji swallowed, feeling the ghost of a stomachache form.

Then it got worse.

Because his brain suddenly noticed something else.

Sanemi was ripped.

Not “oh he’s fit.”

Not “wow, he must train a lot.”

More like,

“Why does he have muscles on top of his muscles? That’s illegal.”

Renji slowly looked down at himself.

He was fit.

Lean.

Capable.

…But suddenly he felt like a particularly underfed house cat.

He exhaled sharply, puffing out his chest a little—just enough to feel like a man again. He stood straighter, lifting his chin. They were the same height.

…Well.

Almost.

Maybe Sanemi had an inch. Or two.

But it wasn’t that noticeable.

Right?

Renji nodded firmly, psyching himself up.

He could do this.

He had to do this.

For you.

For the look in your eyes when Sanemi walked away.

For the way your voice cracked when you tried to pretend it didn’t hurt.

Renji clenched his fists—not nearly as impressively as Sanemi, but emotionally impressive—and inhaled.

“Okay,” he whispered to himself. “Just go up there. Speak like a man. Don’t die.”

Another chunk of wood exploded off the post.

Renji flinched.

“…Probably won’t die,” he amended under his breath.

He took one step forward anyway.

Then another.

Heart pounding.

Legs only slightly wobbly.

Because no matter how terrifying Sanemi Shinazugawa was, your pain mattered more.

Sanemi’s fist slammed into the post one last time, splinters bursting outward. He exhaled sharply, chest rising and falling, when he finally sensed another presence behind him.

He didn’t turn.

Didn’t bother wiping the blood from his knuckles.

His voice cut through the courtyard like a blade.

“What the hell do you want?”

Renji stiffened.

Every instinct in his body screamed at him to back away slowly, pretend he was never there, and go home to live a long, safe life.

But then he remembered your trembling voice. Your red-rimmed eyes. The way you smiled like it hurt.

The way you whispered, “I just wish he’d understand.”

And suddenly, fear wasn’t bigger than loyalty.

Renji swallowed, squared his shoulders, and forced his voice to stay steady.

“…I came to speak with you, Mr. Shinazugawa.”

Sanemi finally turned, eyes sharp and hostile—like Renji was something stuck to the bottom of his boot.

“Oh yeah?” he scoffed, wiping blood on his pants. “Here to cry to me about how sad she is?”

Renji froze.

Something in him snapped.

His fear evaporated like it had never existed.

“No,” he said, tone suddenly firm. “I’m here because YOU made her that way.”

Sanemi’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

Renji didn’t back down.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t flinch.

“She’s hurting,” Renji continued, voice low, controlled. “And not because of what she is, but because of what YOU said to her.”

Sanemi stepped closer.

Most people would have run, but Renji didn’t move.

“You think you know anything about it?” Sanemi growled.

“I know enough,” Renji shot back. “I know she blamed herself instead of you. I know she defended you even after you broke her. I know she still looks at the door hoping you’ll walk through it. And I know,” he leaned in, eyes hardening, “that whatever she feels for you.. she shouldn’t.”

Sanemi’s jaw clenched, muscle ticking.

Renji didn’t stop.

“Because someone who cares doesn’t tear her down. Someone who cares doesn’t throw her to the dirt and act like she’s filth. Someone who cares doesn’t leave her alone to cry herself sick.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Loaded.

The wind shifted between them.

Renji’s voice softened, but only enough to make it cut deeper.

“She trusted you. She chose YOU. And instead of protecting her like you swore you would, you became the one who hurt her the most.”

Sanemi looked away for a fraction of a second—barely—but Renji saw it.

He pressed on.

“I don’t care if you hate demons. I don’t care if you’re scared. I don’t care if you don’t understand her. But what you won’t do,” he said, voice like steel, “is pretend she meant nothing.”

Sanemi’s eyes snapped back to him, sharp and dangerous—but Renji didn’t feel fear anymore.

Not even a little.

Because this wasn’t about pride, it wasn’t about dominance.

It was about YOU.

And Renji would die before he let anyone—Hashira or not—destroy you like that.

Sanemi closed the distance instead, jaw tight, eyes sharp enough to cut.

He leaned in, voice low and mocking.

“Since you care so damn much about her, why don’t you date her then? Go on. Make your move.”

Renji didn’t flinch.

Didn’t look away.

Didn’t cower like Sanemi expected him to.

“If I do,” Renji said calmly, “then you better not stand in my way… and you better keep your distance.”

For the first time, something flickered across Sanemi’s expression.

A crack.

His nostrils flared, but he said nothing.

Because the thought of you choosing someone else, someone gentle, someone patient, someone who didn’t yell or shove or push you away.. made something ugly twist in his chest.

Renji saw it, and pressed the blade in deeper.

“I’ll treat her better than you ever have,” he continued, voice steady. “Hell, I already do.”

That was the match to the powder.

Sanemi surged forward and grabbed Renji by the collar, yanking him close. The force jolted Renji’s mask loose, sending it to the ground between them.

Sanemi’s voice was a growl against his face.

“You think you know her that well to even say that?”

Renji didn’t back down or even show an ounce of fear.

His eyes locked with Sanemi’s—steady, unblinking, furious.

“I know enough,” Renji shot back. “Enough to notice the way she looks at you like you hung the damn moon.”

A beat.

“And enough to see how you look away, because you’re too much of a coward to look back.”

Sanemi’s grip tightened—not because he was going to hit him, but because those words landed exactly where Renji meant them to.

Right in the wound Sanemi didn’t want anyone to see.

Renji leaned in just slightly, voice quieter but sharper.

“You don’t deserve her. Not the way you are now.”

Sanemi snapped.

His fist twisted in Renji’s collar and with a surge of strength, he threw him to the ground. Renji hit the dirt hard, palms scraping against gravel as he slid back, breath knocked from his lungs.

Sanemi stood over him, chest heaving, muscles tense, veins raised beneath his skin. His jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. His eyes—normally sharp and cruel—were wild, unfocused, like he was fighting something inside himself rather than the man in front of him.

Renji stayed where he was, watching, waiting.

And Sanemi didn’t speak, because his rage wasn’t coming out of his mouth.

It was roaring inside his head.

Why the hell did it bother him?

Why did it crawl under his skin when he saw Renji touching you, hugging you, holding you like he had any damn right?

Why did Sanemi feel his stomach drop when he walked past that training field and saw the two of you laughing, your arms wrapped around Renji’s neck, your smile bright, your eyes soft... eyes that used to look at him like that?

He told himself it was nothing.

Told himself you meant nothing.

Told himself you were a liar, a demon, a mistake.

But then, why couldn’t he forget the way you kissed him by the river?

Why did he still feel the ghost of your hands on his face?

Why did he still wake up thinking about the way you clung to him in the darkness, shaking, whispering his name like he was the only thing in the world that made you feel safe?

Why did his chest burn when he saw you healed, cleaned up, looking beautiful again.. and the first thing you did was smile at someone else?

He didn’t want to care. God, he didn’t.

Caring meant weakness.

Weakness meant loss.

Loss meant pain.

And pain was something he swore he’d never feel again.

So why the hell did it hurt now? Why did Renji’s words hit harder than any demon’s claws?

“She looks at you like you hung the damn moon.”

Sanemi swallowed hard, fists trembling, because he knew it was true.

He saw it. He felt it. And he threw it away.

He pushed you, insulted you, tore you down... not because he hated you, but because he was terrified of what it meant if he didn’t.

Renji slowly sat up, wincing, rubbing his shoulder. He didn’t speak. Didn’t provoke. Didn’t move.

He just watched Sanemi wrestle with himself.

Sanemi finally forced air into his lungs and stepped back, gaze still burning into the ground rather than Renji.

Because if he met Renji’s eyes, he might have to admit something out loud. Something he wasn’t ready for. Something he didn’t even know how to feel without breaking.

Renji slowly pushed himself to his feet, brushing dirt from his uniform, breathing a little harder than before. His mask lay in the dust beside him, but he didn’t pick it up. He just stood there, facing away from Sanemi for a moment, gathering himself.

Then he turned back—eyes steady, voice low, controlled.

“Mr. Shinazugawa,” he said quietly, “you don’t have to like me. You don’t even have to respect me.”

Sanemi didn’t answer, didn’t blink, didn’t move.

Renji continued.

“But if you’re going to hate her,” he said, tone sharpening, “at least make sure it’s for who she is… not for who you’re afraid she might be.”

The words hit harder than a blade.

Sanemi’s fingers curled, knuckles whitening, muscles twitching with the urge to swing. To silence him, to shut him up, to stop those words from echoing.

Renji held his gaze, unflinching now.

“And if you really don’t care about her,” he added, voice soft but merciless, “then stop looking at her like you do. I'll care for her instead.”

That one landed.

Sanemi’s jaw clenched so tight it trembled.

Renji bent down, picked up his mask, and slipped it back over his face. He adjusted it, squared his shoulders, and stepped back.

“I’ll be by her side,” he said—not loud, not threatening, just a simple truth. “Because someone should be.”

Then he turned and walked away, with no fear, no hesitation, no looking back.

Sanemi stood there, chest rising and falling, fists still shaking, eyes burning holes into Renji’s retreating form.

Every instinct screamed at him.

Go after him. Shove him into the dirt again. Tell him she isn’t his to protect. Tell him to back off. Tell him to stay away.

But he didn’t move, because he knew he had no right.

He was the one who called you a monster.

He was the one who pushed you away.

He was the one who made you flinch where you used to soften.

So all he could do was stand there, breath sharp, heart pounding, rage and regret twisting together like barbed wire.

And as Renji disappeared down the path, Sanemi’s thoughts hissed, ugly and helpless.

Stay the fuck away from her.

But the next thought hurt worse.

…because she might not come back if you don’t.

-

The corridors of the Ubuyashiki estate were quiet when you arrived, guided by the soft flutter of the kasugai crow. The shoji doors were already open, as if they had been expecting you. Kagaya sat calmly, Tamayo and Yushiro positioned beside him, scrolls and vials arranged neatly on the table between them.

Kagaya lifted his gaze, offering that gentle smile that always felt like sunlight.

“Come in, _________.”

You bowed, taking your seat across from Tamayo. Your pulse was uneven, your palms damp. Tamayo set aside her brush, her eyes warm but sharp with knowledge.

“I have finished analyzing your blood,” she began softly. “And I believe I now understand what you are.”

Your breath caught—fear, hope, dread tangled together.

Tamayo folded her hands.

“Your lineage carries Muzan Kibutsuji’s curse,” she explained. “But unlike ordinary demons, your body was never fully turned. You exist… between… a hybrid state.”

You swallowed hard, eyes dropping to your clasped hands.

Kagaya spoke gently, “What Lady Tamayo discovered may ease some of your fears.”

Tamayo nodded. “Your true Blood Demon Art is blood manipulation—not healing. The ability to control, weaponize, and direct your own blood outside your body.”

You blinked, stunned. “But… I only started doing that after—”

“After consuming the blood of Upper Rank Six,” Tamayo finished for you. “Yes. The dormant aspect of your art awakened when a demon’s blood interacted with your own.”

You stared at her, remembering.

Daki’s blood running through your body. The tattoos. The strength. The clarity.

Tamayo continued gently, “And when you absorbed Upper Rank Three’s blood… it evolved further. That is why you could regenerate in full. Your body now responds the way a demon’s would—only stronger, because you are not bound to Muzan.”

A chill ran through you.

“So… I can heal myself,” you whispered. “Fully. If I learn to control it.”

Tamayo smiled softly. “Yes.”

Kagaya’s hand rested atop yours, warm and reassuring.

“And more importantly,” he added, “you can live.”

Your throat tightened, eyes burning.

Tamayo leaned forward, voice lowering.

“But there is another part you must understand. When you dig your nails into a demon and drain them—it is not chance. It is instinct. Your art allows you to extract their life force, consuming it as power. That is why Daki weakened. Why Akaza staggered. Why you grew stronger.”

You stared, breath shaking.

“So I can… kill demons like that?”

Tamayo nodded once.

“It is a dangerous ability. But it is also a weapon against Muzan.”

Silence settled—heavy, trembling, full of possibility.

You forced the question past your lips.

“What… does that make me?”

Kagaya squeezed your hand.

“It makes you strong. It makes you, you.”

Your chest cracked open, emotion flooding up before you could stop it. Tamayo’s expression softened further.

“With training,” she said, “you could control your regenerations, your hunger, and your combat use of blood. But you must learn discipline. Precision. Limits.”

You nodded, wiping a stray tear.

“And if I don’t…?”

Tamayo didn’t sugar-coat it.

“You would become the very thing you fear.”

Your stomach twisted.

Kagaya leaned in, voice soft and steady.

“That is why Lady Tamayo will remain here—for you. To teach you. To guide you. You are not alone anymore.”

You couldn’t speak. You could only bow your head as tears slipped free—quiet, fragile, overwhelmed.

Not a monster.

Not an accident.

Not a mistake.

A purpose.

A weapon.

A choice.

Your tears finally slowed, leaving only a tight ache in your chest and a hollow dryness in your throat. You lifted your head, looking between Tamayo and Kagaya, a new fear curling beneath your ribs.

“Will I…” your voice cracked, and you tried again, quieter, “Will I always crave blood?”

Tamayo didn’t hesitate, didn’t soften the truth.

“Yes,” she said gently. “Your body will always seek it. The urge may dull with control, but it will never disappear entirely.”

Your stomach twisted, shame and despair pooling warm behind your eyes again.

“But cravings,” Tamayo continued, “do not define morality. Choice does.”

You looked at her—really looked—and realized.

She understood.

She lived it.

She survived it.

“And you,” she said softly, “have already shown remarkable restraint.”

Kagaya nodded, pride in his smile.

“You resisted for years,” he reminded you. “Even when you were afraid. Even when you were starving. That is proof of your strength.”

You inhaled shakily, the words settling deep, soothing places you didn’t know were raw.

Tamayo folded a scroll closed and stood.

“Tomorrow,” she said, “I would like to begin exercises with you.. to test your regeneration, your threshold for blood exposure, and the limits of your manipulation ability.”

Your pulse skipped.

“Training… with you?”

Tamayo smiled faintly.

“You will need guidance from someone who understands both the curse, and the hunger that comes with it.”

Yushiro huffed from behind her, crossing his arms.

“She’s going to be a pain,” he muttered.

Tamayo flicked him lightly on the head.

“She is our ally.”

Kagaya chuckled softly, the sound warm and impossibly gentle.

“You will not walk this path alone anymore,” he said. “You have a place here. A purpose. And people who will stand beside you.”

You bowed deeply, voice trembling as you whispered,

“Thank you… truly.”

Tamayo inclined her head, gathering her things.

“We begin in the morning. Rest tonight. Your body and mind will need it.”

They began to rise, and as Yushiro slid the shoji door open, Kagaya spoke one last time—softly, almost knowingly.

“And remember… not every bond broken remains broken forever.”

Your breath caught.

Because you knew exactly who he meant.

And the ache in your chest answered for you.

Night had settled softly over the estate—crickets humming, lanterns flickering low, the air cool enough to raise goosebumps along your arms. You stepped outside for air, expecting solitude, but someone was already there.

Renji stood beneath the walkway overhang, mask on, posture stiff in a way you immediately recognized. Not nervous—conflicted.

His head lifted the moment he sensed you, and you felt it instantly.

Something was wrong.

“Renji?” you asked quietly. “What’s going on?”

He shook his head a little too fast.

“Nothing. I just—needed some air.”

A lie. A gentle one.

One meant to protect you.

You stepped closer anyway, tilting your head.

“Renji… what’s wrong?”

This time he didn’t answer—not with words. Instead, he reached up and slowly removed his mask, revealing the face you’d come to know so well: bits of strands of brown hair, the kind eyes, the boyish nervousness that always softened when he looked at you.

“How did the meeting go?” he asked, voice lower than usual.

You exhaled.

“It was… a lot,” you admitted. “Tamayo figured out what my blood demon art really is. It’s not healing like everyone thought—it’s blood manipulation. I can control it, shape it… weaponize it.”

Renji stared at you, really seeing you—no fear, no hesitation, no judgment.

You shifted, suddenly self-conscious.

“…What?” you murmured.

He blinked, cheeks tinting pink.

“Nothing,” he said softly. “I’m just… seeing you.”

The words landed warm and unexpected in your chest—gentle in a way that hurt, because they filled spaces still bruised from Sanemi’s rejection.

Renji cleared his throat, remembering something—resolve tightening his shoulders.

“Well,” he said, straightening a little, “you shouldn’t be alone tonight. And you need to eat before training tomorrow so…”

He extended his hand toward you—steady, intentional.

“Come on. There’s food left in the courtyard kitchens. We can sit where the lanterns are. You’re safe there.”

You stared at his hand.

Warm. Open. Waiting.

Not possessive.

Not demanding.

Just… there.

For you.

Your heart twisted—confused, aching, grateful.

You placed your hand in his.

He smiled, and the two of you began walking side by side beneath the lantern glow, the night air cool and quiet around you.

You didn’t notice the figure watching from the distance.

But he saw everything, and his jaw clenched hard enough to crack.

Although he won’t admit it, Sanemi Shinazugawa wasn’t as done with you as he wanted to be.

chapter fifteen

ch 14 here

⋆⁺₊⋆ pairing: fem!reader x sanemi

⋆⁺₊⋆ summary: sanemi shinazugawa. your bodyguard by order, your tormentor by nature. but while he glares at shadows, he doesn’t realize the real secret is the one you carry inside you.

The journey to the wisteria house was nothing like you imagined it would be.

Silence trailed behind the three of you the entire way.

No conversation, no acknowledgment— not even a glance in your direction.

Sanemi and Obanai walked ahead, tense shoulders and rigid postures saying everything their mouths didn’t. Neither of them checked if you were keeping up, or if you were hurt, or if you were even breathing.

Maybe it’s because they assumed you could handle yourself now.

And apparently… you can—now that you know exactly what you’re capable of.

There are a thousand questions clawing at the inside of your skull, but only one sits heavy in your chest:

Sanemi hates you.

When the attendants led each of you to your separate rooms, you held yourself together—just long enough to slide the door shut.

Then you sank to your knees in front of the vanity, staring at the person looking back at you.

There was dried blood in dark streaks along your jaw and neck.

Mud smeared across your arms.

Your Corps uniform barely clinging to your body, shredded beyond repair.

Hair tangled, knotted, hanging like a curtain of defeat around your face.

You looked ruined.

Your throat tightened, and before you could stop it, a broken sob ripped out of you.

Your shoulders shook, tears spilling hard and fast, blurring your reflection beyond recognition.

Sanemi’s voice echoed in your head. Sharp, angry, betrayal-laced words that carved into you deeper than any blade ever could.

The disgust in his eyes.

The way he looked at you like you were something vile.

Something unforgivable.

Your chest constricted, painful and uneven, like your heart was struggling to beat under the weight of it all.

Breathing felt impossible—like every inhale scraped against something shattered inside you.

You’ve felt fear before.

Pain.

Loneliness.

But this? This hollow, burning ache.. this is worse.

And you never want to feel it again. God, you can’t.

It wasn’t long before the door slid open with a soft shff, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. You stiffened, hurriedly swiping the tears from your lashes, forcing your expression into something neutral—even though the ache in your chest still pulsed.

One of the attendants stepped inside, moving gently, as if afraid a sudden noise might shatter you further. In her hands was a neatly folded Corps uniform—fresh, clean, untouched by blood or dirt. Balanced on top sat a small tray of food, still warm, steam curling softly into the air.

“I apologize for intruding…” she murmured, voice low and respectful.

You let out a shaky breath and managed a tired smile. “No,” you whispered, eyes stinging. “It’s okay. Thank you.”

She paused, her gaze flicking over your swollen eyes and exhausted posture. There was sympathy there—a quiet, wordless understanding—but she didn’t pry. She simply bowed her head and slipped out, sliding the door closed behind her.

Silence returned.

You stared at the uniform for a moment, throat tightening. Something about seeing it—clean and whole—made the state of your current one feel humiliating. Still, you gathered it into your arms and pushed yourself to your feet.

The hallway was dim and still when you stepped out, your footsteps barely audible against the polished wooden floor. You made your way toward the washroom, passing the soft glow of lamps, the faint scent of herbs and wisteria drifting through the air—peaceful, comforting, but somehow unbearable.

Inside, warm water filled the basin, steam rising to greet you. You peeled off what remained of your filthy uniform—torn fabric sticking to dried blood, dirt smudged across your skin—and finally stepped under the running water.

It stung at first.

But slowly… the warmth began to soothe. Mud swirled down the drain. Blood faded from your skin. Your trembling eased. You scrubbed the dried streaks from your cheeks, untangled your hair with patient, careful fingers.

By the time you slipped into the fresh uniform, soft fabric hugging newly cleaned skin, you felt lighter—not healed, not whole—but at least like you could breathe again.

And right now, that was enough.

You slid the washroom door open, exhaling softly as you stepped into the hallway, only to collide straight into a solid chest.

Warm. Familiar. Unmistakable.

Sanemi.

Your breath hitched, and before you could even look up, his hands were already on you.

He shoved you. Hard.

You stumbled back, feet scrambling for balance. Your shoulder slammed into the wall, pain shooting up your arm.

You blinked, stunned.

“What the hell—?”

He stood stiff in front of you, jaw clenched, eyes cold enough to freeze bone. Like touching you burned him.

“Watch where you’re going,” he muttered, voice flat—emotionless in a way that felt crueler than him yelling.

Something inside you snapped.

“Are you serious right now?” you spat, pushing off the wall. “You didn’t have to shove me like that.”

His gaze flicked to you—sharp, guarded, venomous.

“You shouldn’t be wandering around so freely. Not when no one knows what you really are.”

You swallowed, breath trembling.

“So that gives you the right to treat me like garbage?”

“That’s not what I said.” His tone stayed icy. “Don’t twist my words.”

“Oh, trust me,” you scoffed, “there’s nothing to twist. You’ve made it very clear you don’t want me anywhere near you.”

His nostrils flared, barely contained fury simmering beneath the surface.

“You lied to me,” he said, voice low. “For months. You looked me in the eye and lied.”

You felt your chest tighten, guilt crashing into you.

“I know. And I’m sorry—”

“Sorry?” he let out a humorless and bitter laugh. “You think sorry fixes that?”

You flinched.

“I didn’t tell you because I was scared,” you whispered. “Because I knew this is exactly how you’d react.”

“And you were right.”

He took a step back, like the sight of you physically pained him.

“Demons kill. Demons lie. Demons manipulate—”

“I’m not—”

“You drank human blood.”

Your mouth snapped shut. You couldn’t deny it.

His eyes darkened—hurt layered beneath rage.

“I trusted you. Protected you. And the whole time—” he swallowed hard, voice breaking for a second, “—you were something else entirely.”

Your throat burned.

“I’m still me…”

He shook his head.

“No. The person I thought you were doesn’t exist.”

Something inside you shattered.

You forced yourself to breathe, voice trembling.

“I saved your life. More than once.”

“And I didn’t ask you to,” he shot back.

That one hurt deep.

Silence fell and it was thick, suffocating.

Your fingers curled into fists.

“Just say it,” you murmured. “Say you hate me.”

His jaw tightened. He looked away, because looking at you hurt too much. He ended it with a final blow—quiet, merciless.

“Stay away from me.”

Then he walked inside the washroom without a second glance.

Leaving you standing there.

The following morning wasn’t easy.

It took every ounce of strength just to sit up—let alone face the storm of emotions you’d been trying to drown since last night. Sleep hadn’t helped. If anything, it made the ache sharper, clearer, impossible to ignore.

You forced yourself through the motions—wash your face, fix your uniform, breathe. Pretend you were fine.

When you finally stepped outside, expecting to see Sanemi waiting like always, your heart stuttered.

Only Obanai stood there.

He didn’t acknowledge you—not even a glance.

“…Where’s Sanemi?” you asked, voice small despite trying to steady it.

“He left already,” Obanai replied flatly, still facing forward. “I told him I’d take charge in escorting you back to the Corps.”

For a moment, the world tilted—just slightly, but enough to make your breath catch.

Of course he left.

Your stomach sank, cold and hollow.

He really didn’t want to see you. Didn’t want to walk beside you. Didn’t even want to stand in the same space.

The realization settled like ice in your veins.

He’s avoiding me.

Your fingers curled against your sleeves, nails digging into fabric as anxiety spiked through your chest.

Why won’t he let me explain…?

But the answer was obvious.. too obvious.

You remembered every lie, every half-truth, every chance you had to tell him and didn’t.

All the moments he trusted you—no questions asked.

And all the moments you failed him.

Your throat tightened.

I deserve it. I deserve it for hurting him.

You swallowed hard, blinking away the burn in your eyes, trying to steady your breathing.

Because whether he hated you now or not, you still had to keep walking.

The journey back to the Corps felt longer than it actually was.

The rain from the night before had dried, leaving the forest too quiet. No birds, no insects, just the steady sound of your footsteps beside Obanai’s.

He walked a half-step ahead of you, posture straight, gaze forward, Kaburamaru coiled loosely around his shoulders. Not once did he look back to check if you were keeping up.

It wasn’t hostility.

It was distance—measured, intentional, controlled.

You swallowed, gathering the courage that had been rotting in your chest for hours.

“…Iguro-san,” you finally said, voice barely above the breeze.

No reaction.

Not a tilt of his head, not a grunt, not even the twitch of an eye.

Just silence.

You tried again. “I know you probably don’t want to hear anything from me, but… please. Just listen.”

Still nothing. But he didn’t tell you to shut up, didn’t speed up, didn’t walk away—so you took the opening.

“My family… we’re cursed,” you began quietly, eyes drifting to the dirt path. “Muzan’s curse runs in the Ubuyashiki bloodline. You already know what it did to Kagaya.. how it’s killing him.”

Obanai’s steps faltered—not stopped, but slowed. A silent acknowledgement.

You continued.

“But it didn’t end there. It branched. Somewhere down the line, the curse shifted… mutated. My side of the family wasn’t born sick… we were born half demon.”

Your voice trembled, but you pushed through it.

“Our daughters develop a blood demon art. Not for killing or destroying, but for healing. We’re still cursed, just in a different way.”

Obanai finally glanced at you—barely, but enough to show he was listening.

You took a breath.

“My blood can heal humans. It can save lives… but it can’t offer Kagaya what he needs. No matter how hard I’ve tried, I can’t cure him. Not even a little.”

The weight of that truth always left a bruise inside you.

“And because of what I am,” you whispered, “my existence had to stay hidden. If demons found out—especially Muzan—I’d either be hunted… or turned into something worse.”

Kaburamaru shifted its head toward you, curious. Obanai stayed expressionless.

You kept going.

“The only blood I’ve ever consumed was what Kagaya or Ayame provided. Stored, given safely, controlled, because this curse still gives me urges I hate.” You rubbed your thumb against your palm, ashamed. “I never wanted to be this. I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

You forced yourself to meet his eyes.

“The men I killed… Ryusuke and his guards… that was the first time I ever fed from a human. And I didn’t do it because I wanted to.. I did it because they were going to kill Sanemi. And me. I was beyond injured, and if I didn’t feed on someone and healed myself… I don’t know what would’ve happened.”

Obanai’s jaw tightened—not in anger, but in thought.

“I’m not dangerous. I’m not a threat to the Corps. I’m not serving Muzan. I’m just… trying to survive.” Your voice cracked. “And I swear to you.. I will never harm an innocent. I never have, and I never will.”

Silence fell again, suffocating.

Your throat burned, but you finished anyway.

“I don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t expect trust. But please… understand why I stayed quiet.”

For several long seconds, Obanai didn’t speak.

Didn’t stop walking.

Didn’t look at you.

Just breathed—slow, measured, conflicted.

Then, finally he spoke.

“…I understand why you hid.”

Your heart skipped.

“But,” he added, tone sharpening, “understanding doesn’t erase the consequences.”

You nodded, accepting it, even if it stung.

He glanced at you again, this time longer, assessing—not with disgust, but caution.

“You are not safe,” he said. “Not from Muzan. And now that Akaza has seen you, that danger has multiplied.”

You swallowed hard.

“I know.”

“And if you lose control,” he continued, “if you ever harm someone innocent—related to the Master or not—I will not hesitate.”

You didn’t flinch. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

Obanai faced forward again, steps steady—still distant, but no longer unapproachable.

“…Sanemi will come around,” he muttered, almost too quiet to hear.

Your breath caught.

“He’s angry. Not because you’re half demon, but because you lied. To him.”

You blinked, staring at his back.

“And Sanemi is a man who values honesty more than his own life,” Obanai finished. “So give him time.”

The tightness in your chest loosened—just a little.

You didn’t speak again.

Neither did he.

But now, the silence wasn’t empty.

It was healing.

Slow, cautious, but healing nonetheless.

The gates of Headquarters came into view just as the sun began to lower, washing the compound in muted gold. The sight should have brought relief, but instead, your stomach twisted.

Obanai slowed beside you, gaze forward, voice low.

“They already know we’ve returned.”

You didn’t have to ask how.

A crow descended the moment your feet crossed the threshold.

“URGENT. HASHIRA MEETING. REPORT IMMEDIATELY.”

Your heart dropped.

Of course.

You swallowed, forcing your feet to move, even though they felt like they were sinking into the earth. The walk through the estate grounds was a blur—attendants bowing, kakushi staring, whispers slipping under doors like drafts of cold air.

By the time you reached the Ubuyashiki mansion, they were already waiting.

Giyu was silent, unreadable.

Shinobu folded her hands, eyes sharp but soft enough to recognize concern.

Muichiro blinked lazily, expression calm but attentive.

Gyomei prayed in quiet reverence, tears already flowing.

Mitsuri looked nervous—almost heartbroken—for you.

And Sanemi.

He didn’t look at you.

Didn’t even flicker in your direction.

He stood rigid, jaw tight, hands fisted, pretending you didn’t exist.

Obanai moved behind him—silent, steady, a presence that said he would speak if he had to.

You were guided to sit beside Kagaya, and your knees nearly buckled when you lowered yourself. His presence alone soothed every trembling part of you.

He smiled gently, voice warm enough to ache.

“I am relieved you both returned safely,” he said, eyes drifting between you and Sanemi. “The ordeal you endured was cruel and undeserved.”

Sanemi’s jaw clenched.

Yours did too, but for different reasons.

Kagaya continued, his tone soft but carrying through the room like a bell.

“There is truth that must finally be shared. One I have carried alone for far too long.”

The room fell completely silent.

Even the wind outside seemed to stop.

He spoke slowly, clearly, lovingly.

He told them what you were.

What you were born as.

Why your existence was hidden.

How your blood art heals rather than harms.

How you have never taken a life—never devoured a human—never served Muzan.

How your family line suffered just as his did.

How you have stood by the Corps, risking yourself time and time again.

And then,

“…I ask that you accept her,” Kagaya finished softly. “She is one of us.”

Silence.

A long, suffocating silence.

Your hands trembled in your lap as you kept your eyes down.

You didn’t dare look at anyone, especially Sanemi.

Then voices began—quiet at first, then overlapping.

“She’s good.”

“No threat.”

“No devouring humans.”

“She healed, she helped—”

“No harm to civilians—”

“The Master trusts her—”

“She’s one of ours—”

“She stays.”

The words blended together, bleeding into each other like ink in water.

Your ears rang. Your vision pulsed.

Your chest tightened as your breath stuttered, because even though they were accepting you, even though they were defending you—

Their acceptance hurt.

Even though no one was touching you, it felt like the walls were pressing in—like the air was being pulled from your lungs.

The voices blurred further.

But all your mind heard was the ghost of his voice—the one that gutted you in the rain.

disgusting

liar

stay away

Your fingers dug into your knees.

Your heartbeat fluttered unevenly.

You stared ahead, but your vision swam.

You were surrounded, yet you had never felt more alone.

The voices blurred together—until suddenly, you bowed.

Your forehead touched the tatami as your shoulders shook. And the entire room fell silent.

Your voice came out cracked—thin—barely holding itself up.

“I lied.”

The words shattered through the room.

“I… I killed some of Ryusuke’s men,” you confessed, tears dripping onto the floor. “And I drank their blood.”

A ripple of shock moved through the Hashira.

You kept going, because once the dam broke, there was no stopping it.

“It helped me heal. Not completely… but enough to move. Enough to fight. And when I transformed in the Entertainment District.. when I fought Upper Rank Six.. I absorbed her blood too. And then…”

Your voice trembled harder.

“…when Upper Rank Three attacked us, I drew his blood as well. It—it made me stronger. Faster. But…”

Your hands clenched.

“…it made the cravings grow.”

Mitsuri gasped softly.

Shinobu’s eyes sharpened with clinical calculation.

Giyu stayed stone still.

Obanai lowered his gaze.

Gyomei stopped weeping, his expression turning serious.

Muichiro blinked in slow confusion, but frowned.

And Sanemi… Sanemi didn’t move at all.

“I would never hurt a human,” you continued desperately, voice cracking. “Never. I would rather die. But I don’t even know what I am anymore. I don’t know what I’ll become. I don’t know if I’ll… lose control.”

You lifted your head at last.

Your face was wet, flushed, broken.

Your voice barely survived the next words.

“So I’ll leave.”

The air in the room snapped tight.

“I’ll leave the Corps. It’s not my place anymore.. not after what I’ve done. Not after what I could be. I don’t want to be a danger. I don’t want anyone to fear me.”

Your eyes flickered—just once—to Sanemi.

He was rigid.

Jaw locked.

Hands balled so tightly his knuckles were bloodless.

But he said nothing.

Your chest caved as you exhaled shakily. “…It’s better if I go.”

And then, a warm hand settled on your shoulder.

Kagaya’s voice flowed through the silence like morning light.

“My dear girl,” he murmured, “breathe.”

You tried. You failed. You tried again.

He continued, soft but certain.

“You are not leaving.”

Your eyes widened.

“You are not a threat. You are not a burden. You are not a stain upon us. You are family. And I already have a plan for you.”

The words settled over the room like falling snow.

Calming. Final. Undeniable.

But the last thing you noticed, right before your vision blurred again, was Sanemi.

He was still frozen and silent, but his shoulders had tensed.

Kagaya’s hand remained on your shoulder as he spoke calmly again, but with a new weight to his tone.

“Before anything else… did Upper Rank Three tell you anything?”

Your breath caught.

The room sharpened—every Hashira subtly leaning forward, sensing the shift.

You swallowed, voice unsteady but clear.

“…Yes. He said Muzan knows about me.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

You continued, forcing the words out.

“He said Muzan personally sent him to capture me alive.”

A stunned silence followed.

Even the cicadas outside seemed to stop.

Obanai was the first to speak—his voice low, controlled, but edged.

“That ambush… it felt calculated. Those demons weren’t trying to kill us. They were aiming for her.”

All eyes shifted to Sanemi.

Kagaya spoke gently, though the question rang like a blade being drawn.

“Sanemi… can you confirm this?”

Sanemi didn’t look at you.

Didn’t look at anyone.

He sat rigid, eyes forward, jaw tight.

“Yes,” he answered, voice flat. “They were.”

Kagaya studied him a moment longer… then asked the question everyone else avoided.

“And why have you been so quiet, Sanemi?”

The room held its breath.

Sanemi finally lifted his eyes—not to you, but to Kagaya.

And when he spoke, his tone was respectful, but hard… painfully honest.

“With all due respect Master, I don’t appreciate being lied to,” he said. “I respect my orders.. but I don’t like knowing I was assigned to act as a bodyguard for a demon.”

Your heart clenched.

He kept going.

“I did not feel happy being kept in the dark. I don’t care about the secrecy of the Corps. But I won’t pretend I wasn’t pissed that I was sent out there with someone who wasn’t what she said she was.”

His words were measured, controlled, but every syllable hit like a blade.

Kagaya nodded slowly.

“Your feelings are valid,” he said gently. “You were put in a position that forced trust without transparency. Anyone would feel betrayed in your place.”

Sanemi’s jaw twitched, but he remained silent.

Kagaya continued with a soft tone, but firm in its wisdom.

“But anger and hurt are not the same as truth. She is not your enemy, Sanemi. And she is not Muzan’s pawn. She fights for us. She has bled for us. She risked herself for you.”

A pause.

“One day, you may look back and realize this pain is not betrayal… but fear of losing someone you did not expect to care for.”

Sanemi stiffened.

A muscle in his throat jumped.

He didn’t fight back.

He didn’t deny it.

He just stared ahead—silent, unreadable, and shaken in a way only Kagaya could expose.

Care for someone you did not expect to care for.

You felt your breath catch.

Obanai’s eyes narrowed.

Giyu shifted almost imperceptibly.

Shinobu’s lips twitched like she already understood too much.

And then..

“Achoo—!”

Mitsuri sneezed.

Not a cute one.

A startled, high-pitched little squeak of a sneeze that echoed in the tatami room.

Every head turned.

Mitsuri slapped both hands over her mouth, eyes wide, face pink, shoulders shaking as she very clearly tried not to laugh.

Because she felt it. The tension. The unspoken emotion. The fact that Sanemi Shinazugawa was obviously hurting… and obviously not indifferent. Oh, this was a goldmine for her.

Sanemi slowly turned his head toward her, eyes narrowing in a murderous glare.

Mitsuri froze like a child caught giggling in church.

“I— I’m so sorry—!” she whispered, voice cracking as she bowed so fast her forehead nearly hit the floor. “I just— the timing— I didn’t mean— please continue!”

Obanai’s tongue clicked behind his bandages.

You? You wanted to disappear.

Your face flushed hot, heartbeat pounding, chest tight and fluttering all at once.

Because now, everyone knew you were blushing.

Sanemi saw it.

His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, eyes snapping away from you like the sight burned.

He wasn’t laughing nor was he amused.

If anything, Mitsuri’s sneeze only made the air heavier, but it also made the truth louder.

Made the wound sharper.

Kagaya, gentle as ever, simply smiled. “As I was saying…”

The air in the room shifted when Kagaya spoke again, his tone gentle but carrying the weight that always silenced even the strongest Hashira.

“There is something more I must share with all of you,” he said, folding his hands in his lap. “My original intention was to send her to Lady Tamayo. She is demon who opposes Muzan, who severed herself from his control long ago, and has devoted her life to undoing his evil.”

That revelation landed like a stone dropped into still water—silent, but powerful enough to send shock outward. Even the air felt tighter.

Sanemi scoffed under his breath, though he said nothing more.

Gyomei murmured that a demon being free of Muzan shouldn’t be possible.

Kagaya raised a hand—not commanding, but calming—as he continued, his voice calm and steady, even as unease rippled through the room.

“I understand this may feel like yet another secret added to many others. But every decision has been made with the Corps’ safety in mind. I would never endanger any of you, not for sentiment, nor for hope, nor for desperation.”

You swallowed hard, guilt twisting inside you. Sanemi’s jaw clenched even harder, though he still refused to look at you.

“But now,” Kagaya continued, “with Muzan aware of her existence, and with an Upper Rank actively attempting to take her alive.. the journey to Lady Tamayo has become far too dangerous. It would risk her life, the cure, and the Corps itself. It’ll be best to have Lady Tamayo arrive here to assist ________.”

Silence fell—not empty, but crowded with thought, tension, fear, calculation.

Then Gyomei bowed his head, voice deep and unwavering.

“If this is the path you have chosen, Master, then I will trust in it fully.”

His certainty seemed to anchor the room.

One by one, the others followed.

Giyu offered a quiet nod without hesitation.

Shinobu exhaled slowly, then agreed with composed conviction.

Muichiro murmured that if the Master believed in it, then it must be true.

Mitsuri wiped her eyes, smiling in soft, emotional support.

Obanai obeyed with visible reluctance but without objection.

And finally… Sanemi.

His shoulders were rigid. His eyes were sharp and distant. His chest rose and fell with restrained fury. He bowed his head—just barely—acknowledging Kagaya’s authority, but very clearly not forgiving you.

Your heart tightened painfully, even though you told yourself not to expect anything else.

Kagaya nodded with warmth and relief.

“Thank you. The next phase of our preparations will require unity and understanding. I ask that you all carry that with you.”

The tension in the room broke the moment Kagaya dismissed everyone.

Sanemi was the first to stand—his jaw tight, eyes fixed anywhere but in your direction. He strode out without a word, haori swaying behind him like a storm cloud.

One by one, the other Hashira filtered out.

Shinobu offered you a polite nod.

Giyu glanced at you briefly, unreadable.

Gyomei murmured a quiet prayer.

Muichiro wandered out, already distracted.

Obanai placed a guiding hand at Mitsuri’s back to steer her away—because she was staring at you, eyes sparkling with questions—before he tugged her out of the room.

You finally exhaled.

When the last sliding door closed and silence settled, you felt your body loosen for the first time since the mountain.

You returned to your room at the mansion and sank to your knees, letting yourself breathe. Then, slowly, methodically, you washed your face, cleaned away the grime of travel, and changed into a soft kimono. Loose, comfortable, safe.

For the first time in days, you didn’t smell like blood.

You stepped back into the quiet hall… and nearly jumped when a pair of pink and green braids bounced into view.

Mitsuri.

Her eyes were wide. Her cheeks flushed. Her energy barely contained.

She gasped loudly the second she saw you.

“There you are!! I was looking everywhere for you!”

You blinked. “Oh—Mitsuri, I—”

She hurried right up to you, grabbing both your hands like you were already best friends.

“Can we talk? Please? Just for a moment? I have to ask you something!”

You froze.

You already knew exactly what… or rather, who… this was about.

Mitsuri leaned in, whispering dramatically—even though no one was around.

“So… you and Shinazugawa—”

You nearly choked on air.

“M-Mitsuri—!!”

Her eyes sparkled like festival lanterns.

“I knew it! I knew there was something! The way he looked when you walked in, and the way he kept clenching his jaw, and how tense he was… Shinazugawa-san never gets tense unless he feels something!”

You shook your head rapidly, flustered.

“It’s not— we’re not— it’s complicated—”

Mitsuri gasped again, hands flying to her mouth.

“COMPLICATED MEANS THERE’S SOMETHING!”

You covered your face with both hands.

“I don’t think he even wants to look at me right now…”

Mitsuri’s expression softened immediately, her smile fading into genuine concern.

“…Is it because of what happened during the mission?”

You nodded, throat tightening.

“He’s angry. And hurt. And I don’t blame him.”

Mitsuri reached out, squeezing your hand gently.

“Shinazugawa-san feels things very strongly. Even when he pretends he doesn’t. Especially when he pretends he doesn’t.”

You looked up at her, surprised by her sincerity.

She smiled sadly.

“If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have reacted like that.”

Your heart stuttered.

Mitsuri leaned closer, lowering her voice again—even though it didn’t help at all.

“And I don’t think he’s avoiding you because he hates you. I think he’s avoiding you because he doesn’t know what to do about you.”

Your breath caught.

Your chest tightened.

Your eyes burned.

Mitsuri squeezed your hands one more time, then stepped back.

“If you ever want to talk… or cry… or scream into a pillow… I’m here, okay?”

You nodded weakly. “…Thank you, Mitsuri.”

She smiled, gave you one last encouraging squeeze, and then hurried off down the hallway, humming to herself like she hadn’t just detonated a bomb inside your chest.

You stood there alone with your heart pounding and mind racing… wondering.

What do I do now?

The corridors of the Ubuyashiki estate felt too quiet—too wide—too heavy with thoughts you couldn’t outrun.

Your pulse fluttered beneath your skin as you made your way toward the Kakushi quarters, the place where familiar voices and mundane chatter might dull the ache twisting in your chest.

You hesitated only once outside the sliding door.

Then you stepped inside.

Five Kakushi sat scattered around the common room—Aya and Mei seated on floor cushions, Souta and Daichi leaning against the wall, Renji standing near the window. All of them masked, dressed in black, indistinguishable to anyone else… but you knew them now. Their mannerisms, their heights, their voices.

It only took a heartbeat for them to notice you.

Aya gasped sharply.

Mei shot to her feet.

Souta dropped the broom he’d been pretending to use.

Daichi jolted upright so fast he stumbled.

Renji froze—completely still, like the world had stopped around him.

Then.. chaos.

They rushed to you all at once, voices overlapping in a panicked tangle.

“Are you hurt?!”

“We heard you were taken—”

“They said it was bandits—”

“Someone told us you almost died—”

Their hands hovered, unsure whether to touch you or keep distance, their masks angled forward as if trying to read your expression.

You lifted your hands gently, overwhelmed but warmed by the concern.

“I’m okay,” you assured, voice soft and tired. “Really. I’m fine.”

The room fell into a stunned silence.

Then, Mei smacked Daichi in the arm.

“See? I told you she was fine! You were losing your mind!”

Daichi spluttered beneath his mask. “I was NOT—”

Aya chimed in, “You cried.”

“I DID NOT—!”

Souta snorted, and Mei crossed her arms triumphantly.

You couldn’t help it—your lips twitched into the smallest smile.

But then, Renji moved.

Slowly.

Not rushed like the others—just quietly determined.

He stopped in front of you, head bowed slightly, as if asking permission without words.

Before you could react, his arms wrapped around you.

A firm, steady, grounding embrace—one that pulled you into his chest and held you there as though he’d been holding his breath for days.

Your body froze.

His voice was low, barely above a whisper, but you heard every syllable against your ear.

“You’re safe…”

A breath trembled through him.

“Thank the gods, you’re safe.”

Your fingers curled weakly into the fabric of his uniform, not quite returning the hug—yet not pulling away either. For the first time since everything… someone held you without fear, without disgust, without flinching.

Behind him, four masked heads stared.

Then, in perfect unison.

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH—”

Renji still didn’t let go.

Not until he seemed to realize the entire room was watching. He pulled back abruptly, clearing his throat, straightening his posture—though his hand lingered on your arm for a moment longer than necessary.

You felt it.

And so did everyone else.

The silence thickened, then Mei leaned in and whispered loudly. “…Mr. Shinazugawa is going to murder him.”

You choked. “What do you mean he would murder him?”

The five exchanged looks like conspirators caught mid-plot.

Aya lowered her voice. “I mean he seemed super tense. The kind of tense that girls pick up on when it involves someone.”

Mei jumped in, animated and breathless. “Exactly that!”

Your face flamed so hot you thought the wisteria outside might wilt from the heat.

Renji made a noise somewhere between a groan and a death rattle.

Souta nodded as if delivering a medical conclusion. “Which obviously means Shinazugawa has the hots for you.”

You choked—violently—while Renji went rigid beside you.

Mei tapped her chin thoughtfully. “He does act like someone in love… you know, the rabid-raccoon type.”

Aya agreed. “The kind that growls instead of talking.”

Daichi hummed. “But also the kind that would stab someone for looking at you too long.”

You covered your face with both hands, wishing for death.

“I— no— it’s not— you all have it completely wrong—”

But they weren’t listening. They were having too much fun.

Souta pointed at Renji. “Unless YOU’RE the romantic rival.”

Renji visibly died inside.

Mei leaned closer to you, voice bubbling with excitement. “So which one is it? Do you like Renji? Or Shinazugawa?”

The mortification hit you like a blade to the chest. You shook your head rapidly.

“I’m not discussing this,” you insisted, desperate to escape. “Let’s… let’s talk about literally anything else.”

The room finally quieted—just barely—though the air still pulsed with curiosity.

You inhaled slowly, pressing a hand to your chest to steady the ache beneath it. Something inside you shifted—something tired, raw, ready. Looking at them like this—these masked, ridiculous, fiercely loyal companions—you felt something warm tighten in your chest.

If you were ever going to stop drowning in secrecy, if you were ever going to be honest with someone, it had to start here.

You drew in a slow breath and lifted your gaze to them.

“…There’s something I need to tell you,” you said quietly.

All five went still.

Renji stepped forward—instinctively—like he sensed the weight of the moment.

“It’s important,” you continued, voice soft but steady. “And if you truly consider me a friend… then you deserve to know who I really am.”

The room didn’t breathe.

Their masks hid their expressions, but somehow, you felt every pair of eyes on you.

Your pulse thundered.

Your throat tightened.

This was it.

The moment everything would change.

Silence settled over the room like falling ash.

Five masked faces stared back at you—still, attentive, waiting. Your heartbeat pounded so loudly you swore they could hear it, but you forced yourself to breathe, to stay present, to not crumble before the words even left your mouth.

“I’m not… what you think I am,” you began, voice barely above a whisper.

Souta shifted. Mei’s hands curled in her lap. Aya’s mask tilted as if she were holding her breath. Daichi, usually loud and unfiltered, was motionless. Renji stood closest—close enough that you could feel the tension radiating off him—yet he didn’t touch you, didn’t push, didn’t move.

You swallowed.

“There’s a curse in my family,” you continued. “One that Muzan placed generations ago. The Master… bears it through illness. And the women born from the other branch of the family… bear it through blood.”

No one spoke.

You forced yourself to keep going.

“I was born half-demon.”

Aya gasped—quiet, but sharp. Daichi flinched backward a step. Mei’s hand flew to her mask as if afraid of what expression might be seen beneath it. Souta’s shoulders tensed.

Renji didn’t move.

Your voice trembled, but you didn’t stop.

“My blood is a demon’s blood, but my mind, and my heart, are human. I don’t turn people, I don’t infect, I don’t spread corruption. My demon art isn’t for killing.” You clasped your shaking hands together. “It’s for healing.”

Their reactions shifted—shock thinning into confusion, confusion into something like hesitant understanding.

You continued, gentler now.

“The Master and Lady Ayame… they protected me. They gave me small amounts of blood to keep the curse under control. I never hunted. I never hurt anyone. I never drank from a living human.” Your throat tightened. “Until those bandits.”

The room froze.

You forced the truth out anyway, even though it burned.

“When Sanemi and I were captured… they tortured us. I thought he was going to die. I thought I was going to die. And something in me—snapped.” Your voice wavered but didn’t break. “I killed them. I drank their blood to heal. And I hated myself for it. I still do.”

Mei let out a slow, shaking exhale.

Souta stared at the floor.

Daichi pressed his knuckles to his forehead.

Aya whispered, voice trembling, “Were they… innocent?”

You shook your head hard.

“No. They were the kind that trafficked women. They mutilated civilians. They threatened to violate me, and they beat Sanemi until he bled.” You forced yourself to look at each of them. “But that doesn’t make what I did noble. It just makes it something I’ll never forget.”

They absorbed that—quiet, heavy, thinking.

You continued, softer than before.

“And then… in the Entertainment District… Upper Moon Six’s blood triggered my transformation.. almost like I grew stronger. And with Upper Moon Three, it happened again. Their blood made me stronger, but it also made the cravings worse. I hate that part of myself. I’m scared of it. I don’t want to become something that harms anyone.”

Your voice finally cracked.

“I don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t expect trust. I only wanted you to know the truth. No more lies. Not with you.”

The silence that followed was different this time—warmer, fuller, charged with emotion rather than fear.

Mei was the first to move.

She stood—slowly—and stepped closer, her trembling hands lifting to remove her mask. When it dropped to her chest, you saw her eyes—wet, gentle, afraid but brave.

“You saved us during missions,” she whispered. “If you were dangerous… you wouldn’t have.”

Aya removed hers next, nodding rapidly, voice shaking.

“You held Daichi’s hand when he fainted from blood. A demon wouldn’t do that!”

Daichi sputtered. “I DID NOT FAINT—”

Souta cut him off with a pat on the back. “You did.”

Then Souta lifted his mask too, meeting your eyes with steady sincerity.

“You helped a lot of the Corps member.”

Emotion pressed into your lungs, hot and overwhelming.

Finally—Renji stepped forward.

Slowly and purposefully as he removed his mask last.

His expression wasn’t afraid.

It wasn’t disgusted.

It wasn’t uncertain.

It was fierce.

“You’ve been alone with this,” he said quietly. “Carrying it, hiding it, terrified of what people would think.”

Your lip trembled.

Renji shook his head.

“Well, now you’re not alone.”

Aya nodded.

Mei wiped her face.

Daichi sniffed.

Souta crossed his arms, trying not to look emotional.

Renji’s voice softened.

“We’re your friends. We choose you. Demon blood or not.”

Your tears finally fell—but this time, they didn’t hurt.

Mei wrapped her arms around you first, then Aya, then Souta, then Daichi, then Renji—until you were swallowed in a messy, uneven, too-tight bundle of warmth. Elbows bumped your shoulders and foreheads, arms squeezed from every direction, and for the first time since the cliff… since Akaza… since Sanemi’s voice tore you apart..

You felt safe.

Your throat trembled as a choked sob escaped you, but this time it wasn’t grief—it was relief. You sagged into them, letting yourself feel held, letting yourself melt into the comfort you didn’t know how badly you craved.

If only Sanemi could understand…

The thought slipped through you like a blade—quiet, aching, undeniable.

Because even surrounded by acceptance, even wrapped in affection, even drowning in warmth… there was a part of you still standing alone in that forest.

Bleeding.

Begging.

And watching him look at you like a monster.

You blinked the tears away before anyone could notice.

The group slowly pulled back, still close, still touching—hands on your arms, shoulders, back—like they were afraid you’d disappear if they let go too quickly.

Mei sniffed as she spoke clearly.

“So… um… can you transform?”

You stared at her.

“…What?”

Suddenly all four others leaned in at once.

“Yeah, can you?”

“I wanna see!”

“Is it scary?”

“Do you get horns?!”

Daichi whispered, horrified, “Please say you don’t get twelve eyes.”

Renji didn’t say anything—he just watched you, soft-eyed, curious but gentle.

A stunned laugh escaped you—small at first, then fuller, warmer, bubbling up in a way you hadn’t thought possible after everything that happened.

“Okay, okay.. fine,” you breathed, wiping your eyes. “But don’t scream.”

They all nodded rapidly, like excited children waiting for fireworks.

You inhaled once, steadying yourself, then let the shift ripple through you.

Your pupils thinned into sharp, predatory slits.

Your irises deepened into a richer red.

Your canines lengthened into elegant fangs.

And your nails extended into razor-edged claws—gleaming faintly under the lantern light.

Mei gasped, but it wasn’t fear.

Aya leaned forward, fascinated.

Daichi whispered, “That’s actually… kinda cool.”

Souta nodded slowly. “Elegant, even.”

Renji’s breath caught—not in terror, but in awe, like he was seeing you and only you.

You lifted a clawed hand self-consciously.

“…You’re not scared?”

Mei shook her head so hard her hair tie nearly snapped.

“Of you? Never.”

And for the second time in one night, you almost cried again.

The excitement only grew from there.

Mei suddenly slapped both hands onto her knees and leaned forward, eyes sparkling with excitement.

“WAIT—hold on, let’s back up. You’re telling us you fought two Upper Moons?!”

All five Kakushi gasped dramatically in unison, scooting closer like children around a campfire.

You blinked, caught off guard.

“Well… I mean—yes? Technically?”

Souta threw his hands up.

“TECHNICALLY, SHE SAYS. Like it’s a casual errand, ‘oh yeah, I just technically fought demons ranked above nightmares and lived.’”

Daichi pointed at you accusingly—well, admiringly.

“Do you understand that most people don’t even survive seeing ONE Upper Moon?! Let alone a normal demon?!”

Aya chimed in with a gasp.

“And you DRAINED THEIR BLOOD?!”

Mei fanned herself dramatically. “That’s metal. Disgusting, but metal.”

You laughed—actually laughed—shoulders shaking, fangs glinting as your red eyes softened.

“It wasn’t exactly planned.”

“PLANNED?!” Souta shrieked. “Who PLANS that?!”

Renji, who had been quiet this whole time, finally spoke—soft, steady, almost reverent.

“You survived them.”

The room fell quiet for a moment.

Not fearful.

Not tense.

Just… filled with awe.

You sat down with them in a loose circle on the tatami, claws carefully resting against your knees so you wouldn’t scratch anything or anyone.

Renji shifted, hesitated—then gently leaned against your shoulder.

You stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, letting him.

He didn’t flinch at your fangs.

He didn’t stare at your claws.

He didn’t fear your eyes.

He just rested there, warm and solid, like you were still you.

The others continued talking over each other.

“What did Upper Moon Six look like?!”

“Did the markings hurt?”

“Could you throw a house now?”

“Can you smell emotions? Like.. am I scared right now?”

“Oh my god she’s SMILING with fangs that’s so cute— wait is that weird to say?”

You leaned your head gently against Renji’s just for a moment, feeling something you hadn’t felt since before everything fell apart.

Belonging.

Warmth.

Home.

And even though Sanemi’s rejection still ached like a bruise under your ribs… for the first time since the cliff, since Akaza, since the wisteria house… you didn’t feel like a monster.

You felt like family.

— COME BACK TO BED.

pairing: fem!reader x sanemi

genre: fluff

a/n: I ABSOLUTELY MELTED WRITING THIS

It started stupid.

Not tragic, not explosive—just one of those dumb little arguments couples have when they’re tired and hungry and both too stubborn to blink first.

You were washing dishes.

He was sharpening his blade at the kitchen table, jaw tense, shoulders tight after a long patrol.

You told him—gently—that he didn’t have to go on tomorrow’s mission if he was exhausted.

He took it as you doubting him.

You rolled your eyes.

He snapped something snarky.

You matched it.

And somehow the conversation spiraled into absolutely nothing.

Half silly, half serious—equal parts concern and pride.

Eventually, you sighed, grabbed a pillow and blanket, and headed toward the living room.

“Fine. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

Sanemi scoffed as he crossed his arms, pretending he didn’t care.

“Yeah? Do whatever you want.”

But the second the bedroom door shut behind you… regret hit him so hard he had to sit down.

Because the bed felt too big without you. Too cold. Too wrong.

He paced for a while, muttering to himself, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Stupid… idiot… why’d you say it like that. She was just worried about you.”

He peeked down the hallway.

Dark. Quiet.

You were actually staying on the couch.

Sanemi’s stomach twisted.

He hated fighting with you. Not because he feared losing, but because he hated being the reason your shoulders tensed and your voice went flat.

So he tried to wait you out.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Tossed. Turned. Sighed. Grumbled.

Even punched his pillow once for good measure.

But sleep wouldn’t come—not without you breathing beside him.

Eventually, he gave up.

Barefoot, shirtless, still grumpy but softening, he walked into the living room.

And there you were… curled under a blanket, breathing steadily, cheeks pressed into the pillow you stole.

His whole chest melted.

He approached quietly, kneeling beside the couch, elbow resting on the cushion so he could see your face. Moonlight spilled through the window, highlighting every feature he adored.

“…Hey,” he whispered, voice rough.

No response. Just the gentle rise and fall of your chest.

He swallowed, nervous.

The Wind Hashira—nervous over his own wife.

“Look, I—” he whispered, then sighed. “You weren’t wrong, okay? I get tired. I know that.”

His fingers hovered over your hair but didn’t touch, not without permission. He was trying to show respect, even while apologizing.

“And I know you said it because you care. I just… I’m not used to that.”

His voice softened so much it barely existed.

“I’m trying to be better at accepting it.”

He sat on the floor beside the couch, back pressed against it, knees drawn up.

A beat of silence.

Then a confession, tiny and terrified. “I don’t want you sleeping out here. I hate it.”

Still nothing.

He peeked up and immediately panicked.

“Not—not that you can’t! I just—shit—” He raked a hand through his white hair, flustered. “I sleep better when you’re next to me. That’s all.”

He waited again.

When you didn’t move, he gently draped another blanket over you—tucking the edges around your shoulders so you’d stay warm.

He sat there a moment longer, staring at the floor, thinking. Then, slowly, he climbed onto the couch.. well, half of him. Kneeling on the floor, he rested his head on the cushion near yours, arms folded beneath his chin.

He stayed like that—close, but not touching—just breathing you in.

Finally, you spoke, voice soft. “You’re uncomfortable like that.”

Sanemi straightened immediately, eyes wide knowing he got caught.

“You’re awake?!”

You opened your eyes, amused. “I’ve been awake.”

His face flushed—deep, bright pink climbing all the way to the tips of his ears.

“O-Oh.”

Silence. Then, quieter, vulnerable.

“Did you hear all that?”

You nodded, smiling gently. “Every word.”

He groaned and buried his face into the pillow beside you.

“Kill me now.”

You laughed and reached out, brushing your fingers through his hair. He melted instantly, leaning into your touch like a starved cat.

“…I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have snapped. I know you worry because you love me.”

You caressed his cheek, thumb tracing the scar near his lip.

“And I shouldn’t have walked away. I’m sorry too.”

He looked at you then—truly looked—and his expression softened into something shy, almost boyish.

“Will you come back to bed?” he asked quietly. “Please?”

Your heart flipped.

Because Sanemi didn’t say “please” often—only when he meant it.

You nodded. “Yeah. Take me.”

Relief crashed over him. He stood and offered his hand to help you up, fingers trembling the tiniest bit.

When you rose to your feet, he didn’t let go.

He led you back to the bedroom, pulled back the covers, and waited until you slid in. Then he climbed in beside you—hesitant, nervous, hopeful.

He held still, unsure if he had the right to touch you yet.

So you scooted closer, resting your head on his chest.

He exhaled shakily—like he’d been holding his breath all night—and wrapped his arms around you, tucking you beneath his chin.

“…Thank you,” he whispered. “For staying.”

His heartbeat was fast—boyish, vulnerable—proof that the bravest man alive was still terrified of losing love.

You kissed his bare chest, slow and reassuring. “I’m not going anywhere, Sanemi.”

His grip tightened—not possessive, just relieved.

And finally, he relaxed.

“Good,” he mumbled sleepily. “Because I really, really love you.”

You smiled into his skin. “I love you too.”

He fell asleep like that—clinging to you, face buried in your hair, wearing the softest, shyest smile.

And the couch stayed empty for the rest of your marriage.

sanemi masterlist | demon slayer masterlist

— WAITING FOR YOU.

⋆˚࿔ pairing: fem!reader x tanjiro

⋆˚࿔ genre: fluff

a/n: i tweaked the timeline a bit, where they’re still having to fight demons and tanjiro is now a hashira <3

The first time you saw him, he was just a boy—thin, trembling from exhaustion, snowflakes clinging to his hair, and a look in his eyes that was far too broken for someone so young.

Your father stood beside him at the entrance of the mountain.

“Tanjiro Kamado,” Urokodaki introduced, voice firm but gentle. “He will be training here.”

You offered him a polite bow.

“Welcome. I’m Urokodaki’s daughter. If you need anything, let me know.”

Tanjiro blinked, startled by warmth he wasn’t expecting, then bowed so deeply his forehead almost hit the dirt.

“Thank you! I—I really appreciate it!”

That was the beginning.

And during his training, you were always there.

He swung until his hands split open. Ran until he collapsed. And every time, you were there with bandages and tea, quietly scolding him.

“You don’t have to destroy yourself to prove something,” you’d mutter.

He’d smile—soft, grateful, unwavering.

“I just… want to become someone who can protect others.”

You admired him for it, more than you were willing to admit.

Sometimes you trained beside him, wooden swords clashing, snow kicking up under your feet. You were faster, more precise. He was stronger, fueled by heart alone.

“You’re incredible!” he’d gasp between breaths.

You’d laugh, cheeks warm.

“You’re getting better, don’t sound so surprised.”

Tiny moments built something gentle between you both. Hands brushing when passing chopsticks, him offering his haori when he thought you were cold, you tying his hair back when it kept falling in his eyes.

He smelled like pine and warmth and something safe.

The night he left for the Final Selection, the mountain was quiet.

He bowed to Urokodaki, tears falling, voice shaking with gratitude.

Then he turned to you—hesitant, almost afraid to speak.

“You helped me more than you know,” he whispered. “I… I’ll come back. I promise.”

Your throat tightened. “You better.”

You smiled for him, even though your stomach twisted with fear.

And he left.

A whole week went by. The sun had barely risen when the sound of footsteps approached.

You whipped around.

Tanjiro stood there—bloodied, scratched, but alive. Breathing. Standing. Smiling.

“Tanjiro!” you gasped.

Urokodaki reached him first, gripping his shoulders, voice trembling behind his mask as he hugged him.

“You made it back to us,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Good.”

Nezuko rushed out and tackled them into a hug, humming softly. Tanjiro laughed breathlessly, tears forming in his eyes.

You stood there frozen—relief hitting you so hard your knees almost buckled.

He raised his head—and the moment he saw you, his expression changed to something gentle, something warm.

You exhaled shakily and stepped forward.

“You came back,” you whispered, voice cracking.

Tanjiro didn’t even hesitate—he closed the distance and wrapped his arms around you.

Not a polite hug, but more of a desperate, relieved, I-missed-you hug.

You stiffened for a second, then melted into him, fists curling into his haori.

“I promised I would,” he murmured into your hair.

You felt his heart racing—fast, nervous, alive.

When you finally pulled apart, your cheeks were burning. His were too—bright scarlet all the way to his ears.

Urokodaki cleared his throat loudly and you both flinched apart.

Tanjiro scratched his cheek nervously. “S-Sorry, Master!”

Urokodaki said nothing… but you could FEEL the stare under that mask.

Tanjiro got his new uniform the next morning—ready to leave the mountain, leave safety, leave you.

You walked him down the path, pretending your chest wasn’t aching.

“So… this is goodbye for now,” you said softly.

Tanjiro looked at you like you’d just said something heartbreaking.

“No. Not goodbye. Never goodbye.”

Your breath caught.

“I’ll come back,” he said, voice steady, eyes determined. “I’ll get stronger, save Nezuko, and… I’ll return here. To you.”

Your heart pounded so loudly you were certain he could hear it.

You opened your mouth—hesitant, terrified, hopeful.

“Tanjiro… I—”

He gently reached for your hand.

Warm. Calloused. Careful.

“I know,” he said softly.

Your eyes widened as heat rushed to your face.

He gave you a small, shy smile, the kind he’d only ever shown you.

Then he lifted your hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles.

Your breath hitched. Your entire soul left your body.

“I’ll come back,” he repeated, cheeks bright red. “So… wait for me?”

You nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.

He took one shaky step away, then turned back suddenly and hugged you again, tighter this time, burying his face in your shoulder like he didn’t want to let go.

“I’ll miss you,” he whispered.

You clutched the back of his uniform, voice trembling. “Come back alive.”

He pulled away reluctantly, gave you one last smile—then jogged toward the road, Nezuko’s box on his back.

You stood there staring after him, flushed, dazed, floating.

And then..

“…When did that happen?” Urokodaki’s voice came from behind you.

You jumped so high you nearly left the planet.

“W-WHAT?! NOTHING HAPPENED—NOTHING—HE JUST—IT WAS—TRAINING COURTESY—GOOD LUCK—RESPECT—”

Urokodaki stared silently.

You wanted to evaporate.

“He kissed your hand,” he said flatly.

You covered your face. “PLEASE DON’T SAY IT OUT LOUD—”

He sighed the sigh of a father who suddenly aged 20 years.

“Dear lord… I trained him too well.”

You groaned into your hands while he mumbled about needing a stronger mask to handle this.

Meanwhile Tanjiro, halfway down the mountain, happily unaware, was replaying that hand kiss and nearly tripping over tree roots.

It had been years.

Years since he left the mountain with a sword and a promise you clung to like oxygen. Years of handwritten letters—each one full of hope, exhaustion, and gentle questions about you.

And then… they stopped.

You reread the last one until the ink began to fade. You told yourself it was fine, that missions were dangerous, travel was unpredictable, mail got intercepted.

But late at night, when the lamps dimmed, your mind whispered cruel things.

Maybe he forgot you. Maybe he outgrew you.

Still, every morning you woke early, glanced toward the path leading down the mountain, and pretended you weren’t waiting.

Life continued—quietly, steadily.

You tended to the home, cooked meals, sharpened your father's blade, and trained with Urokodaki just enough to defend yourself. You never became a slayer—your father refused—but he made sure you knew how to survive.

Today was like any other. Carrying a basket, you followed the forest trail, collecting fallen branches and dry kindling.

The air shifted.

The forest was quiet.. too quiet.

You paused mid-step, basket of firewood resting against your hip. A breeze slid between the cedar trunks, but it carried no birdsong, no rustling critters—just an uneasy stillness.

Your fingers tightened around the worn handle of Urokodaki’s old sword.

You only ever carried it for emergencies—small demons, wandering threats—but today something felt different. Heavier.

You slowly drew the blade, exhaling like your father taught you.

Stay calm. Read the air.

Then.. movement.

A blur of pale limbs burst from the shadows, snarling, hunger twisting its features. It was too fast, too close. Your body reacted before your mind did, raising the sword—

But a flash of light struck first.

A clean, impossibly precise strike. No hesitation. No wasted motion.

The demon dissolved into ash before your blade even fully lifted.

Your breath caught.

Standing where the demon had been was a man—taller, broader, wrapped in a checkered haori that fluttered in the wind like a banner. His nichirin blade gleamed, still smoking from the cut. But it was the scent that hit you first—warm, familiar, like charcoal and fresh rain.

He turned.

And those eyes—gentle, sunlit, impossibly kind—met yours.

“…________?”

Your heartbeat stopped.

“Tanjiro?”

His features softened—relief, joy, disbelief all blending into one expression that nearly brought you to your knees.

He looked so different—older, stronger, scar more defined, jaw sharper—but when he smiled…

He was the same boy who promised he’d come back.

You dropped the firewood without meaning to, lungs finally remembering how to work.

“You.. you’re alive,” you whispered, voice breaking.

And then you ran.

Tanjiro barely had time to sheath his sword before you crashed into him—arms wrapped tight around his torso. He let out a shaky breath and instantly held you back, lifting you off the ground like he never wanted to let go again.

“I missed you,” he exhaled into your shoulder, voice trembling. “So much.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his haori, your chest aching with everything you never said.

“You stopped writing,” you whispered, afraid of the answer.

His hold tightened, warm and protective.

“I wanted to,” he murmured, “but I was constantly moving, fighting. I didn’t want a letter to reach you only to put you in danger. But I never stopped thinking about you. Not once.”

Your eyes stung.

You pulled back just enough to really see him. His face was older, marked by battles, but his smile was just as soft as you remembered.

“You became a Hashira,” you breathed, half proud, half terrified.

He flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “A-Ah—yeah. It still feels strange when people say it.”

You laughed—a choked, emotional sound—and he smiled like he’d been waiting years to hear it again.

Nezuko peeked from behind a tree, eyes bright, delighted—then quietly slipped away with a knowing grin, giving you space.

Silence fell as Tanjiro reached out, fingers brushing yours—hesitant at first, then confident when you didn’t pull away. His hand engulfed yours, warm and calloused, grounding.

“You kept Urokodaki’s sword,” he said gently.

You nodded. “I couldn’t just sit around hoping you’d be okay. I needed to be able to protect myself too.”

Something in his expression softened—pride, admiration, affection.

“I’m glad,” he whispered. “You deserve to feel safe.”

Your breath hitched.

He stepped closer, so close the tips of your noses almost touched—his eyes searching yours like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“I came back,” he said softly. “Just like I promised.”

Your heart flipped. “I never stopped waiting for you.”

His cheeks turned scarlet, yet he didn’t look away this time.

Slowly—giving you every moment to refuse—he lifted a hand and cupped your cheek. His thumb brushed your skin with aching tenderness.

“_________,” he whispered, voice barely steady, “may I…?”

You didn’t speak. You just leaned in.

That was enough.

He kissed you—gentle at first, like he was afraid you’d break—then deeper, fuller, overflowing with years of longing he never put into words.

You clung to him, smiling against his lips, laughter and tears mixing with the soft press of your mouths.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, still holding your hands.

“I’m home,” he murmured.

You smiled—warm, certain, glowing.

“Welcome back, Tanjiro.”

And this time—he didn’t have to leave.

demon slayer masterlist

chapter fourteen

ch. 13 here

⋆⁺₊⋆ pairing: fem!reader x sanemi

⋆⁺₊⋆ summary: sanemi shinazugawa. your bodyguard by order, your tormentor by nature. but while he glares at shadows, he doesn’t realize the real secret is the one you carry inside you.

Morning came slow. The sky was a dull gray, soft mist curling between the trees as faint light broke through the branches. Dew clung to the grass, and the dying embers of the fire hissed when a drop of water hit them.

You blinked awake first, head still resting lightly against Sanemi’s shoulder. For a second, you forgot where you were—only the weight of his haori draped over your body and the sound of Obanai’s faint snoring reminded you that you were safe, at least for now.

Sanemi stirred beside you, eyes opening just as you shifted away. Neither of you spoke, but the air between you still felt heavy—charged with everything that had happened the night before and everything neither of you had said.

Obanai was already up by the time you stretched, swinging his sword with practiced efficiency. “You two sleep well?” he asked dryly, though the slight glint in his eyes told you he was teasing more than scolding.

Sanemi grunted, standing and dusting off his haori. “Better than you look.”

Obanai ignored the jab, checking the small map Kagaya had provided. “It’s a long trek,” he said, his tone shifting to serious. “These men weren’t just bandits. The whole gang operated out of a hideout in the northern mountains… completely off any trade routes. It’ll take at least two days to reach the nearest Wisteria House if we don’t stop much.”

You frowned, tightening your uniform belt. “Two days through mountain terrain?”

“Secluded mountains,” Obanai clarified, glancing at you. “And if the rumors are right, it’s not just humans up there anymore.”

Sanemi’s head turned sharply. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Obanai folded the map. “You’ll see when we get there.”

A small chill crept up your spine. The forest felt different that morning—quieter than it should have been, like even the birds didn’t want to follow you three into whatever waited ahead.

Sanemi slung his sword over his back and turned to you. “Stay close.”

You met his gaze, and though his tone was as gruff as ever, there was something unspoken behind it—a warning wrapped in worry. You nodded, giving a faint smile before adjusting your own pack.

Obanai stretched, already walking ahead. “Try not to flirt the whole way.”

Sanemi muttered a curse under his breath, and you bit back a laugh as you followed, the faint warmth of his shoulder still lingering on yours.

You were fixing your ripped uniform when Sanemi’s hand shot out, catching your arm gently but firmly.

“Hey,” he muttered, his voice low enough that Obanai wouldn’t hear. His sharp eyes trailed over your wounds, then flicked back to your face. “Why the hell haven’t you healed yourself yet?”

You blinked at him, surprised by the frustration in his tone. “Because,” you whispered, leaning in closer so only he could hear, “if Obanai sees me magically looking fine after those injuries, he’ll start asking questions. And I’m not exactly ready to explain that.”

Sanemi’s jaw tightened, teeth gritting audibly. He knew you were right—damn it, you were always right—but it didn’t stop that protective fire from twisting in his chest. “You shouldn’t be walking around like this,” he muttered. “You’re still bleeding through those damn bandages.”

You offered a small, tired smile. “I’ll live.”

He glared at you, eyes flashing with that mix of worry and irritation that had become far too familiar lately. “You’re reckless,” he said quietly.

“You’re bossy,” you shot back, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

A few paces ahead, Obanai slowed, his head turning slightly toward you two. “You done whispering your sweet nothings back there?”

Both your heads snapped up in sync. Sanemi glowered while you stifled an embarrassed cough.

“The hell are you talking about?” Sanemi barked, his ears faintly pink.

Obanai’s tone was lazy, teasing. “Just wondering how long I’m supposed to pretend I don’t hear the two of you whispering like school kids.”

You were about to respond when Sanemi exhaled sharply, then turned to you again. “Forget it. You’re not walking.”

“What?” you blinked.

Before you could protest further, he crouched slightly and jerked his thumb toward his back. “Get on.”

Your face flushed instantly. “Sanemi, I can walk—”

He shot you a look that said don’t test me. “You can barely stand without wincing.”

“Sanemi, no. It’s okay I’m—”

Obanai pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning. “For crying out loud, just get on his damn back so we can move before nightfall.”

You stared between the two of them, utterly mortified, before finally giving in. “Fine,” you muttered, climbing onto Sanemi’s back. His hands instinctively steadied your thighs as he stood, and your breath hitched when he murmured, “Told you I got you.”

Obanai walked ahead, shaking his head. “If I hear one more sappy thing out of either of you, I’m feeding myself to a demon.”

Sanemi smirked behind him. “Might do the world a favor.”

“Keep talking,” Obanai shot back, “and I’ll let you carry me next.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed softly against Sanemi’s shoulder, and even he couldn’t hide the faintest twitch of a smile as the three of you started the long trek toward the mountains.

The trail wound higher as the morning went on, fog curling around the treetops. The path was narrow and slick from last night’s rain, forcing the three of you into single file. Obanai led ahead with his crow circling above, muttering now and then about the terrain, while you stayed perched on Sanemi’s back.

Your chin found its way to his shoulder without you even meaning to. The warmth of his body was grounding, and for a moment, the ache in your side dulled. You exhaled softly, and the faint brush of your breath against his neck made him tense.

Sanemi didn’t say a word, but his grip on your thighs tightened slightly. The heat creeping up his neck was impossible to ignore since he could feel your breath fan against the curve of his jaw, the ghost of your fingers occasionally grazing the exposed part of his chest where his uniform hung open.

“…You’re makin’ this hard to focus,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You blinked, lips curving faintly. “How so?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he gritted out, his tone low, voice rough around the edges.

You chuckled softly, your fingers brushing his collarbone on purpose this time. “It’s not my fault you’re so warm.”

Sanemi’s jaw clenched, and if Obanai hadn’t been a few paces ahead, he might’ve tossed you off just to cool himself down. But instead, he muttered, “You’re impossible,” and shifted your weight a little higher on his back, his hands firm on the back of your thighs.

You rested your head against his shoulder again, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you murmured, “You say that a lot.”

“Because it’s true,” he mumbled.

Obanai’s voice broke the quiet suddenly, startling both of you. “If you two are done turning this hike into a love story, we should pick up the pace.”

Sanemi scowled, glaring daggers ahead. “You ever shut up?”

“Not when you’re this easy to tease.”

You stifled a laugh against Sanemi’s shoulder, and he growled low in his throat. But even then, he didn’t set you down. His pulse was racing, his muscles tense, but his grip never faltered, and he never once asked you to move away.

The hours passed in heavy silence.

By midday, the forest had darkened—the clouds rolling thick and low over the mountains, smothering what little light filtered through the canopy. The air smelled faintly of rain and iron, and even Obanai slowed his pace, his hand never straying far from his sword.

“Storm’s rolling in,” he muttered, his tone clipped. “No sunlight, no protection.”

Sanemi’s steps faltered. “You think there’s one nearby?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised.”

You lifted your head slightly from Sanemi’s shoulder, peering through the mist ahead. Everything felt… wrong. The forest was too still—no birds, no insects, just the dull echo of dripping water.

Then the metallic scent hit you.

Obanai crouched first, his fingers brushing the dirt. The ground was streaked with blood—dark, half-dried, leading deeper into the woods. He frowned beneath his bandages. “Fresh. Maybe a few hours old.”

The scent rushed through you like a spark to dry wood—sharp, hot, and far too tempting. Your throat tightened, and your breath hitched sharply against Sanemi’s neck.

He froze mid-step. “What’s wrong?” he asked immediately, his tone low but urgent.

You swallowed hard, squeezing your eyes shut. “N-nothing. I’m fine.”

But you weren’t.

Your hands trembled where they rested around his shoulders. The smell—the memory—it clawed its way back, vivid and nauseating.

Ryusuke.

His men.

The warmth of their blood as you drank, desperate and half-conscious, trying to stay alive.

You felt sick. Disgusted.

And yet, the hunger whispered again, deep in your chest.

Sanemi’s voice cut through the fog. “You’re shaking.”

You didn’t answer, afraid your voice would betray too much.

Obanai straightened up ahead, calling back, “Trail’s fresh. We follow it, but stay sharp.”

Sanemi’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing more. He adjusted your weight a little higher on his back, one arm steadying you by instinct. You kept your eyes away from the ground—away from the blood.

Your heart pounded painfully as you pressed your forehead against his shoulder.

Please… not again.

The clouds above rumbled, the first drops of rain beginning to fall, and you couldn’t tell which scared you more… the demons hiding in the forest, or the one quietly stirring inside of you.

The forest grew thicker, darker—the canopy above so dense it nearly drowned out the gray light.

“Stay sharp,” Obanai said quietly, his voice low but edged with warning. “Something’s close. I can feel it.”

Sanemi grunted in acknowledgment, scanning the path ahead. His hand shifted, thumb resting against the edge of his hilt—ready to draw in a heartbeat. You could feel his heartbeat pounding through his back, his breath shallow but steady.

The smell hit you both almost at once.

Rot. Blood. Flesh.

Obanai froze mid-step. “What the hell…”

You lifted your head slightly over Sanemi’s shoulder and immediately wished you hadn’t. The clearing ahead was painted in red and gray—blood soaked deep into the earth, bodies strewn like discarded dolls. Some were missing limbs; others looked untouched except for the absence of life in their eyes.

A chill tore through you. Your stomach churned.

Sanemi stopped dead in his tracks, jaw tightening. Even he had seen plenty in his years as a Hashira, but this… this was something different.

He shifted you gently off his back, lowering you to the ground but keeping a firm hand at your arm. “Stay behind me,” he murmured.

Obanai crouched near one of the corpses, his voice unnervingly calm. “No bite marks.” He brushed away some of the dirt near the body, then stood, frowning behind his bandages. “This wasn’t feeding.”

Sanemi’s grip on his sword tightened. “Then what the fuck was it?”

Obanai’s eyes flicked to the surrounding trees, where more bodies hung slumped against trunks, their throats slit clean. “Killing for sport,” he muttered grimly.

The rain began to fall harder then. You turned your head away, breathing through your mouth as the iron scent grew stronger. The sight of so much blood made your vision waver, your throat dry.

You clenched your fists until your nails bit your palms, forcing the hunger back down. Not now. Not here.

Sanemi noticed the faint tremor in your hands again. Without looking, he stepped slightly closer—his presence a silent shield. You could feel his energy shift, the same protective intensity that always surrounded him before a fight.

The forest went eerily quiet.

You didn’t hear it at first.

You felt it.

The faintest shift in the air, prickle down your spine, the pressure in your chest suddenly tightening. Something was watching.

Your breath caught. “Sanemi—”

He moved before you could finish.

In one blinding motion, he spun, yanking you behind him as his blade hissed through the air. Steel met flesh with a sharp, wet slice.

A shriek tore through the clearing.

Two pale, veined arms fell to the ground, twitching violently before melting into ash. The creature that had lunged for you both staggered backward, blood splattering across the dirt. Its eyes glowed an ugly, feral yellow beneath the veil of rain.

Sanemi planted his feet between you and the demon, his chest rising sharply with each controlled breath. “Stay down,” he barked, his sword angled toward the monster.

But before either of you could blink, the demon’s body twitched—bones cracking, flesh snapping back into place. Its arms began to reform, sinew and muscle weaving grotesquely together until its claws gleamed anew.

“Of course it fucking regenerates,” Sanemi hissed under his breath.

Obanai stepped up beside him, eyes narrowing. “Not a normal one. The aura’s different.”

The demon hissed, crouched low—its long limbs tense like a predator ready to strike. Rain dripped from its jaw, a slow grin splitting its face.

“Hashira,” it rasped, its voice low and cruel. “Finally.”

It leapt, vanishing into the mist.

“Shit—!” Sanemi swung upward instinctively, blade meeting claws midair. Sparks flew. The impact sent him sliding back a step, mud spraying beneath his sandals.

The creature launched off a nearby tree, landing high above them in the branches, crouched and grinning. Its body was wiry and lean, veins pulsing black under translucent skin. Its eyes—slit and bright—darted between Sanemi, Obanai, and you.

It tilted its head. “Which one screams the loudest, I wonder?”

Sanemi growled low, rage flashing through him. His voice was like a growl of thunder when he spoke.

“You’re not gonna live long enough to find out.”

The demon lunged again—too fast for most eyes to follow—but Sanemi had already read its movement. His blade met it mid-air, every swing fueled with barely contained fury. Obanai’s strikes darted alongside his like flashes of silver, forcing the creature back until it skidded against the mud.

Rain fell harder now, each drop hissing when it hit the demon’s blood.

Sanemi exhaled once, sharp and controlled. His breathing slowed, focused.

“Wind Breathing… Fourth Form—Rising Dust Storm!”

He leapt high, twisting through the air. His blade cut down with blinding speed, the gust that followed roaring through the clearing like a small hurricane. The force split the demon clean in half before its body even hit the ground.

A final, strangled shriek.. then silence.

The creature’s remains disintegrated to ash, the storm wind scattering them into nothing.

Sanemi landed smoothly, his blade still humming from the power of the swing. He straightened, flicking the blood off the edge with a sharp swish before sliding it back into its sheath.

Obanai adjusted his grip on his own sword and muttered, “Show-off.”

You let out a small breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your pulse still racing. “Well…” you said, forcing a grin despite your nerves, “that was easy.”

Sanemi shot you a look, one brow raised. “Don’t jinx it.”

And right then, you felt it again.

That same pressure.

That same chill that crawled across your skin.

It wasn’t coming from one direction this time. It was everywhere.

Your stomach dropped. “Wait—”

Obanai’s head snapped toward the trees, Kaburamaru hissing sharply in warning. Sanemi’s hand was already back on his sword, muscles coiling.

From beyond the treeline, faint figures began to emerge—shadows moving in unison, too many to count.

“Shit,” Sanemi muttered, his tone low and grim. “We’ve got company.”

And this time… it wasn’t just one.

The forest erupted.

Figures burst from the mist—first two, then six, then a dozen more. Pale eyes gleamed from the darkness, and the sound of claws scraping bark filled the air like nails down stone.

“Son of a—” Sanemi barely finished before cutting down the first one that lunged from his right. Its body split clean, blood spraying across the mud as it fell apart.

Obanai stepped forward, Kaburamaru hissing again as his sword curved in a fluid arc, slicing through another demon’s throat. “They’re coordinated,” he snapped, scanning the tree line. “This isn’t random!”

You turned your head just as another demon came barreling from the left. Before you could react, Sanemi moved like lightning, grabbing your arm and pulling you behind him, his blade already out again.

“Stay close,” he barked, blocking a claw swipe that would’ve torn through your chest.

You nodded, heart hammering. You tried to keep your breathing steady, to think, but the demons weren’t attacking blindly. They weren’t even trying to get past the two Hashira anymore.

They were circling.

And every single one of their hungry eyes was locked on you.

Obanai’s strikes grew sharper, faster—his serpentine blade weaving through the chaos as he noticed the same thing. “They’re not trying to kill us,” he hissed. “They want ________.”

Sanemi snarled, his temper flaring. “Like hell they do!”

But it was true… you could see it now.

Every pair of glowing eyes. Every lunge. Every clawed hand—aimed straight at you.

Your heart pounded so loud you could hear it in your ears.

Why…?

Obanai moved in to cover your flank, blades slicing through the swarm as blood painted the dirt. Sanemi stayed planted in front, protecting you with relentless precision, each swing driven by anger and instinct.

The three of you stood surrounded—demons snarling from every angle—but Sanemi didn’t budge. His voice was low, dark, and full of promise.

“They’re not touching her,” he growled, raising his blade again.

And when the next demon lunged, he met it head-on, the storm in his eyes promising death to anything that dared try.

Sanemi’s hand flexed around the hilt of his sword. His jaw tightened, fury flickering in his pale eyes.

“Stay put,” he said again, and before you could even breathe a reply, he was gone—a flash of movement that split the mist like lightning.

“Wind Breathing.. Fifth Form: Cold Mountain Wind!”

His voice cut through the chaos.

He swung once, twice—each arc of his blade creating violent gusts that roared through the clearing. The wind howled, sharp as blades, slicing through the cluster of demons that surged forward.

Limbs and heads tore away as blood sprayed across the dirt, dissipating in the swirling air.

The sheer force of it sent the rest staggering back, their snarls twisting into shrieks.

Before the last echoes faded, Obanai moved in. Kaburamaru hissed and slithered along his shoulders as he dashed past Sanemi’s side, his form fluid, deadly precise.

“Serpent Breathing.. Fourth Form: Twin-Headed Reptile!”

His blade danced through the air in serpentine arcs, striking two demons at once, twisting with impossible grace before snapping through their necks. The hiss of steel and serpent blended into one fluid rhythm until silence reclaimed the forest again.

Ash drifted around you like black snow.

No more movement. No more sound—just the slow, uneven sound of your own breathing.

Sanemi lowered his sword, chest rising and falling. Obanai flicked his blade to the side, shaking off the demon blood as Kaburamaru coiled back around his arm.

You glanced around, scanning the field of disintegrating bodies.

Nothing moved.

The demons were gone. For now.

Sanemi exhaled sharply through his nose and turned back to you, eyes narrowing as they scanned you from head to toe. “You hurt?”

You shook your head, still trembling.

Obanai, wiping a streak of blood off his sleeve, gave a low hum. “That was too many for this region,” he muttered. “Something’s off.”

Sanemi nodded. “They weren’t hunting for blood.”

His gaze met yours—hard, unreadable.

“They were hunting you.”

Obanai turned sharply, his mismatched eyes glinting under the dull sky.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded, his tone sharper than his blade. “Demons don’t swarm like that unless something’s drawing them in.”

You froze mid-step, your throat suddenly dry.

“I…” you started, voice unsteady, “I don’t know.”

Obanai’s eyes narrowed, clearly unconvinced. “Don’t lie.”

Before you could even think of an answer, Sanemi stepped forward—placing himself right between the two of you. His tone was calm, but his eyes said otherwise.

“Drop it, Iguro,” he muttered. “You’re readin’ too much into it.”

Obanai frowned. “You saw it the same way I did. Every single one of those demons went for her. Why?”

Sanemi exhaled sharply, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Hell if I know. Maybe she’s got a strong scent. Maybe one of ‘em had a grudge. You think demons have logic?”

Obanai stared at him for a long moment—his silence saying he didn’t buy it.

Kaburamaru hissed quietly, head tilting in your direction, and it made your stomach twist.

After a beat, the serpent hashira finally looked away.

“Fine. But I’m telling the Master when we’re back.”

Sanemi’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t reply.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in your chest.

Those demons knew something, and it was not sitting right with you.

Obanai started ahead, scanning the path. Sanemi lingered behind, his gaze flicking toward you.

“You okay?” he muttered.

You nodded, even though your hands were trembling. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit,” he said quietly, eyes softening just slightly. “You’re shaking.”

Your lips parted, but before you could say anything, Obanai called from up ahead, “If you two are done whispering, we’ve got a trail to follow.”

Sanemi rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath before moving forward again, but this time, his hand never strayed far from his sword, and his body stayed angled protectively in front of you.

He wasn’t letting a single damn thing touch you again.

After another long day, the three of you set camp for the night. The campfire hissed and cracked, sending small sparks drifting into the damp air. The smell of rain still lingered, clinging to the dirt and trees around them.

You all sat in a quiet circle—Obanai across from you, Kaburamaru draped loosely around his shoulders, and Sanemi beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours whenever he shifted.

For a while, the only sound was the fire. Then Obanai spoke.

“I’ll ask once more,” he said, his voice calm but deliberate. “Why did those demons target you?”

You froze. The flames blurred for a second as your heart hammered in your chest.

Sanemi’s gaze flicked to you—a silent warning, a quiet ‘be careful’.

You exhaled shakily, then met Obanai’s eyes. “It’s true that I’m a healer,” you began softly. “But… I’m not just that. I have healing capabilities that are stronger than most. I can recover faster than others.. and sometimes, I can use it on others too.”

Obanai tilted his head slightly, his eyes fixed on you. Kaburamaru lifted his head too, flicking his tongue curiously.

“The Master wanted to keep it quiet,” you continued. “Because something like that could draw attention, from humans or demons. Maybe that’s what they sensed.”

For a long, tense moment, no one said a word.

The fire crackled once, breaking the silence.

Then Obanai exhaled quietly, leaning back with his arms crossed.

“…Makes sense,” he muttered. “Demons are drawn to blood. Yours must smell different.”

He looked satisfied with that reasoning—no suspicion, no sharp tone, just a subtle nod. Kaburamaru even coiled lower, as if at ease.

Sanemi relaxed a little beside you, his hand brushing against your sleeve under the shadows of his haori, a silent gesture that said good job.

Obanai stood, stretching his legs before glancing toward the treeline. “We should rest in shifts. It’s going to rain again before dawn.”

He disappeared toward his side of the camp, leaving you and Sanemi alone by the fire.

The flames flickered softly, casting gold light over both of your faces. The air had quieted again, peaceful now, or as peaceful as it could be for two people tangled in secrets.

Sanemi gave a small, tired sigh. “Guess you convinced him,” he said quietly, watching the fire instead of you.

You nodded. “Yeah. Guess I did.”

But your heart still ached a little, because you knew it wasn’t the full truth.

You hesitated, then slowly leaned over until your head came to rest on his shoulder. You felt him stiffen instantly—muscles tensing beneath his uniform—but he didn’t push you away. If anything, he exhaled through his nose, quiet and heavy, like he was trying not to show how much that small touch had caught him off guard.

“…You should rest,” he muttered after a long pause.

“I know,” you whispered, voice muffled against his shoulder. “I just—”

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. “What if more come? What if those demons weren’t the only ones hunting me? It doesn’t make sense, Sanemi. Why me?”

He turned slightly, enough to glance down at you. Your words carried that small tremor of fear that made his jaw tighten.

Without saying a thing, he shifted—his arm moving around your shoulders and pulling you closer. His grip was firm but protective, his warmth grounding you instantly.

“They won’t,” he said flatly, his voice low but certain. “I won’t let them.”

You looked up at him, your chest tightening. The firelight danced across his face, softening the sharp lines you were so used to.

There was no anger in his expression this time. Just quiet resolve.

You let out a small breath, your eyes fluttering shut as you leaned into him. “You promise?”

He grunted—not quite a yes, but not a no either.

The kind of answer only Sanemi would give.

And for now, it was enough.

The thunder rumbled again in the distance, but all you felt was his heartbeat against your shoulder, steady and strong—a silent promise that no matter what the night held, he wasn’t letting you face it alone.

The rest of the night passed quietly.

You stayed there, your head against Sanemi’s shoulder until sleep finally took you. He didn’t move, even as the fire dwindled to faint embers—his arm stayed around you, steady and protective through the chill.

By the time dawn broke, the skies were already dark and swollen with clouds. The air was thick with the promise of rain.

It hit about an hour into your journey. A steady drizzle at first, then turning into a relentless downpour that drenched everything in its path.

Obanai led the way through the narrow mountain trail, his haori plastered to his back, Kaburamaru coiled tightly around his neck. “Watch your step,” he called out, his voice barely carrying through the storm. “These slopes will turn to mud fast.”

You trudged behind him, sandals sinking into the slick earth, the rain soaking through your torn uniform. Each step sent a dull ache through your body, but before you could stumble, a familiar hand caught yours.

Sanemi.

He didn’t say a word, just kept your hand firmly in his and pulled you close against him as you walked. His other hand stayed at his sword, thumb resting on the hilt—always ready. Every time the wind howled, his grip on you tightened, almost like he thought the storm itself might take you away.

Despite the chaos around you, that touch was your anchor.

Your heart steadied, until you noticed something else.

No birds. No rustle of branches. No sound except for rain.

You slowed slightly, glancing around through the gray haze of mist. “Sanemi,” you whispered, barely audible. “It’s quiet.”

He didn’t look back, but his jaw flexed. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Too quiet.”

Obanai stopped ahead, his serpent blade angled down but ready. Kaburamaru lifted his head, tongue flicking out. “No animals. Not even insects,” Obanai said, eyes scanning the trees. “That’s not normal for this region.”

The three of you stood still for a moment, the rain pounding down hard enough to blur your vision. The mountain felt suffocatingly still, as if the very forest was holding its breath.

Sanemi shifted closer, releasing your hand only to slip his arm around your waist, protective and firm. “Stay with me,” he said quietly, low enough for only you to hear.

You nodded, swallowing hard as thunder rolled through the clouds above.

The silence pressed in tighter. Every drop of rain seemed louder, and deep in your gut, you could feel it.. the air itself was wrong.

Something was out there. Watching. Waiting.

Then the ground gave out.

A deep, cracking sound split through the air—the mud beneath your feet shifting, crumbling, breaking apart.

“Wait—!” Obanai shouted, reaching out, but it was too late.

The edge of the path collapsed under the weight of the rain-soaked earth. You felt your footing disappear, your body pitching forward. For a heartbeat, everything moved in slow motion—your arms flailing, the world tilting, the blur of gray sky and green forest spinning together.

“_________!”

Sanemi’s voice tore through the storm. You saw the flash of his hand reaching for you, his eyes wide with horror, his body lunging before he even thought. Your fingertips brushed—just barely—until something moved behind them.

Your eyes widened. “Behind you!” you screamed, your voice breaking.

From the darkness of the treeline, dozens of red eyes ignited all at once. A swarm of demons burst from the fog—snarling, crawling, charging.

“Shit!” Obanai hissed, drawing his blade.

Sanemi spun around, his expression murderous—ready to tear through all of them—when a massive blur slammed into his side.

“Sanemi!”

The impact sent him flying, crashing into Obanai as they both hit the ground and rolled through the mud. The enormous demon that tackled them growled, its claws sinking into the earth as its many eyes glowed with hunger.

The air ripped from your lungs as you fell.

You rolled hard down the steep hill. Branches snapped, rocks cut into your skin, the world spinning violently. You tried to grab at something, anything, but the rain-slick mud offered no grip.

You came to a stop when your body collided with a huge rock, the impact knocking the air from your chest. The world around you spun, your vision swimming as pain bloomed through every inch of your body. Cuts, bruises—your limbs trembled, heavy and useless. You tried to move, to push yourself up, but agony shot through your shoulder, forcing you to collapse again.

You groaned, wincing as you coughed, a thin stream of blood spilling past your lips. The taste of iron filled your mouth, sharp and metallic. Slowly, with trembling arms, you managed to sit up, clutching your shoulder.

A hiss escaped you as your eyes darted down, your ankle was bent at an unnatural angle, already swelling, the bone likely fractured. You tried to straighten it and immediately cried out, gripping the mud beneath your fingers.

Rain continued to fall in slow, heavy drops, mingling with the blood that trailed down your arm. You could barely breathe. Every inhale burned your ribs, and every exhale came out shallow.

You glanced up the cliff, but it was impossible to see through the haze of rain and fog. The mountain was silent—eerily silent. No crows. No movement. No sound of Sanemi or Obanai. Just you, the pain, and the growing dread curling in your chest.

And then, a voice broke through the trees.

Smooth. Calm. Deep.

“Got you.”

Your head snapped toward the sound, your heart seizing.

Out from the mist stepped a tall figure, his posture relaxed, bare feet pressing into the wet soil. Strange blue markings traced across his skin, glowing faintly under the gray light. His hair was damp from the rain, and his golden eyes gleamed with something between curiosity and amusement.

“I’ve been waiting to meet you,” he said, his tone almost polite—almost.

Your pulse hammered in your ears. “Who.. who are you? How do you know about me?”

The man’s grin widened, faint but unnerving. “You’ve caught quite a bit of attention lately,” he said. “After Daki’s encounter… Lord Muzan became interested. Someone like you doesn’t just exist without reason.”

You froze. Your stomach dropped, the blood in your veins turning to ice.

“He sent me to find you,” the man continued casually, as if discussing the weather. “Alive, preferably.”

He tilted his head, watching you like a predator savoring the first flinch of its prey.

And though you didn’t yet know his name, the golden kanji glinting in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

Upper Rank Three.

Your breath caught in your throat as he began to walk toward you—slow, deliberate steps that made the mud squelch beneath his bare feet. Every instinct screamed run, but your body wouldn’t obey. You tried to scoot back, dragging yourself through the wet earth until your spine hit cold stone. There was nowhere left to go.

He stopped right in front of you, his shadow swallowing your small frame. Then, with unnerving calm, he crouched down until your faces were inches apart.

“Relax,” he murmured, smiling faintly. “You’ll make the pain worse.”

You stared up at him, trembling, trying to ignore how close he was. He looked almost human—almost—but those golden eyes gave him away, burning bright with a cruel amusement.

“Akaza,” he said simply, like it was a privilege to hear his name. “Upper Rank Three.”

The title hit like a blade to the gut. You froze, heart hammering so violently you could hear it.

His gaze flicked down to your twisted ankle, his smile widening as he hummed lowly. “So… the rumors were true.” He looked back up at you, tilting his head. “You can’t heal, can you?”

You swallowed hard, eyes darting away.

“That’s fascinating,” he continued, tone dripping with mockery. “Part demon, yet too fragile to regenerate. You’re not even complete.”

He reached out suddenly, his fingertips brushing against your chin, forcing your gaze back to his. You flinched at his touch, and that seemed to amuse him even more.

“How disappointing,” Akaza said softly, his smile curling into something cruel. “You’re weaker than I imagined.”

The words cut deeper than your injuries. Your breath hitched, every muscle tight with fear and humiliation as he leaned just a little closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Tell me, little half-breed…” His grin sharpened. “How long do you think you’ll last against me?”

Your heart thundered painfully against your ribs as his words sank in… half-breed. He knew.

Your mind raced. You could shift, tear into him before he had the chance to hurt you again, but if you did, and Sanemi or Obanai followed your scent, they’d see. They’d see the truth you’d been hiding for months. And Sanemi… his hatred for demons ran deeper than anyone’s. The thought alone made your chest ache.

But Akaza was watching you too closely, his golden eyes sharp, almost eager. “You’re thinking of it, aren’t you?” he murmured. “Changing.” His tone turned mocking. “Go ahead. Show me what you really are.”

You clenched your jaw, trying to keep your breathing steady. “Back off.”

He smiled. “Or what?”

You grit your teeth, the tremor in your voice betraying the fear you were trying to bury. “I said back off.”

Akaza’s hand shot out so fast you barely saw it. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, his grip like iron. You yelped, trying to pull back, but it was useless—his strength was monstrous.

Then came the sound.

Crack.

White-hot pain exploded through your arm as your hand bent in a way it shouldn’t. A scream tore from your throat before you could stop it. You clutched your wrist instinctively, gasping, eyes wide in horror as Akaza tilted his head, examining his work like a painter studying a fresh stroke.

“Hmm,” he mused softly. “I didn’t even use that much force.”

You could barely breathe. The pain, the fear, the burning rage—everything inside you screamed to fight back. To stop being helpless. But still, you hesitated. Because if you shifted, if you showed what you truly were…

There’d be no hiding it anymore.

Akaza’s hand lifted again—slow, deliberate—as if savoring the moment he’d break something else.

But before his fingers could touch you..

“HEY!”

The roar cracked through the forest like thunder.

Akaza’s eyes flicked up, just in time to see Sanemi barrel down the slope, sandals digging trenches into the mud as he launched himself forward, sword already drawn and aimed to kill.

You barely registered your own gasp before steel met flesh.

CLANG

Akaza vanished, flipping backward with inhuman ease, Sanemi’s blade slicing through where his head had been a heartbeat earlier. Obanai landed beside him a split second later, striking upward with a precise diagonal slash, but Akaza also dodged.

The Upper Rank only smiled, amused. “Persistent little guard dogs.”

Sanemi didn’t hear him since he was already turning, dropping to one knee beside you so fast the wind rushed around your ears. His hands hovered over your shoulders first, then your face, then your legs—everywhere—desperate, frantic, shaking.

“Hey.. hey, look at me,” he breathed out, voice raw. “Are you hurt? Did he.. fuck…. your hand, can you heal it? Can you—?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. The pain, the fear, the shock—it all tangled in your throat.

His eyes softened—barely—but enough.

“You’re okay,” he muttered like a vow, like a prayer. “I’ve got you. I’ve fucking got you.”

Behind him, Obanai repositioned himself, sword raised defensively, keeping his body between you and Akaza.

“Shinazugawa,” he warned low, “that one’s Upper Rank. Stay sharp.”

Sanemi didn’t look away from you, not even for a second.

“I know,” he growled, jaw clenched. “And he’s dead.”

Sanemi rose to his full height, planting himself between you and Akaza like a wall of snarling, barely-contained fury. His sword stayed clenched so tightly the leather grip creaked.

“Iguro,” he muttered without looking back, voice low, lethal, “we need to get her out of here.”

Obanai shifted closer, eyes flicking to your broken ankle, your mangled hand, the blood streaking your temple. His jaw tightened beneath his bandages when he noticed that you weren’t healing.

“I know,” he murmured. “But he’s not going to let us walk away.”

Akaza tilted his head, amused… almost delighted.

“Oh no,” he chimed, voice light, “she’s staying with me.”

Sanemi’s shoulders moved like a wolf raising its hackles.

“Over my dead fucking body.”

The air went still.

Then rustling. Leaves trembled. Branches cracked. The forest exhaled.

From every direction, dozens of eyes glimmered in the rain-dimmed light. The scent hit first—rot, malice, hunger.

Sanemi and Obanai cursed in unison.

“Tch, seriously?” Sanemi spat, tightening his grip.

Obanai slid a foot back, positioning himself so your injured body remained behind both of them. “They’ve been waiting.”

Akaza didn’t even bother looking at the gathering demons. He just smiled—slow, anticipating—like someone who already knew the ending.

“Shall we begin?”

The swarm launched first and Sanemi moved instantly. Wind exploded around him as he met the first wave head-on, sword carving through necks like he’d been born doing it.

Obanai followed a split second later, body weaving through the chaos with serpentine precision, striking clean and silent.

Mud splashed. Bodies fell. Heads rolled.

But for every demon that collapsed, three more emerged from the shadows.

Akaza disappeared—only to reappear mid-air above Sanemi with a spinning kick. Sanemi blocked just in time, skidding backward through the wet dirt, teeth gritted.

Obanai swore, forced into a defensive stance as demons crowded him, trying to break through to you.

And all you could do was watch—heart in your throat, breath trapped in pain—because even if you transformed, even if you fought, Sanemi and Obanai might see.

And this time…

You knew you couldn't lie your way out of it.

Sanemi barely registered the rain anymore—only the rhythm of Akaza’s fists, the explosive shockwaves with every blocked blow. His lungs burned, muscles screaming, but he refused to step back.

“You’re strong!” Akaza laughed, pivoting into a spinning roundhouse kick meant to shatter bone. Sanemi ducked, countered, sliced—yet every slash that should’ve cut deep only grazed air.

Then something shifted.

Sanemi felt it before he saw it.

A demon lunged at his blind spot, forcing him to parry. Another grabbed at his haori. A third clamped onto his arm, slowing him down just enough.

Akaza smiled.

“There it is.”

He vanished.

Sanemi’s eyes widened as he fought off the demons, but him being distracted gave Akaza the upper hand as he reappeared directly in front of him, heel raised, stance coiled. That kick wasn’t meant to send him flying… no.. it was meant to pierce straight through him.

“SANEMI MOVE!” Obanai roared, slicing through three demons at once, but even he knew they wouldn’t make it in time.

For one horrifying heartbeat, Sanemi saw his own death.

And then your scream tore through the forest.

“NO!”

You moved.

You shouldn’t have been able to—not with a shattered ankle, not with broken bones, not with half your blood soaking the mud, but adrenaline roared through you, drowning out everything else.

You limped and stumbled, but you sprinted faster than either Hashira could process.

And just as Akaza’s kick came down, you threw yourself in front of Sanemi.

His foot punched straight through your chest—bursting out your back with sickening force.

Your breath left you in a strangled gasp, blood splattering across Sanemi’s uniform, warm and horrifying.

For a moment, the world stopped.

Sanemi’s pupils blew wide—shock, disbelief, then something far darker.

Obanai froze mid-swing, jaw slack beneath his bandages. Even the demons faltered, sensing something shift.

You trembled on impact, eyes wide, blood bubbling at your lips as Akaza slowly withdrew his foot, letting you collapse into the mud.

You hit the ground on your side, vision blurring, rain mixing with the crimson pooling beneath you.

Sanemi’s voice finally tore free—raw, broken, feral.

“_________! NO, NO, NO… HEY—HEY—LOOK AT ME—!”

He dropped to his knees beside you, hands shaking as he gathered you into his arms, ignoring the blood pouring onto him. His breath hitched violently—panic clawing up his throat.

Obanai turned sharply toward Akaza, horror morphing into lethal rage.

Akaza simply watched with an unreadable expression, almost… disappointed.

“I wasn’t aiming for you.” His voice was calm, almost curious. “Why would you throw yourself away like that?”

Your vision hazed, but you somehow found Sanemi’s face and managed the faintest, pained smile.

Because of course it was him.

Akaza tilted his head, intrigued.

“Interesting…”

Your fingers barely twitched as your shaking hand latched weakly around his ankle.

Akaza felt it.

Sanemi froze behind you, chest heaving, eyes blown wide as his hands hovered helplessly. Terrified to touch you. Terrified to lose you.

Akaza didn’t kick you off. He didn’t even tense.

He smiled in a mocking and indulgent way.

“Oh?” he hummed, amused. “Still trying? Admirable… but useless.”

Your blood dripped onto his foot, rainwater turning it into pale pink streams. You felt your vision dimming as the edges were beginning to go black and your heartbeat slowing.

You were dying.

And you finally realized you couldn’t afford to hide anymore.

Not from Sanemi. Not from yourself. Not from what you were.

Your fingers tightened and your breathing steadied. And with your last ounce of strength, you let the demon inside you surface.

Bones cracked.

Blood surged.

Your pupils thinned into sharp red slits.

Akaza’s amused expression vanished as your nails lengthened into shimmering obsidian points and you plunged them into his ankle.

A low snarl ripped from your throat as your Blood Demon Art activated on instinct, violently reversing.

Akaza’s eyes widened.

His Upper Rank blood rushed into you, scorching through your veins like molten fire. Your body convulsed as the power hit, spine arching, teeth gritted, heartbeat syncing with his for a split second—

Then he reacted.

He kicked—hard.

Your body was flung like a ragdoll straight into Sanemi. His arms instinctively wrapped around you, but the impact sent both of you crashing into a tree trunk, splintering the bark.

Sanemi groaned as he hit the ground, but his only focus was you. He was already pushing up, already reaching..

Except you were no longer broken.

You rose before he could touch you—slowly, steadily—standing between him and Akaza.

Rainwater slid down your now noticeably demon form, dripping off hair that had shifted from its normal color to a deep, bleeding crimson. Your skin glowed faintly beneath the stormlight—vein-like, thorny red markings crawling up your arms, across your throat, curling beneath your eye like blooming wisteria.

Your pupils glowed in a feral and deadly way, and when you inhaled, steam drifted from your lips.

The hole in your chest sealed shut in seconds, regenerating faster than Akaza has ever seen.

Sanemi stared—speechless—eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, soaked in rain and disbelief.

Obanai stood several feet away, frozen mid-stance, sword lowered, breath caught in his throat.

Neither of them moved.

Not even when you slowly turned your head, locking eyes with Akaza.

He exhaled—equal parts impressed and thrilled.

“Now that,” he murmured, voice low, eager, “is interesting.”

Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating all three of you.

Akaza barely blinked.

One heartbeat you stood beside Sanemi.. the next you vanished in a red blur.

The air rippled—trees bending from the force—and suddenly your claws were slashing toward Akaza’s throat.

He blocked it just in time, yet your strike still split the skin, blood spraying. Akaza’s grin stretched wide—starved, ecstatic.

“Yes, GOOD! Show me more!”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply.

You were already behind him, heel colliding with his spine, sending him crashing through a boulder. Stone exploded, debris raining like shattered teeth.

Before he hit the ground, you were there—fist buried into his ribs, claws raking deeper, trying to reach bone. Akaza coughed blood but let out a feral and delighted laugh.

“Magnificent, your instincts are flawless—”

You cut him off.

Quite literally.

Your nails hooked into his shoulder and ripped, the limb tearing free in a wet snap. Blood spilled and you didn’t waste it.

You shoved your hand into the open wound.

His blood surged into you—hot, wild, scorching your veins like wildfire. Your vision sharpened, colors deepening, muscles thrumming with terrifying strength.

Akaza’s smile finally faltered.

He jumped back super far, landing atop a broken pillar, eyes narrowing.

“So that’s your trick…”

Sanemi and Obanai felt the shift instantly.

The air was heavier. The pressure was suffocating. Your presence was overwhelming as you grew stronger.

Sanemi couldn’t tear his eyes away as his heart pounded violently against his ribs.

The remaining demons lunged toward him and Obanai. Sanemi snapped back to reality, unleashing his Wind Breathing techniques, slicing through bodies like paper. Obanai followed behind him with clean, precise executions.

But even as they fought, neither could stop watching you.

Akaza regenerated his arm, rolling his shoulders as a grin twitched back into place, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time.

“That technique… no wonder Lord Muzan wants you.”

Your lip curled, voice dripping venom.

“Muzan can choke on glass.”

Akaza’s expression darkened, excitement replaced by something razor-sharp.

No more taunting.

No more play.

He moved in a blur as he closed in, his fist aimed straight for your skull.

You caught it.

Your feet cratered into the earth from the force, dirt blasting outward in a shockwave, but you held him there, claws digging into his knuckles, steam rising from the friction of two monstrous strengths colliding.

Akaza’s nostrils flared.

“You’re growing stronger by the second. If I let you keep absorbing—”

You didn’t wait for him to finish.

Your other hand speared into his abdomen—up to the wrist—nails sinking into muscle and blood vessels.

Akaza choked, rage finally flashing through his eyes as you drank.

Your tattoos flared—glowing brighter, crawling across your ribs, down your spine. Your irises darkened to a deep, predatory crimson.

Truly threatened now, Akaza let out a snarl before slamming his forehead into yours, breaking your nose. Pain burst white-hot, but it healed before the blood even hit the ground.

He yanked himself away and landed several meters back, breathing harder, posture dropping into an actual fighting stance.

No amusement.

No smugness.

War.

“You’re becoming dangerous,” he muttered, tone low, deadly.

You wiped blood from your mouth and shot him a smile.

“Come kill me then.”

Mud splashed beneath both your feet as you clashed again—fangs, fists, claws, blood, wind pressure cracking the trees around. You tore into Akaza’s shoulder; he shattered your ribcage. You regenerated. He healed. Neither backing down. Neither gaining ground.

He grinned, wild and thrilled.

“You’re magnificent!”

You didn’t answer him, only lunged with burning eyes.

Thunder rumbled overhead, but the downpour had stopped. And the silence that followed after was too sudden.

Akaza froze and so did you as a faint warmth kissed the back of your neck.

The rain had ended, and slowly, the clouds began to thin.

Akaza’s smile vanished.

“No,” he breathed. “Not now.”

He turned sharply, body already angling toward the shadows of the treeline.

You reacted instantly—launching forward and catching his wrist, claws sinking into muscle and bone. Blood sprayed, but you held on.

“You’re not going anywhere,” you hissed, voice shaking with adrenaline. “You die here.”

Akaza snarled, eyes blazing with real fury now.

“Let go!”

“Make me.”

The first ray of sunlight pierced through the clouds, striking the ground inches from his feet. Steam rose from his skin.

Panic flickered through his expression—brief, but unmistakable.

You tightened your grip.

“Burn, Akaza.”

Akaza roared—feral, explosive—and with a violent twist, he ripped himself free, tearing his own flesh to escape your hold. Your claws scraped off half his forearm, but he didn’t stop—he sprinted toward the shadows as the sunlight expanded.

“Next time,” he shouted over his shoulder, voice echoing, “I’ll take you properly!”

And then.. he was gone.

Vanished into the trees.

You stood there—chest heaving, hands trembling, blood pattering into the dirt—as you watched him vanish. You took slow, deep breaths, fighting not to lose control the way you had in the Entertainment District.

The world finally went quiet.

Sanemi and Obanai stood a few paces away, demon corpses dissolving behind them.

There you stood with blood steaming off your skin, your eyes were glowing crimson, veins rippling beneath inky tattoos, fangs bared… you weren’t human.

Obanai’s breath hitched, blade lowering a fraction as if his body forgot how to function.

He whispered, voice thin. “She’s a demon.”

Sanemi didn’t answer.

His ears rang too loudly.

He wanted to deny it—swear the mud, the blood, the lighting was tricking him, but then your fangs came into view.

His stomach dropped.

Every memory of you—your laugh, your tears, the way you clung to him, the way he kissed you, collapsed beneath a single, brutal truth.

You were a demon.

Obanai took a step back, hands trembling despite his grip on his sword.

“The Master… he knew,” he muttered, betrayal sinking in. “He sent you to protect a demon.”

Sanemi’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

His knuckles went white around his sword hilt.

He wanted to cut you down because that’s what he does. That’s what he was made for.

Killing demons.

Especially demons pretending to be human.

Obanai continued, quieter this time, shaken.

“She fooled you. She fooled all of us.”

Sanemi’s chest twisted painfully, breath unsteady.

No. She wouldn’t— she couldn’t—

But then you turned to face them, and you looked like every demon he’d ever slaughtered.

His heart plummeted.

“…Fuck.”

Every emotion crashed at once—rage, betrayal, disbelief, grief.

She’s a demon.

You’re a demon.

And he never saw it.

And you? You can only stand there, feeling horrified of their reactions.

Obanai’s stare was unreadable—wide, calculating, breathing uneven. His knuckles were white around his sword, though he made no move to raise it.

Sanemi’s expression, however…

It gutted you.

He looked like someone had ripped something out of him—something he didn’t know how to name. Jaw clenched, shoulders rigid, eyes burning—not with hatred, but something far worse.

Hurt. Betrayal. Confusion.

Your mouth opened yet nothing came out.

Sanemi couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to. Rainwater—or maybe sweat—ran down his temple, but he didn’t move to wipe it. His voice, when it finally escaped, was hoarse.

“…So it’s true.”

Obanai slowly exhaled beside him, gaze flicking between you two.

He didn’t step forward. Didn’t speak. He just waited.

Sanemi’s fingers twitched at his side as they itched, unsure if to reach for his sword… or for you.

He swallowed hard, eyes still locked on yours—broken, furious, terrified.

“You’re… a demon.”

Not a shout.

Not venom.

Just devastation.

And it hurt worse than any wound Akaza left on you.

You swallowed, throat tight, and forced one trembling step forward.

“Sanem—”

His reaction was instant—violent.

“Stay the fuck away from me.”

His hand flew to his hilt, blade half-drawn, body coiled like he was facing a monster… not you. The venom in his voice sliced deeper than any wound Akaza left behind.

You froze mid-step—eyes stinging.

Your body reacted before your mind did—fangs disappearing, claws retracting, hair fading back to its normal color. Your breathing faltered as your demon features dissolved, revealing just… you.

Small. Human. Terrified.

“Please just—just let me expl—”

“Explain?” His laugh was hollow, furious, shaking. “What the fuck is there to explain?!”

You flinched.

Obanai didn’t move, but his gaze sharpened.

“I asked you,” Sanemi growled, voice cracking, “I asked you.. and you looked me in the goddamn face and lied.”

Your lip trembled. “I—I didn’t know how—”

“Oh, don’t fucking start.” His eyes were wildfire, storming, betrayed. “You had every chance to tell me. Every. Fucking. One. Instead, you let me fall—”

He cut himself off, jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumped.

Your heart shattered.

He continued, louder and angrier, because anger was safer than hurt.

“Were you laughing at me this whole time? Watchin' me play bodyguard like some dumbass while you hid what you were?”

“No!” Your voice broke. “Sanemi, I—I was scared—”

“Yeah?” His voice lowered into something lethal. “Good. You should be.”

Something inside you twisted.

Obanai finally stepped forward a half-step, cautious.

“Sanemi—”

“Don’t fucking defend her!” he snapped, eyes never leaving yours.

You felt yourself shrink.

“I trusted you,” he spit. “I fought for you. I—” He stopped again, breathing unsteady. “And you were a demon this whole time?”

You shook your head desperately. “Not—not fully—”

“Oh, that makes it better,” he snarled. “Half a monster instead of a whole one.”

Your chest caved.

“Sanemi…” your voice cracked, breaking. “I never wanted to hurt you—”

He took another step back—recoiling, like your words were poison.

“Don’t say my name.”

Quiet. Deadly. Final.

Something inside you splintered so loudly you swear he heard it.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” he continued, voice raw. “I don’t want your voice. I don’t want your lies.”

You felt your knees weaken.

He raised his blade towards you—not to strike, but as a barrier.

“You’re not touching me. You’re not coming near me. Ever. Make a move, and I swear I'll cut you down.”

Obanai’s eyes widened, not expecting that level of cruelty.

Tears fell before you realized they escaped.

Sanemi watched them—not softened, not moved—just hurt.

“This whole fucking time…” he whispered, almost to himself. “I thought—”

He shut his eyes, inhaled sharply, and looked away. Like looking at you physically pained him.

“…I was such an idiot.”

Your heart fully broke.

“Sanemi, please,” you begged, your voice barely audible, trembling. “I’m still me.”

He didn’t turn.

“That’s the fucking problem.”

Your knees finally gave out.

You hit the muddy ground hard, shoulders shaking, breath falling apart in uneven gasps. Tears blurred everything—Sanemi, Obanai, the broken trees around you—all of it washed into a shapeless mess.

“I never meant to lie,” you choked out, voice breaking. “I was going to tell you.. I just—”

“Why didn’t you?” Obanai stepped forward, voice eerily calm but tight with restrained anger. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why keep something like this hidden when lives are on the line?”

You looked up at him with red, trembling eyes.

He wasn’t yelling. Somehow, that made it worse.

“How could I?” you shot back, voice raw. “The Corps hates demons. Most Hashira kill them without thinking. Would you have listened? Would any of you have believed me? Or cared?”

Your voice cracked again.

“I didn’t want to die for something I never asked to be.”

Obanai’s expression shifted—still stern, but no longer sharp. He opened his mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to calm you—you’d never know.

Because Sanemi cut him off.

“Wait.”

His tone was dangerously low and controlled.

You froze.

Sanemi slowly turned back toward you, jaw clenched, eyes burning—not with rage alone anymore, but calculation. Fear.

Recognition.

“You said you can’t heal yourself,” he muttered, stepping closer. “So how—”

His eyes widened slightly.

“…Do you drink blood?”

Silence slammed into the mountain.

Your lip trembled. Your throat closed. Your stomach dropped. You didn’t answer… you couldn’t.

But that was enough.

Sanemi’s nostrils flared, fury rising like a second heartbeat.

“So you do,” he hissed. “You fucking drink blood.”

You shook your head desperately. “Sanemi, listen—”

His voice rose—shattering.

“Did you kill those men in the dungeon and drink their blood?”

Obanai stiffened beside him, eyes narrowing as he also waited for your response.

The memory flashed behind your eyes—blood dripping down your chin, ribs healing, power flooding your veins.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t need to.

Again, your silence was a confession.

Sanemi’s face twisted—betrayal, revulsion, heartbreak all colliding.

“Answer me,” he demanded, voice shaking with fury. “Did you drink their blood?”

Your breath stuttered. “They—they weren’t good people.. they tortured us. They would’ve killed you… I didn’t have a choice—”

He let out a harsh, disgusted laugh.

“Spare me the fucking excuses.”

“No—Sanemi, please—”

“You’re disgusting.”

The words hit harder than Akaza’s kick.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, collapsing inward. “I’m sorry… I never wanted to hurt anyone. I was scared—”

He didn’t even look at you anymore.

“You should’ve stayed in that cage.”

You blinked, like your brain needed time to process the cruelty.

Sanemi turned his back—shoulders rigid, fists clenched so hard they trembled.

“I’m done,” he muttered, voice flat, dead. “I don’t care what happens to you.”

And he started walking.

Leaving you on your knees—broken, bleeding, alone.