#Yandere sanemi shinazugawa x reader

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Yandere! Sanemi Shinazugawa NSFW Profile

Yandere! Sanemi Shinazugawa x fem! reader

Tw: stalking, kidnapping, mentions of non-con and dub-con, public masturbation, voyeurism/non-consensual voyeurism, exhibitionism, spitting (m and f receiving), dick slapping, cumplay, possessiveness, mild gore, mentions of death, Stockholm Syndrome/reader is implied to start liking him, Sanemi is kind of a hot mess approaching sex so hopefully that has been conveyed, I hc hard that Sanemi is a virgin so don't bother fighting me on it, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 15K

HABITS:

Intimacy is very much not something that Sanemi is familiar with. He’s never even considered taking a partner, staunchly ignoring his fellow Hashira’s taunts (almost exclusively from Tengen and the odd, poorly-timed comment from Giyuu) about how he’d just ‘calm down’ a bit if he had a pretty woman to relieve his stress onto.

And while he’s mature enough to admit there’s probably some truth to that, he’s still rejecting the very few advances that come his way. He’s not only entirely uninterested in dealing with the intricacies and expectations of a relationship, but he’s also convinced that due to his traumatic past and the way he deals he interacts with those he loves, he’s unfit to be a partner.

He doesn’t think he has the capability to properly commit himself to someone, to become emotionally dependent on them – and frankly he doesn’t want them to become emotionally attached to him, either. It’s just too risky considering his job and his habits in battle – every night is a question of survival, missions leaving him so bloody and battered that it’s a miracle he pulls through, a miracle that Shinobu doesn’t just kill him herself with how often he winds up in her infirmary.

It’s just wildly unpractical – and it’s not like he chooses to become so horribly, deeply obsessed with you. He’s angry in the beginning, genuinely trying to hate you and distance himself from you in every possible way, but you’re like some irritating, persistent bug that manages to crawl back to him every time he thinks he’s shaken you off.

(A mindset that makes him feel incredibly guilty later on, ashamed of himself for having thought of you in such a derogatory, rude way. This is particularly true because now he’d be absolutely devastated if you were to leave his life, panic and terror engulfing him because no no no you’re not allowed to leave him.)

But once the feelings have been cemented and Sanemi finally, finally accepts that he can do nothing to change him, that outlook on intimacy being unavailable begins to change. Of course, he’s not immediately grabbing and groping at you, nor is he fantasizing about the way you’d look underneath him whimpering and writhing as he fucks into you.

(Wet dreams aside, of course. He doesn’t often wake up to messy, sticky sheets, but the shame that swallows him when he does is so palpable that even his fellow Hashira notice. Rengoku will ask in a much-too-loud voice if he’d slept well, if he’s okay, why there’s still a slight flush on his face, leaving Sanemi to only snap at him and storm out of whatever area they’re in.)

No, his fantasies are genuinely more innocent in the beginning – virginal, really, with the way he blushes a light pink at the thought of wrapping you in his arms, the simple idea of hugging you being enough to get him covering his mouth with his palm, too flustered to function. The mere concept of you pressing a kiss to his cheek – not even his fucking lips – gets him feeling hot under the collar, body too warm for him to sit still, needing to blow off the steam and refocus himself before he embarrasses himself in front of you.

It makes him feel weak, really, how these simplistic, easy forms of intimacy and affection are able to affect him in such a profound way, and as time passes it’s really only natural for his imagination to start turning lewder. It’s not something that he thinks of on his own necessarily, if only because there’s a large mental block there where he tries to separate the thought of you from anything he deems disrespectful or dirty.

He tells himself that you’re pretty, not sexy. (But oh god does he think you’re sexy, everything from your voice to your hair to your skin making him drool like some sort of perverted old man, blood rushing between his legs when he sees you bite your lip or flick your hair, having to quickly excuse himself for fear that you’ll see the way his pants are growing sinfully tight.)

You’re sweet, not naughty. (But oh, Sanemi wouldn’t mind if you were a bit bratty in bed, if you had a rebellious streak to you and made him work for it, made him put in every ounce of effort just to get you creaming on his fingers or tugging on his hair or letting him spill every last drop of cum he has to give you inside that tight little cunt of yours.)

It’s a strict boundary for him, but all it takes is a single seed to be planted that ultimately breaks his moral high ground. Perhaps it’s Rengoku noticing off-hand that Sanemi seems to be a bit quieter these days, the former laughing loudly and congratulating Sanemi on finding that beautiful woman Tengen was talking about – tell me, does she satisfy you in all the ways you require? It makes Sanemi sputter and cough slightly, shocked at both Rengoku’s observational accuracy and the insinuation of you pleasuring him.

(And also seething in jealousy because how the fuck does Rengoku know about you? Has he met you? Has he fucked you? Is that why he’s thinking about you in a sexual manner?)

He tries to stop it, but it’s too late – there’s a quick, shockingly explicit image of you on your back, knees folded up to your chin and Sanemi’s cock stretching you so widely that you’re crying, nails scraping down his back and moans of yes yes please more ‘Nemi please falling past your lips.

He’s ashamed of himself, training until he nearly blacks out from the exhaustion, Iguro shocked and mildly concerned at just how hard and raggedly he’s pushing himself.

(And, out of respect for the unspoken friendship between them, he ignores the way Sanemi’s been sporting a raging hard-on for the duration of their some three-hour sparring session, cock swollen and not settling down for even an instant. Frankly, he’s amazed Sanemi could fight as well as he did considering his situation.)

It’s shameful, Sanemi thinks, and it leaves him utterly mortified that he's letting his more primal thoughts win, but once the door opens he can’t quite shut it. He still tries – pushing idle thoughts of you on your knees for him out of his mind, cursing under his breath as he follows a few feet behind you, acting as your shadow and trying so, so very desperately to not notice the way your kimono is spread tightly across your ass. It’s commendable, really, just how long he manages to keep himself accountable, but it becomes more difficult the more time he spends watching you, seeing aspects of you that are really much more personal than he has a right to know.

And the final straw comes one sunny afternoon, when you’re walking with him down the rather crowded street of your town. He’s accompanying you because ‘it’s too crowded for you to be out alone’, as he’d told you, and he’s staying close to your side, careful not to touch you but always in your peripheral.

And really, maybe he’d had a point – because all it takes is a single shove from a woman next to you, and suddenly you’re falling forward, arms automatically reaching out to steady yourself but instead slamming into Sanemi’s chest, his noise of shock and the feeling of your thumbs touching his bare skin distracting him enough to leave the two of you tumbling the to the ground.

And of course you land on top of him – directly on top of him, with your kimono slightly askew and your clothed breasts pressed up against the expanse of his exposed chest, able to feel the fullness and softness of them. Your breath’s fanning against his neck as you blink and mutter a quick apology, your ascent ungraceful as you accidentally grind your thigh against his crotch, a small, nearly mute groan falling from his lips at the action.

He’s dazed, cheeks flushing a warm pink color and his eyes wide as they stare at you, even as you stand up and try to help him up. But he just can’t move – the feeling of your skin and body against his is too fresh in his mind, imprinted and replaying over and over as he closes his eyes.

And even the feeling of your hands grasping onto his as you try to lift him to his feet is sending him dangerously close to the edge, already feeling himself growing hard and his breathing getting labored.

He doesn’t say a word of it to you, only grunting at your frenzied apologies, not trusting his voice because he’s sure if he tried all he’d manage to push out would be a weak moan of your name. He takes you back to your home immediately, dropping you off in an uncharacteristically abrupt manner, only stopping to make sure you make it past your front door before he’s practically sprinting off, only able to heave in the deep breaths once he’s a good mile or so away from your home.

It’s only then that he finally lets go of the desperate, difficult breathing techniques he had to employ to keep a check on his cock, stopping himself from getting fully hard and only making the smallest of tents in his pants so as to not catch your attention. But as he heaves, wild eyes staring up at the sky, he’s clutching onto the fabric of his haori, knees slightly weak as he stumbles into the surrounding forest.

He’s in an empty area, and as he ventures deeper into the trees and shrubbery, he finds himself leaning against a nearby trunk. Fuck fuck fuck, all he can think about is the way your body was so warm and how you fit perfectly against him, as if your body was molded to fit his. It’s driving him crazy – everything feels too hot, sweat beading at his temple and his palms clammy. He tries to regain his breathing but it’s still coming out ragged, winded and sloppy, his cock so hard that it hurts, mind swirling with thoughts of you and only you.

And even after ten minutes of trying to calm down, Sanemi eventually curses, eyes squeezed shut and palm slapping the trunk of the tree as he realizes that the only way to get his body under his control again is to deal with the problem. It’s embarrassing, more than anything, and he quickly glances around the thickly forested alcove he’s found himself in, the daylight trickling in through the gaps in the trees and illuminating his chest.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Sanemi undoes his belt, the metal sounding loud in the quiet of the forest but slightly muffled by his breathing. It makes him bite his lip, flushing an ever deeper red color, but he shimmies his uniform pants down slightly, just enough to rest under the curve of his balls, staring with pinched brows at the way his cock is absolutely red – it’s swollen, almost visibly pulsing, so heavy that it only stands at a measly ninety degrees.

After a moment of contemplation Sanemi almost, almost tucks himself back into his pants, the guilt at masturbating to you nearly overwhelming, but then he’s hearing your voice in his head, ringing through and saying Sanemi thank you for catching my fall, Sanemi Sanemi Sanemi…

He’s spitting into his palm before he can stop himself, fingers wrapping deftly around his base and immediately flicking up and down, a mixture of a groan and a sigh of relief slipping from him as he finally, finally gets stimulation. His eyes close and he rests his arm against the tree over his head, leaning his forehead against his forearm.

He’s immediately imagining you – the feeling of your chest pressing against his, and images of times he’s accidentally seen you nude while peeking in through your windows crossing his mind. (And truly, they had been accidental – he’d looked away as soon as he regained his senses, blushing bright and running a hand through his hair, waiting for a good twenty minutes to ensure you were properly clothed before he chanced another glance.)

They’re so fucking perfect – he’s never felt a pair of breasts in his life but he’s sure yours are unbearably soft, that they’d be dense and squishy and perfect to squeeze and paw at. He’s biting his lip as he remembers the way your nipples look, licking his lips and even puckering them slightly as he imagines sucking at them, wondering with a particularly harsh tug of his cock whether you’d keen and sigh and moan.

His fist gets tighter as he thinks of the way your knee had brushed against him, balls clenching a bit at the idea that you’ve touched his cock, even accidentally and through multiple layers of clothing. He can’t help but imagine your hands wrapped around himself, fingers daintier and prettier than his own calloused, scarred ones, and his eyes peel open to watch them run up and down his length, looking crude and barbaric as he fucks into his fist harder, his hips starting to move in tandem with his wrist.

You’d look cute, he decides, when you jerk him off – you’d be such a juxtaposition, with feminine hands and soft skin against his masculine, thick cock, and the thought alone makes him grit his teeth, embarrassment and pleasure creeping up his spine because fuuuck he’s never felt this close so quickly before.

His mind snaps back to right before the fall, and suddenly he’s gasping your name and opening his eyes wide as the phantom touch of your fingers against his bare chest hits him, hips stuttering and sounds that are much too high-pitched for his liking filling the small forest area.

He’s turning around, back slamming against the trunk as he continues his brutal pace, keeping his fist stationary as his hips thrust and pound away, imagining it’s your pretty cunt instead. His free hand comes up to his face, the feeling of you grabbing at it and clutching your fingers against his driving him to press his palm tightly against his nose, deeply inhaling and sliding down the trunk a bit as he catches what he thinks is a very, very faint whiff of you on his skin.

His head tilts back, his thrusts getting sharper and more carnal, unconsciously angling them to brush against the top of his hand, where he knows you like best. He’s inhaling over and over again, smelling his hand like some dog, only pulling away to briefly lap at his palm, tongue lolling out and licking long, fat stripes across the skin, desperate to taste you, too.

He’s breathing hard, panting and chanting your name like some sort of prayer, the pleasure in his navel starting to build and grow. You’re just so fucking perfect, and he just knows you feel soft and warm and god he can’t fucking wait to touch you and feel you and pleasure you and make you moan his name and come for him and oh god oh fuck it’s coming it’s coming –

He nearly yells your name as cum oozes from his swollen tip, biting back the gaspy, airy groans that threaten to spill from his lips as his hips wildly jerk, uneven thrusts complimented by his abs clenching so tightly that his knees go weak, crouching against the base of the tree trunk.

He’s panting still, chest heaving as if he’d just run for hours, his face still flushed as he looks up, trying desperately to regain his senses. He’s still clouded by the smell and taste of you, and he only moves his hand to come clutch at his uniform, grabbing the same spot you’d grabbed earlier, squeezing at the fabric so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

There’s a trail of cum on the forest floor in front of him, white slowly cooling and smearing against the leaves, but Sanemi can’t find it in himself to care. There’s guilt settling deep in his chest as he comes down from his high, cock going pathetically limp against the waistband of his pants. He curses, closing his eyes and covering them with his hand, shame weighing heavily on him.

He’d just masturbated to you and reached the fastest orgasm of his life because of it.

It feels like some sort of selfish defeat, and he’s filled with self-loathing as he makes his way back to the Wind Estate for a change of clothes, berating himself for his weakness and promising to never give into his hormones like that again.

And yet, a mere five days later, he’s got his fist wrapped around himself again, fantasies of you bouncing in his lap like he’s just some toy for you to use racing through his mind, his composure slipping because he’d give absolutely anything to be of use to you, even just as something to get you off and discard afterwards.

It makes him feel pathetic, like a perverted, sorry excuse of an admirer of yours, but he just can’t help himself – how can he, when his every waking thought revolves solely around you?

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your Ass

In general, Sanemi loves the parts of you most that are the softest and the squishiest. He’s all hard lines – plains of muscle that’s rock hard to the touch, scars that are ragged and bumpy against the smoother texture of his skin. He’s all hard edges, but you’re the complete opposite – you’re sweet and soft, and Sanemi naturally gravitates towards areas that really showcase this.

Consequently, he finds his hands edging close to your ass from pretty much the beginning of your sexual relationship. He likes how plump the area is – he adores when you wear shorter skirts around him, or, ideally, just the pretty, lacy panties he buys for you with heat on his cheeks and embarrassment creeping up his spine.

(Of course, he’d bought many of them long before he’d stolen you away, long before he’d ever touched you in any serious capacity. He’d seen them when he was passing through an adult shop on a mission, and while he’d felt like a massive pervert for it, he’d purchased a pair that’s a particularly eye-catching emerald green, white lace trim at the edges and a matching garter belt and bra to go with it. He’d been mortified when he’d returned home and stared at the fabric, the fatigue and adrenaline having finally worn off, but the mere idea of you wearing the pretty fabric was enough to get him breathing heavy. It was enough to get him covering his mouth with his hand, cock painfully hard because even his imagination of how your pretty ass cupped by the cheeky underwear would look is enough to get precum staining his pants.)

When he’s kissing you, his hands are resting on your ass, groping and idly squeezing, playing with the fat and very, very gently slapping at it, kissing you even harder when he feels the way you squirm and yelp.

He prefers positions where you can make eye contact, but the somewhat rare times he has you bent over, Sanemi is absolutely feral – he’s smacking your ass and pounding into you as hard as he can, his grip on your hips tight enough to bruise as he loses himself in the way your ass ricochets against his pelvis, the wet slap slap noise forcing him to get on one knee, mounting you even more, fucking you like an animal.

(And while he’s not the absolute loudest during sex, you’ll hear some of the filthiest, foulest things fall past his lips when he’s fucking you from behind – he'll have you in prone bone, breath hot against your ear as he tells you that ‘s fucking tight, you’re so damn tight, fuck fuck fuuuuck, his voice groaned and strained as his hips punctuate each curse. And his grip on you is tight – fingertips digging into the plush of your hips and lovehandles, gripping hard enough to leave small imprints behind, feeling like he’s clutching onto you, like he’s scared you’ll disappear.)

He’s not picky about your shape, either – you could have perfectly round, full cheeks or very little definition and he’d still be in love, his fingers still twitching and flexing at his side with the urge to reach out and squeeze, to knead at the skin and hear the way you’d yelp and cling onto him.

(Perhaps you’d even smack his hand away, embarrassment creeping up your spine and your flustered expression making him lick his lips, hellbent on making you come so many times the only thing you can think of is him him him. He always has grand plans to tease you, wanting to have you looking at him with glossy eyes and be completely under his thumb, but every time he gets you naked in front of him it’s him who’s at your beck and call, pathetically eager to do whatever you wish.)

He won’t try to touch you until you have a more established sexual relationship in place, which will take several months of being trapped with him to achieve. But once the floodgates are opened he becomes extremely touchy – he’s always got his hands on you, squeezing and groping and touching, and you’ll often even find that when you’re laying on your front, he’ll come lay behind you, shyly at first as he places his cheek against the soft skin, a hand gripping onto your thigh as he relaxes, too embarrassed to make eye contact but basking in the softness of you, in the peace of the moment, in the way you’re really here, with him.

He loves the rest of your body too, of course, but his natural resting place for both his hands and eyes is your ass, and he’s not nearly as subtle as he hopes he is.

(Not at all, but there’s almost something endearing about it – the quick-tempered, serious Hashira so blatantly ogling you, his lips parting and his nostrils flaring as he stares, almost unblinking. It makes you feel good, truly, flattered despite the perverted nature of his staring. And so as time passes you’ll find that you can excuse it, his bashfulness and obvious attraction to you almost flattering the longer you go without other human contact.)

His Abs

By and large, Sanemi desperately wants to impress you.

He lives for your praise, finding that the sweet words slipping from your lips are enough to leave him feeling like he’s floating, a sort of genuine joy he hasn’t felt in years settling into his chest, making him fight off a smile. As such, he’s very, very attentive to your reactions to his body.

Years of pushing himself to become stronger and battling so often have left his body riddled with muscles and scars, leaving him in peak physical health. And you’ll know this from nearly the first moment you meet him – after all, it’s difficult to not notice the little peek-a-boo at his abs in his uniform, the skin defined and often glistening with sweat.

He’s proud of his chest, and he has to swallow very, very hard the first time he catches you glancing at the exposed skin. It makes his ego inflate, something pleasant licking at his chest because oh, were you just checking him out? It doesn’t matter if you were or not – because to Sanemi you were, and that fact doesn’t leave his mind for weeks.

He’s proud of his abs, and quickly grows to love showing them off to you. He elects to keep a shirt on for most of your early time trapped with him, not wanting to scare you or frighten you by being half-undressed. (He doesn’t want you be to feeling pressured into anything, because while he would never force you into anything even remotely sexual, he doesn’t want there to be any sort of dubious fear or doubt motivating you to finally seek out intimacy with him. Aside from your kidnapping and the stalking, of course. And the way his desperation for you is so thick it leaves you squirming in discomfort.)

But once your sexual relationship starts?

Oh – he’s constantly shirtless, purposefully flexing when you’re nearby so that his abs stand out more defined, pectorals looking firmer, the muscles of his back standing out and practically begging for you to run your finger over them. He loves when you trace the lines of his six-pack, your soft finger dipping between the muscles and sending shivers along his skin because fuck, even just your finger is getting him hot under the collar.

Press kisses against the area, murmuring to him that he’s so strong and that you feel so safe with you ‘Nemi, I know you could protect me from anything. He’ll grumble under his breath but the blush sporting his cheeks and neck give him away, as does the way his hips involuntarily and imperceptibly buck.

Kiss further down to the happy trail of silvery hair leading below the waistband of his pants, the skin ticklish and sensitive enough to leave him sucking in a breath, his fists tightening until his knuckles are white because oh, you’re such a damn tease. When you’re perched on top of him, rolling your hips and letting him cup at your ass to help guide you, rest a hand against his abs and he’ll groan, the muscles clenching underneath your palm.

(Often, when he’s getting too close to his orgasm and he doesn’t want the moment to end quite yet, he’ll pull you forward so that you’re straddling his stomach, looking up at you with dazed lilac eyes, telling you in a hoarse, heady voice to grind on me, use me, ‘m all yours. He wants you to touch his abs, to feel your cunt scooping and rubbing against the planes of muscle. He wants to watch the way your face contorts as you catch your clit on a particularly raised section, maybe even on a scar, his orgasm slowly – very slowly – fading off but his cock still remaining starkly at attention. You’re just so damn pretty when you’re smearing slick against his skin, the sight wanton and lewd but feeling so very right. And later that night, when he’s helping you to the bath and diligently washing your body, he’ll scowl before he washes off his own abs, slightly pissed that he has to wash away the trace of you.)

He just likes you to touch what he’s so proud of, and each and every time you have a remotely positive reaction towards them, Sanemi is in heaven. After all, you’re looking at him, and that’s something that makes both his cock and his heart swell.

DRIVE:

Sanemi is, for a lack of a better term, sexually frustrated. He’s never touched anyone before and never been touched himself, and even touching himself is something he rarely partakes in. Every ounce of irritation, anger, anxiety, and stress is taken out via rigorous training and often yelling. When he feels pent-up he finds that a good, quick spar is often a more effective way to quell it rather than jerking off.

Not to mention, there’s something about masturbating that makes Sanemi feel even more lonely and frustrated than before – it hurts slightly to know that he doesn’t have anyone to be thinking of, that while he saves men and women with partners and lovers, he’s not quite like them. Hell, even a few of his fellow Hashira have partners, someone to touch them and hold them, reassuring them and comforting them when the nightmares of screaming family members and demons become too much. It makes him feel pathetic when he feels sorry for himself for being so painfully alone, and this results in Sanemi avoiding pleasuring himself as often as possible.

But of course, biology has other plans for him – he’s in the sexual prime of his life, and when he can’t quite seem to work off the steam with a thorough work-out or eventful patrol, he’ll begrudgingly resort to his hand. It’s typically impersonal, wrapping his fingers around himself and steadily jerking up and down while he closes his eyes and bites back his groans.

He’s not thinking of anything in particular – maybe imagining it’s the hand of some mystery woman replacing his own, but nothing more than that. It’s fast, too, the pleasure slowly mounting and then crashing through him, gritting his teeth as he finishes and promptly cleaning up, wanting to waste no more time with it. It’s all just so very clinical, almost – even when he’s horny, even when the frustration mounts so high that it’s unbearable.

And while he’s slow to warm up to fantasizing about you in a sexual capacity, Sanemi’s irregular indulgences in lust remain. Of course, it’s much, much better now – now that he has someone to actively close his eyes and think about, imagining your voice and your body and your touch. It’s infinitely better because while you’re still not by his side or touching him with your own hands and lips and cunt, he can still fantasize that one day you will, that one day you’ll want him like he wants you.

And it’s enough – his sex drive is still fairly low, and even once he begins actively having sex with you it remains on the lower side. He’d just truly rather hold you or listen to you speak than pin you down and fuck you.

(Or have you pin him down and ride him until he’s shooting blanks and tearing up with red cheeks and fisting the sheets so hard his knuckles are white.)

But of course, he’s only a man and those urges do hit him – enough so that he has a sort of system in place for signaling that he’s feeling hot, that he’s restless, that he’s mentally undressing you and planning out all the positions and ways he can get you creaming on his cock. His signals aren’t particularly graceful, either – it starts with him sitting closer to you, his body completely tense and every muscle clenched.

(He does this unconsciously, both as a way to control himself from just reaching out and snatching you, and also to subconsciously make himself seem bigger, to look stronger and more masculine, to appeal to your more feminine side. He’s not even aware he does it, and if you point it out he’ll vehemently deny it, calling you deluded and making some comment about how you’re projecting your own lewdness onto him, but he knows you’re right, and he also knows he can’t stop it.)

Then he’ll start looking at you with more focus. He’s always staring at you, those wide eyes never leaving your form, but now he’s doing things – again, unconsciously – without realizing that give it all away; licking his lips, adjusting his pants, swallowing audibly.

It’s all things that you’ll notice, and depending on how far along you are in your captivity with him, your response to these signals dictates whether or not you end up with cum smearing the inside of your thighs – if you grimace and shy away from him, Sanemi will clench his jaw, nod slightly and look away. He’ll immediately get up and leave the room both from embarrassment and hurt at your rejection, and to avoid making you feel any sort of pressure or guilt to give him physical intimacy.

But if you scoot in closer, clench your thighs a bit, give him that sultry fucking look you know he loves, then he’s immediately kissing you, big hand cupping your cheek as the other latches onto your breast, kneading and squeezing as he groans against your lips.

And it’s messy – the kiss is all tongue and spit, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he presses his body into you as far as he can, desperation and relief flowing through him because the feeling of your skin against his is satisfying parts of him he didn’t even know existed. If you accept his advances, he’ll maneuver you onto your back, nudging between your thighs and immediately licking and sucking away, the loud suction noises making your cheeks feel hot and making it difficult to not squirm around.

(Something that strokes Sanemi’s ego but also frustrates him because he wants you to lie still so he can properly touch you. He can’t go at the pace and angle you like when you’re wiggling around, so he’ll just take a thigh in each hand and keep you steady, using his strength to pin you down so that you can’t move away from his eager, sloppy mouth. Because he wants absolutely everything to be perfect – he wants you to feel so good that you’re begging for him, associating him with pleasure, knowing that he can and will give you exactly what your body needs.)

He’ll make you finish on his tongue and only then will he start working his pants down, cock already so red and wet with precum that it’s a miracle a single brush against your cunt doesn’t make him immediately release. The sex is eager – that’s really the only word for it, because Sanemi’s grabbing every part of your body he can reach, hands unable to stay still because he wants to feel everything, mapping every inch of your body with his fingers so that if somehow you disappear, he’ll remember everything. He’s handsy, and yet his hips are absolutely brutal – he’s fucking into you like a wild animal, hipbones smacking against your ass in a bruising rhythm that leaves your whole body bouncing, every soft, jiggly bit of you drawing his attention and only making him go harder because he wants to see more more more.

But he’s loud, too – all kinds of curses and rough, uneven praises of the way you feel and how you look are falling past his lips, voice sounding nearly pained with the overwhelming amount of stimulation you’re giving him.

He’s truly pussydrunk in every sense of the word – so when he very unnaturally and awkwardly tries to put his hand on your thigh when he’s signaling he’s feeling hot and needy for you, just know that you’ll have a lot of difficulty walking the next morning.

That said, Sanemi will absolutely never force you into anything sexual without your explicit (and frequent) verbal consent.

Despite his rough-around-the-edges appearance, he’s staunch on his moral beliefs that sex is something intimate that should be reserved for partners who truly care about each other. He believes that it should be something enjoyed, something meaningful, something wanted – and so, to have you actively fighting him or not engaging in what he’s doing to you would leave his skin crawling, disgust and a new, different kind of shame seeping through him.

(Different if only because up until that point, everything he’s done he’s been able to spin as somehow being for your safety – stalking you to make sure no one bothers you, learning all your habits and favorite foods, clothes, and hobbies letting him notice any deviations signifying something is wrong. Hell, even kidnapping you has some benefits for your safety – no demon is stupid enough to enter the Wind Estate, and he’ll be damned before he lets any strangers in with the possibility of coming into contact with you.)

But intimacy is different – he’s not good at being vulnerable, and to be naked with you, to hold you in his arms and feel your hands caress the parts of his body that are deeply scarred and unused to touch is a new level of unguarded that makes him anxious. He’s so used to keeping up a pseudo-façade of being reckless and wild and in these moments all he wants is to let you see him raw, the real Sanemi Shinazugawa that wants you so badly that it physically hurts.

And so, if you don’t want him he’ll respect that – it hurts, of course, and he’ll have trouble facing you for the next few days, but he's man enough to know that your consent is key. But it’s also this crippling fear of rejection and putting himself in a position of possible weakness with you that bars him from trying to progress your sexual relationship for a long, long time.

He’s desiring you in risqué and lewd ways long before he’s stolen you away, but it’s difficult to act on those, to put himself out there and risk your harsh, painful rejection of him.

(And he’s convinced you will reject him, if only because despite his persona, Sanemi harbors insecurities about his ability to be loved. He thinks there’s something deeply wrong with him, something that makes others fearful of him and something that will deter anyone from getting too close. Besides Genya, of course, but the matter is complicated.)

And so, he holds himself back from making any sort of move in your sexual relationship – he wants to either have you bring it up, or to keep everything between you as strictly protector-protectee as possible, even if he craves to touch you and lay with you.

But, like most things in your relationship, Sanemi’s restraint snaps one day. To be fair, it’s not entirely Sanemi’s fault – months of repressing his sex drive and ignoring the tantalizing way you look in the kimonos he hand-picked for you leaves him on the brink of exploding, so pent-up and sexually frustrated that it nearly drives him mad.

The final straw is a particularly brutal, gut-wrenching mission – he’d been tasked to stop a demon in a few towns over, a simple mission that he really, really should’ve been able to fix much quicker. But the demon was smart and seemed to sense his approach, and the carnage was far, far greater than Sanemi was expecting. Small children stained red with parents dismembered a few feet away, visible bite chunks leaving the smell of rot and death heavy in the air. It left his stomach churning, but what truly sent him off the end was hearing a small sob after he’d sliced the demon’s neck, the little boy crying next to what Sanemi could only assume was his dead mother.

That in itself wasn’t out of the ordinary, but the boy’s striking, uncanny resemblance to his own brother Koto makes him stop in his tracks, lips falling open like a gaping fish. He’s frozen, simply staring like some fool, but then everything happens much, much too fast.

The demon’s suddenly swooping in, the boy’s head severed in the blink of an eye, a deranged cackle falling from the creature as a resounding crunchnoise fills the air. Sanemi’s thrown into a state of rage, immediately killing the demon and stabbing at it repeatedly. He’s cutting up each and every part of the monster (careful to avoid touching the boy’s head, though), yelling and cursing at it for what feels like hours.

By the time he’s done there’s tears pricking his eyes, and the walk back to his Estate is blurry and heavy with his own grief. He hasn’t cried in years, but something about the little boy’s face and the weight pressing on his back leave him with wet cheeks, the shoji door quietly sliding open to your room before he can catch himself.

You’re still awake, and he doesn’t even have the right mental state to be angry at you for cutting your sleep. He’s quiet, simply staring at you from the doorway as you wearily approach him, concerned and slightly scared because there’s blood smeared across his uniform and his eyes are bloodshot.

Sanemi? Your voice is weak, and you gently, hesitantly press a hand against his trembling fingers grasping onto the scabbard of his sword.

He swallows harshly, eyes locked onto yours. He whispers your name, voice low and hoarse, but before you can say anything he’s wrapping his arms around you, clutching onto your so tightly that your breathing is restricted. It leaves you yelping, unsure how to respond to the uncharacteristic affection, but the shallow shaking of his shoulders makes you soothingly run a hand through his hair.

Sanemi… You trail off again, but he only hugs you tighter in response. It’s some ten minutes before he finally sniffles, mumbling something against your clothed shoulder that you can’t quite hear.

When you don’t respond, he grips you tighter, pulling his face back just a hair to say again please, I need you to touch me.

It makes you stiffen in his grasp, and that makes him panic. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, I just – he stops, swallowing again and letting his weight sag against you even more. I just can’t be alone right now.

And maybe it’s the vulnerability in his tone, the strange, gentle side of him you so rarely see, or maybe it’s your own longing for human contact and touch that drives you to press a kiss against the crown of his head.

He gasps sharply, his grip loosening ever so slightly. You take the opportunity to gently pull back, grabbing his wrist and leading him over to your bed in the center of the room. He’s staring at you with wide, puffy eyes, shellshocked and unable to say anything as you grasp at the edge of his uniform.

Your voice is still soft as you tell him take this off, no blood on my bed, and he’s only staring for a single, long moment before the fabric is flying over his head, his pants quickly falling suite and leaving him bare aside from a pair of thin undergarments sitting dangerously low on the sharp v-line of his navel. He’s still looking at you, eyes wild and wide, his chest rising and falling so quickly that it almost worries you.

You’re much slower when you peel away your own sleeping clothes, leaving your body in only a thin, light-weight slip that makes Sanemi lick his lips. You’re so fucking pretty – it’s making something in his chest ache, his palms flexing by his sides, brain warring between the extreme emotional distress and arousal at seeing your partially exposed body and your desire for him.

You step forward, palm pressing against his cheek, and slowly pull him to you. Letting your lips ghost against his for a moment, you press a soft, barely-there kiss against the corner of his mouth. Murmuring his name, you feel the way his whole body shivers.

Finally, finally, you press your lips against his, moving slow and trying to let him relax into it. He’s still so tense – he wants this badly, but now that it’s actually happening he’s freezing up a bit. He’s dreamed and fantasized about this moment for months, lying awake and feeling pathetic for imagining that you could want him like this.

But the moment passes and he’s suddenly kissing you back, his movements sloppy and uncooridinated, evidence that he’s never done this before. But you take it in stride and pull back, the sound making his nostrils flare. He moves forward, chasing your lips, but you stop him with a lay down with me, please Sanemi.

And it’s as if he’s some well-trained pet – he’s immediately laying down, body tense and taut over your blankets, and he watches with baited breath as you straddle him, your thighs warm against his skin and oh god oh god –

He can feel it – can feel you.

You’re incredibly warm, the heat permeating through his underclothes as you press against his cock, the sensation forcing something that sounds much too similar to a moan to slip from his lips. It feels surreal – and when you start slowly moving your hips, grinding on him in teasingly slow, agonizingly pleasurable little circles, Sanemi’s gripping at your thighs, his self-restraint nearly buckling.

The evening passes full of slow, tender touches, exploring fingers and tongues covering every inch of your skin and his. The sex is soft, thrusts gentle and deep, rolling and pressing against every spot that makes your toes curl. He’s kissing you the whole time, grasping onto your skin like you’re his life line, a near-growl coming from somewhere deep in his throat when you take even a hand away from holding him. He wants your fingers tunneling through his hair, your leg wrapped around his waist, your nipples brushing against his own.

It's heaven, he thinks, and though he tries to hide his face as he ruts into you, the tears return to his eyes and before he knows it he’s chanting a slurred, choked mantra of your name, timing with his thrusts and begging you in a near-incomprehensible plea of never leave me, you can’t leave me, I won’t let you leave me.

It’s only after his hips stutter, a gasp of your name and his hot breath going ragged in your ear that he finally goes limp. He’s still inside you, the last throbs and bits of his orgasm rocking through him, but he’s carefully maneuvering your bodies so that he’s laying behind you. You’re caged in his arms – a heavy, muscular limb wrapped around your waist, body molded to yours and pulling you flush against him. He falls asleep like that – flaccidly inside you, his breath in your ear, his grip on you remaining deadly tight even as dreams overtake him. And eventually, you fall asleep too – exhausted, confused, and embracing this small, intimate moment even if you’ll regret it.

He’s gone the next morning, the covers wrapped up to your chin, the blankets and sheets on his side perfectly pristine.

He doesn’t mention that night for the foreseeable future, embarrassed and angry at himself for giving into temptation and allowing himself to be so weak in front of you. He’s worried that you might regret it, that you’ll find him disgusting for being so wanton and blatant in his begging for you, and he bars himself from engaging with you sexually again. (Out of embarrassment, out of shame, out of fear because god, he’s never been as desperate and depraved as he was the moment he slipped inside of you, and how would he react the second time? The third? The tenth?)

He won’t acknowledge that it happened, but you’ll notice the glances he starts throwing your way, the way his gaze lingers on your body, how he stiffens up the moment you get even remotely close to him. It’s a stark contrast to the man who’d been groaning out your name like salvation the night before, but just know that if you were to approach him, Sanemi will be putty in your hands.

If you were to kiss him or touch him or tell him how badly you need him, he’ll fold. He’ll get onto his knees, mouthing at your cunt and struggling to mutter out how he’d thought you’d never ask, fuck.

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Cumplay

While Sanemi will bend to your whims almost always in bed, there are a few very, very specific things that he won’t compromise on.

That is, he absolutely must finish either inside you, down your throat, or on your body. It’s a possessiveness thing for him – he’s in ecstasy and still slightly shocked that you’re touching him (and letting him touch you), but it’s still not quite enough. He’s licking and sucking at your neck, leaving marks and hickies and the imprint of his fingertips lightly against your skin, trying to mark you up as his his his. He wants to leave a physical imprint of his possession over you, because while it feels dehumanizing to think of you as his, he can’t help the way it makes something in his chest twist in just the right way, nor can he help the way his cock stands up at attention, growing hard just at the mere idea of physically making you his.

And Sanemi quickly finds the quickest, easiest way to claim you as his is to leave you absolutely dripping with his cum. He’s territorial, completely believing that you’re his woman and he is your man. It’s this possessiveness mixed with his obsession over being your protector that drive his compulsive need to fill you with every last drop he can give you – it feels better this way, more natural. It’s like he’s giving you what you desire – he’s giving you everything he can, the most intimate, sacred part of him, something he made for you and you alone.

And so, every time he��s got hic cock out and your kissing, sucking, touching, or fucking it, Sanemi’s throwing his head back and groaning, all sorts of filthy, dirty promises about how he’s going to finish for you falling past his lips.

He’ll have you on your knees, his thighs tense and his abs clenching, his hand in your hair and fighting very, very hard to not pull you down until his cock’s in the back of your throat, choking and gagging you. (He wants to – god does he want to, but he doesn’t want to hurt you, so he’ll stop himself. A mind-numbing orgasm with your hot little tongue pressed against his underside isn’t worth you being angry or hurt.) He's groaning your name and telling you that that you’re gonna – fuck, gonna take it all, yeah? Gonna swallow every last fucking drop, o-oh fucky baby, god wanna see you swallow ngh –

Your hand is wrapped around his girth, wrist flicking up and down so quickly that it makes him pant, your free hand delicately groping and squeezing at his balls. He’s bucking up against your tugs, a red flush on the bridge of his nose as he grunts, rushing forward to kiss you with way too much tongue, pulling back only when he starts shuddering, breath ragged as he tells you that he wants to finish on your chest, voice getting slurred and strained as he tells you he’s gonna come on your tits, god so fucking pretty fuck fuck fuck –

(He’ll stare with this sort of boyish look in his eye and something feral, predatory at his handiwork once he does, white smeared across your skin and leaving a film that he rubs at with his thumb, pinching your nipple and licking his lips when you squirm.)

He’s got you pressed into a tight, suffocating mating press, his forehead pressed against yours and his hands holding your knees up, the angle and feeling of you making teeter on the edge. ‘M gonna, ‘m gonna come soon, where do you want it? He’ll ask, eyes fluttering shut as you clench down on him, only to open wide when you whine out to finish inside ‘Nemi, please please please want your cum!

And it’s lewd and dirty and it gets him fucking into you deeper, hips snapping into yours so hard that you’re physically moving up the length of the bed, his voice a growl as he grins, groaning yeah? Want me to come in this tight – fuck, tight little pussy? So damn greedy, fuuuuck, you better take it, don’t let any drip out or I’ll have to fill you again. He’ll press kisses against your lips, jaw, and neck, his voice growing louder as he growl again between each kiss.

And when he’s right on the edge, his thrusts growing uneven and choppy, his eyes are meeting yours again as he gasps take it take it take it, cum spurting from his tip and leaving you feeling warm and so very, very full. He produces a lot with each orgasm, seeming to never stop as it oozes from his hyper-sensitive tip, and Sanemi uses it to his advantage.

He’s obsessed with looking at the product of his orgasm – he’ll kneel between your legs so that your cunt’s eyelevel and simply stare as his cum slowly leaks out, down the grooves of your folds and over your pert hole, dripping onto the floor below you and making him scoff. He’ll scoop it up with a single finger, pushing it back inside of you and kissing you to muffle the sound of your surprise, slightly embarrassed because he absolutely can’t let even the smallest amount not end up inside you.

When you’ve convinced him to be a tad bit rougher as you bob your head between his legs, Sanemi will grant your wish and finish on your face, groaning and biting his lip at the way you look, his cum dribbling down from your lips to your chin, dripping down to land on your nipples, thighs, other parts of your body.

 (And as disrespectful as it felt to finish there, Sanemi secretly loves it – he won’t request it because he doesn’t think you’d enjoy it, but he’s nursing a fantasy that you’ll let him smear his cum all over your lips and cheeks, and then simply not clean it for the rest of the day. He wants the physical evidence of his intimacy with you to be constantly visible, so that every glance reminders him that you wanted him, that you were practically begging him for his cock like some common whore. You aren’t, or course, but the possessive, animalistic part of him that desires rough, carnal sex with you is satisfied by the idea, something primal about the idea of leaving a mark of him him him against your pretty face. He’ll never bring it up, simply stewing on it in silence, but if you were to mention the idea, or tell him that you want to keep his cum really anywhere against your skin, you’ll witness something that absolutely mortifies him – a dry orgasm paired with a sad, shocked little whimper, the embarrassment and unexpected pleasure making him too ashamed to even look at you for a few hours afterwards.)

He just really likes the concept of leaving you stuffed full of him. (And there’s a small part of him that hopes desperately with every load he gives you that it’ll finally take. He’s always fantasized about having a family with you, but with each time he stuffs you full, he can only get closer and closer to the dream, the mere idea of you pregnant enough to get him hot under the collar and desperate to get his hands on you.)

And to his credit, this kink goes both ways – he’ll gladly let you cover every inch of his skin in your spit and slick, rubbing yourself against his body and licking at him until you’ve had your fill.

(And fuck, if you squirt? He’s wearing it like a badge of honor, pride and arousal coursing through him in such potent amounts that he’s nearly dizzy, nearly unable to function because god he needs to fuck you and make you do that over and over again until you can’t anymore.)

He’s just possessive, and while you might initially be rather disgusted simply by his eagerness and fixation on it, eventually you might even find it hot, too. Because really, he may be deranged, a stalker, horribly and uncomfortably dependent on you for his emotional stability and health, but isn’t there something so very sexy about a grown man moaning in your ear and begging you to please let him finish inside you?

Voyeurism

Perhaps it’s a remnant of having stalked you for so long, but there’s something that gets Sanemi so fucking hard about watching you pleasure yourself.

There’s layers to it – of course he loves the physical sight of you with your fingers stuffed into your cunt, tits spilling out of your lounging shirt, thighs quivering and your lips parting into that pretty ‘o’ shape that Sanemi wants to fill with his fingers. He loves the way you look all fucked out, pretty and writhing and gasping, letting all your natural sounds out because there’s not a soul around to hear you and you can be truly free. So yes, from a purely carnal, sexual standpoint, Sanemi very much enjoys the sight of you touching yourself.

But even beyond that, there’s something morbidly fascinating and addicting about it – there’s something indescribably intimate about watching you at your most vulnerable, those lilac eyes widening and staying transfixed on every aspect of you that he can. He’s watching like a hawk as you squeeze at your breast, watching to see if you pinch at your nipple or roll it, if you squeeze hard and hold it there or opt for weaker but more frequent squeezes.

He’s carefully watching your fingers, analyzing the patterns and shapes you’re drawing against your clit, how fast you’re going and whether you vary anything or keep it all consistent.

(He’ll even press his fingers against the expanse of his forearm as he watches, mimicking your motions against his own skin in an effort to practice, to learn by muscle memory exactly how you like to be touched so that once he gets you naked and spread out for him, he can be exactly what you want and give you exactly what you need. He’ll do this with the way you finger yourself, too, guessing at the particular angles you’re reaching for based on the way your wrist flexes, how your knuckles move. He’ll go home and practice this, too, using his pillow as a poor stand-in for your body and practicing thrusting in the pattern you seem to like, angling his hips to brush against the spot that always gets you gasping, buffing up his stamina because he’ll be damned if the first time he gets you naked underneath him is thwarted by his own physical inabilities.)

It helps him feel connected to you like this – easier to pretend that he’s the one making you moan and curl your toes rather than your own hand or the toy you’d purchased for yourself.

(A toy that he absolutely fucking hates, always glaring at it and scoffing because he’s sure that he could fuck you so much better – he’d get the angle right, he’d get the depth perfect, and he’d do all the damn work – you just need to lay there and look pretty, grasp onto him and moan his name and he’ll take care of the rest. He'll always take care of you, after all, and he wants the sex to be absolutely perfect, for you to crave him even a fraction as much as he craves you.)

And even once he’s forced to steal you away, these habits of peeping in on you while you’re lost in your own little world don’t magically disappear. It’s more difficult now, sure, because standing and peering through your window was always easier, always less risky, but Sanemi becomes too desperate and in withdrawal to stop himself.

His lucidity leaves him feeling guilty every time, but he’ll crack the door into your room open ever so slightly, having returned home from a mission or an errand earlier than he’d told you. He’ll peek in, doing his best to move slowly and silently to avoid grabbing your attention, and he’s immediately got his hand in his pants, gripping himself so tightly and harshly that it nearly brings tears to his eyes.

His orgasms are always stronger when he’s got you in his sight, and as he times his strokes with your thrusts inside yourself, he’s clenching his abs and shaking, hips coming up to thrust and rut against his fist. He’s staying deathly quiet, intent on hearing the sound of your moans and the wet squelching of your cunt sucking your fingers in again and again. And when he comes, he’s praying that you’ll finish at the same time, forcing himself to stop and endlessly edging himself just so that you can come together, to have something romantic and sweet like a simultaneous release.

(Of course, the aftermath of cum staining the front of his trousers and his upper thighs is less sweet, but Sanemi can’t quite care – even as it dries and grows cold, feeling slimy and sticky against his skin. He’s too transfixed watching the way your chest slowly stops heaving, how you relax and bask in the afterglow of your orgasm, how you idly play with your nipples and smile up at the ceiling, and if he tries harder enough - pretends hard enough, really - he can even hear you murmur his name.)

The intention is relatively sweet, no matter how deranged and creepy he may feel for actively spying on you as you undress, but he’s just a man, and how can a man be expected to deny himself the viewing pleasure of the woman he’s so madly, pathetically obsessed with?

But unfortunately for Sanemi, you’re not as oblivious as he hopes – you’ll notice the way he lingers at your door, his occasional soft, shuddering gasps not going unheard even over the sound of your own moans. You’ll see his shadow against the door panels, even seeing the shadow of his cock when he pulls it out of his pants, the mere sight making your orgasm hurtle closer and closer, even despite your shame at finding your kidnapper’s cock arousing.

You’re not blind, and it’s almost therapeutic to watch how easily he falls apart for you, the shadow of his back hunching over slightly as you both near your ends, the wet squelching sounds of his fist going up and down just barely audible if you strain yourself hard enough. It’s endearing, in a fucked-up sort of way, but if you were to ever mention something about it, Sanemi will immediately bristle, embarrassment crawling up his spine and his cheeks glowing a soft, subtle pink, entirely caught off guard and unsure of what to say.

(He’s mortified that you know, that he’d been caught, if only because now he’s absolutely convinced you must think of him as a pervert, as a monster, and it kills him to know that it’s true. And yet, there’s some small, masochistic part of him that’s almost glad, finding the whole situation so, so very hot because now he can’t help but wonder if you’d started touching yourself on purpose, perhaps wanting to draw him out, perhaps wanting to listen to him losing his fucking mind over your naked body. You naughty, naughty thing.)

And so, once your consensual sexual relationship begins, Sanemi is using every piece of knowledge he’d gathered from watching you to his advantage – he’s not wasting any time putting all that practice into use, curling his fingers and rubbing and kneading just how you like it, watching with wide, almost nervous eyes to see how you react, hoping that he’s doing good and making you enjoy it, enjoy him.

He wants you to tell him how it feels, to hear you say that it’s good, that you love it when you touch me ‘Nemi, and that alone gets him doubling in his efforts, frantic to get you to orgasm for him and only him, filled with a sort of crazed need to be the one to finally, finally bring you your high.

And as time passes, you’ll notice that Sanemi tends to bring this kink into the bedroom, too, even when you’re fully aware of his presence – he’ll tell you to touch yourself, settling across the bed, and slowly fisting at his cock, licking his lips and watching with rapt attention as you spread your legs, playing with yourself and humming his name.

But it’s not quite the same as when you were alone, though, and Sanemi will tell you to act like I’m not here, don’t make shit up or fake your moans. He wants the authenticity, the rawness, the realness of you fully indulging in yourself.

It’s in these moments that you’ll see the more submissive side of Sanemi – the small part of him that absolutely loves when you ignore his existence, pretending he’s not fisting his cock like a madman simply to the sight, smell, and sound of you. He likes the way that you’re not paying him any mind, completely focused on yourself, Sanemi merely a bystander and watching you. It doesn’t happen often, but it’s in these moments that his obsession only further solidifies, his feelings for you growing stronger and latching into him deeper, like claws that make him shiver in pain-tinged pleasure. Because really, he can only consider himself lucky and cruelly blessed for getting to see you like this, for being allowed so close to you as you gush on your fingers and pinch at your nipples. It’s an honor, even if that explanation makes you shift uncomfortably and try to ignore the reverent look in his eye.

You’re just so damn pretty, can he really be blamed for wanting to stare and stare and stare?

Marking

While hyper fixated on your health and safety in every aspect of his obsession, one area where he’s ever so slightly lenient is in bed. He’ll outright refuse to do anything that draws blood or involves hitting you, but there’s something rather tempting about the idea of leaving a trace of himself after he spends hours upon hours getting you to come on his fingers and cock.

He likes the reminder that he’d been able to pleasure you, the feeling enough to get you moaning and clawing at his back and whining his name. And so, Sanemi develops a liking for leaving all sorts of hickeys and love bites all over your body.

He’s passionate when he fucks you, leaving kisses on every inch of skin he can reach and grasping onto you tightly enough that sometimes bruises appear.

(And he feels guilty for it, in the beginning, always scowling when he sees them the next day. But alongside the guilt there’s something good – something that makes him smug, pride settling in his gut because those are his fingermarks on your body, showing that he attends to your more intimate needs. Reminding him that you let him attend to those needs – that you let him kiss and hold you, that you let him squeeze and grope at your skin, that you let him spread your legs and push himself inside until he’s filling every possible inch of you, connected with you in the most raw, natural way. It’s romantic, almost, and it makes Sanemi squirm slightly just thinking about it because oh fuck, now he’s hard again and really you should take some accountability for showing off your collarbone and the barrage of hickeys like that…)

He’s not picky about where or how he does it, either – what you’ll mostly be covered in are hickeys, the dark spots dancing in patterns all along your neck, shoulders, collarbone, inner thighs, and even your stomach and ass. His favorite is your neck, though. He likes the way you get all breathless when he kisses and sucks and licks at the skin, the sensations making your breath go light and airy against his ear, the harsh puffs of air blowing against the tufts of white hair on his head.

And he’ll leave all over your neck – at the juncture at your jaw, sucking a few right below your ear.

(He’ll take a few moments to lightly nibble and bite at your earlobe, liking the way you whine his name and tell him to stop being weird, but it’s endearing, the way you clearly like it and are just saying that to keep up images. Silly girl.)

He’ll flutter kisses along the column of your neck, tracing your windpipe and smiling against your skin when you swallow heavily. He’ll suck dark hickeys into the flesh of your shoulders, the soft slope the perfect canvas for him to leave littered with his marks. Sometimes he’ll randomly pick spots, the final result looking a little unorganized but still enough to make his heart swell and his breathing to get heavier. Other times he’ll very strategically place them – spelling out an ‘s’ character or a heart or something sappy that leaves him feeling a bit embarrassed but he just can’t help it.

Your neck is his favorite because of the intimacy and the difficulty of hiding the particularly high ones, but your inner thighs are a very close second. When he settles onto his stomach and spreads your legs, mouth hovering over your cunt and his warm breath making you twitch, he’ll take his time kissing up the space from your knee to your pelvis, taking the skin between his teeth and lightly nibbling, pressing dark sucks against the area and loving the way you squirm underneath his rather harsh grip on your thighs.

He’s a tease once he grows confident in the fact that you crave intimacy with him, loving the way you get desperate and beg him to give you what he knows you need. (He’d watched you with enough consistency and thoroughness for all those months before stealing you away and now he knows your tells – the way your face looks, how you sound, how your body jerks and shakes, hell, even the way you smell when you get close.)

He’ll push you right up to the edge, fingers working magic in a come hither motion against that spongey spot inside of you that makes your whole body tense in pleasure, all while his thumb is rubbing circles at your clit that leave you bucking your hips and chanting out his name. He’ll get you right there, then pull back, going back to your inner thigh and working on a fresh, new hickey, the loss of stimulation making you pout and whine for him to touch you again.

He’ll only roll his eyes, pulling back with a loud thwap noise as the suction breaks, your slick still visible on his lips, chin, and cheeks. So demanding, he’ll start, sending a sharp brush of his fingers over your clit that gets you gasping.

He’ll hold out for a while longer, milking out the way you plead with him, before he’ll eventually give in and get back to your neglected cunt, bringing you to your high and rutting at the bed below him with the way you writhe and cry out. And for the next few days, every time he sees that particular hickey he’s suddenly way too red, sweaty and panting and growing more desperate by the second to give you more more more, wanting your whole body to be evidence of his presence in both your life and your bed.

And he’ll proudly wear any marks you make on his body, too – leave hickeys and love bites against his skin and he’ll only shiver and let his eyes roll to the back of his head. He’ll encourage you to run your nails down the expanse of his back when he’s got you in missionary or a press, growling your name as his hips fuck into you harder, faster, with more intent and purpose.

(And later, when he’s dressing himself and happens to see himself in a mirror, he can only gulp, thumb tracing along the scratch marks and blemishes left behind from you. It makes him giddy, often absentmindedly running a finger over them while he travels to missions, during pointless conversation, during times when he’s away on a mission and starting to think himself into a panic about how you’re doing, if you’re safe, if you’ve escaped him somehow. It calms him and only kindles his feelings for you, the knowledge of you willingly leaving your mark on him enough to get him licking his lips and palming himself over his pants, trying to restrain himself so that he can get you to leave newer, fresher marks.)

He just likes the idea, and while he’d never bite you hard enough to cause genuine pain or give you a hickey so deep that it hurt, he will be marking you from head to toe so that everyone you come into contact with (no one besides him, really, but that’s besides the point) cannot deny that you are Sanemi Shinazugawa’s woman.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Slapping

But in a very, very specific way – Sanemi treasures you, idolizing and worshipping you to the point of self-loathing, and consequently he’s not terribly mean in bed. Once a steady sexual relationship is established between the two of you, he’ll get more vocal and adventurous, adapting to what you like.

(And he’s willing to do just about anything you want of him sexually – he’ll get on his knees and kiss up your thighs, lapping and sucking at your cunt until you have to physically push him off of you, slick smeared across his lips, cheeks, and chin while he stares up at you, equal parts hazed and irritated that you’d pulled him away. He’ll let you climb on top of him, pinning his wrists above his head and letting you play with his cock until he’s near tears, the edging and phantom touches making him grit and groan, desperation eating away at him because your touch feels so good but oh – it’s the attention you’re giving to him that ultimately makes him paint your fist white.)

And though he’s not naturally inclined to be degrading towards you during sex, there’s one stark exception – that is, there’s something that makes the possessiveness and territorial feelings Sanemi harbors for you flare up when he smacks you with his cock. Nothing too hard, of course – the intention isn’t to hurt you or bruise you, but rather it’s like staking his claim on you.

It’s like showing you that you belong to him – he’ll grip himself at the base, biting his lip and flexing his arm as he shifts his weight, hovering over you and smacking his fat, soaked tip against your pretty, puffy clit, stifling a groan at the way you jerk at the contact.

He’s smacking himself against your folds, the wet and tacky noise making his fingers tighten against the pillow under your head, his breath getting heavier because fuck, you look so damn pretty underneath him like this, reactive to his cock even when it’s not inside of you.

He’s tracing his tip against your lips when you’re on your knees for him, whispered chants of your name falling from his lips as he lightly taps his tip against your cheeks, your lips, your outstretched tongue.

(And, after he smacks himself against your tongue, if you smile and giggle ever so slightly? Well, don’t be surprised when he stiffens up, his orgasm crashing through him after a mere minute of your hot, wet mouth around him. Don’t be surprised when he starts cursing and murmuring things under his breath right on the brink of his high, your name mixing with gravely I love you’s as he gives you rope after rope after rope of his cum, hot and potent and made with only you in mind.)

He just likes the physical action of it, the way that even something so small gives him the slightest bit of acknowledgement that you’re his, that you’re here and touching him and looking at him just as he’s been fantasizing of for so long. It’s hot, he thinks, and while he’d be extremely reluctant to actually hit you during sex, he’s rubbing and smacking his cock against every inch of your body that he can – your face, your ass, your tits (he especially loves to rub his cum-soaked tip against your nipples, watching as they get hard and get glossy in the candlelight), your thighs, hell, even your arms.

He wants to claim every part of you, and so between covering you in his cum and the imprint of his cock, you’ll be fully and utterly his.

Spitting

Again, it’s a possessive thing – tying into his desire to mark you as his and only his, Sanemi grows a penchant for spitting. It’s something he harshly avoids when you first begin your intimate relationship, finding the act too disrespectful and frankly gross to partake in. He’s worried you’ll find it derogatory and that you’ll see him as some misogynistic freak who views you as his property.

(Which is, in some ways, ever so slightly true – he does see you as his, but it’s reciprocal. You’re his just as much as he’s yours, and if you want to think about in such a crude, black-and-white way, then yes – he sees you as his property. But he’s your property, too, if it makes you feel any better.)

And frankly, he won’t bother indulging in the kink unless you initially bring it up – he’s too tied down to this philosophy and he doesn’t want to risk you getting disgusted or turned off when he’s touching you.

But if you bring it up and use a lot of ‘please’ and compliments, Sanemi will cave.

It’s awkward the first few times, hovering over you and perched on his elbows, nose scrunching slightly because he’s not sure how to do this in a way he thinks will be sexy for you. He wants to live up to your fantasy, so he presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth, collecting the saliva, before puckering his lips, letting the glob fall with a rather obnoxious noise.

Your mouth’s already open for him, tongue lightly sticking out and your eyes half-lidded with lust, and the mere sight alone makes Sanemi gulp, scared he might accidentally drool into your mouth.

(Though, perhaps you’d like that – you’re a freak, he thinks, but it still makes his cheeks feel hot, his cock jumping against your thigh, his Adam’s apple harshly bobbing.)

It’s in the moment when he watches his spit land on your tongue, pretty lips closing and the swallowing motion you make exaggerated and loud. He’ll pause, staring down at your lips in a daze, before suddenly telling you to do that again, the sight so strangely erotic that he needs to do it again and again and again.

It strokes something in his ego – some sort of feeling of dominance and claim on you, marking his territory by making sure you’ve got a little piece of him in you. Soon he’s cupping your jaw every time your clothes get stripped off, forcing your lips to open and immediately spitting onto your tongue, watching with hazy eyes and a small smirk as you obediently swallow, the sight never failing to get him even more eager to spread your legs and sink inside of you.

It gets to the point where it even becomes a non-sexual thing sometimes – it feels too good to be showing such an obvious sign of claim on you that he’ll slowly kiss you in the mornings, your soft lips and little sighs making him light-headed. He’ll pull back, his morning voice hoarse and gravely as he tells you to open up, immediately spitting into your open mouth and following it up with a few kisses against your jaw, a murmur of good morning.

He likes to start the day with it because it puts him into a good mood – a light, peaceful one, quelling the jealous, anxious worry that you’ll leave him, that you’ll be snatched up by another man, that you hate him.

And his fixation for spitting doesn’t just end at your mouth – he’ll spit onto your cunt when he’s kneeling between your legs, two thick fingers rubbing the fluid against your pretty folds, taking extra care to let it lubricate his fingertips before he presses quick, steady little circles against your clit.

He’ll spit into his own hand, coating his fingers and slowly pressing them into you, grunting at the way you gasp out and tighten impossibly around them. It’s lubrication, he thinks, and the idea of his saliva being in your pussy makes him shiver, the thought so dirty and taboo and so very good.

And he’d be happy if you wanted to return the favor – he’ll look at you expectantly, irritation evident in his gaze, before he sits down and forces you to stand over him, his own mouth open and awaiting. He likes it for all the same reasons, just reversed – he likes the idea of you wanting to stake your claim on him. He wants to feel wanted and cherished by you, and if you were to spit into his mouth it’d be direct evidence that you want him, at least in a sexual capacity.

It’s thrilling, frankly, and it leaves Sanemi eagerly swallowing, immediately attacking you with passionate, needy kisses and wandering hands that swiftly find purchase in groping at your ass.

He just thinks it’s romantic, and he’ll do everything in his power to win points with you. Anything to get you liking him more, craving him more.

BIGGEST FANTASY:

Despite holding status as both a Hashira and your captor, Sanemi is very, very shy about asking you for any sort of deviation in the bedroom. It’s a combination of things that hold him back – fear of rejection, mainly, but also embarrassment because he’s worried that you’ll think he’s strange for wanting to try certain things.

Namely, Sanemi desperately, desperately wants you to sit on his face.

He has no sexual experience and hadn’t even been aware this was an option until he’d accidentally overheard a conversation between Uzui and a (very uncomfortable) Giyuu, and while he’s ashamed to admit it he’d stuck around, eavesdropping just around the corner as Giyuu asked the older man what exactly that meant (only to very quickly regret it, his cheeks flushing a light pink and not even bothering to make up an excuse as he hurried away).

It’s where the woman sits down on the man’s face, giving him better access to pleasure her with his mouth! It’s quite flashy, and a good view, too.

Sanemi had been flustered at his words, too, but had spent the whole day struggling to get the thought out of his head. Fantasies about eating you out and making you fall apart with just his tongue and fingers had long been circling through his head, keeping him up at night and forcing him to wrap calloused fingers around his cock, holding the scrap of fabric from your kimono he’d managed to snag between his teeth, groaning and growling at the mere thought of what you taste like.

But this?

This is risqué, vulgar, perhaps even crude – and something he grows more and more antsy to try with each passing day, unable to stop his gaze from lingering on your thighs, biting his lip and imagining the way they’d feel around his head.

He generally likes sexual positions and scenarios where you’re getting most of the pleasure, genuinely getting off on the idea of being useful to you in the bedroom. And he finds the idea of being so surrounded by you – his sight, his hearing, his taste, his smell – enticing, loving the idea that he gets to spoil you by working at you for hours and letting you ride his face, all the while getting to indulge himself in all things you.

And he truly wants you to use him – he wants you to grind your hips against the expanse of his tongue, to let your clit press against his nose and hump at it. He wants his entire lips, chin, and cheeks to be smeared with your release, to have it seep into his skin and soak in so that he has a piece of you with him always, a reminder that you let him touch you, pleasure you, that you want him.

“Are you sure about this, ‘Nemi?” You ask, biting your lip and watching as he scowls. He’s laying down in front of you, clothes thrown off to some other part of the room and his cock already half-hard, flushed a deep pink color.

He’s cocking his brow at you, embarrassment creeping up his spine. He knew you’d find this weird – stupid Tengen, giving out stupid advice.

“Yes, hurry up!” He snaps, swallowing and looking away for a moment to collect himself. Excitement and anxiety eat away at his stomach. He’s surprised you’d agreed to this, given the way he’d very haphazardly and defensively presented the idea. He’s pleased, of course, but now there’s that familiar self-imposed pressure to make sure that he preforms perfectly, that you enjoy every minute of it, that you’ll be satisfied and happy with his performance.

When you still don’t move, his scowl morphs into a frown. He opens his mouth to speak, to reluctantly tell you that you don’t have to unless you want to, but your small nod and footsteps towards him snap his jaw back up.

He’s practically brimming with anticipation, fists clenched at his sides.

You step over him, slowly kneeling down and standing on your knees. You’re hesitating, shuffling forward but scared to lower yourself those last few inches, and Sanemi grumbles underneath you.

“I don’t fucking bite,” he starts, hands coming up to grip at the plush of your thighs. He guides you up further, moving you forward and forward until your cunt’s directly above him, a shaky exhale brushing against the sensitive skin of your folds and making you shiver.

“Now just sit down.” He tells you, squeezing his fingers as if imploring you to just do as he says. You lower down but still leave most of your weight on your own legs.

He inhales deeply, the sound filling the room and making you blanche, embarrassment eating away at you. Sanemi groans at the scent of you, the familiar musk making his cock throb even harder against the confines of his pants.

He’s slow when he starts – kitten licks against your clit and large, flat licks along your folds. His eyes are fixed on you’re the whole time, staring and transfixed, trying to note every minute, small change in your expression.

He’s steadily tonguing at your clit now, and a moan rips its way out of you before you can really stop it. Closing your eyes, you focus on the feeling of his tongue against you, his fingers pressing against your thighs, the brush of his hair against your bare skin.

But then he’s suddenly grabbing onto the globes of your ass, pulling you down down down –

“Sanemi!” You gasp, the sensation so much stronger now that you’re flush with his face. He’s using his strength to pull you down – muscles flexing in an effort to keep you still and exactly where he wants you.

Lilac eyes stare up at you half-lidded, the taste of you clouding his senses and leaving him eagerly licking for more, slurping at you with lewd sounds that only serve to get him harder and harder.

Soon your stationary position isn’t enough, though, and he’s guiding your hips in a forwards-backwards motion, effectively grinding you against his lips and noise. Your breath catches as the action and Sanemi swears he sees stars – you’re so damn pretty, and Tengen had been right about the view. He can see your face, feel your thighs around his head, and see your pretty tits from up close.

He’s gripping onto you so tightly that you can’t even try to break the control he has over your movements – he’s pulling you across his face in a rhythm that makes your breath stutter and your hands blindly reach out to steady yourself on anything nearby. It ends up being the wall in front of you, both palms laying flat against the paneling as you pant and sigh his name. His nose is pressing against your clit, the sensation only causing you to shake as he slowly builds up your orgasm.

He pulls away for the smallest moment, licking his lips and squeezing your ass even harder, kneading at your cheeks and spreading them apart from one another. “Use me, ride my face.”

You blanch at his words, doubt settling in your chest, but at the insistent tug of your cunt back down onto his face, you can only shakily sigh, taking his advice and slowly starting to gyrate your hips. The response is immediate – a groan of satisfaction from Sanemi, his tongue efforts doubling as you control the pace, smearing your cunt against his skin and feeling like you’re suffocating him.

He’s in heaven, meanwhile, tasting you with a fervor and lightly bucking his hips, the phantom ghost of your touch through his clothing making his mind spin. You’re so damn pretty and perfect and lovely and when you’re using his face like your own personal pillow to hump and fuck, how can he complain?

He can’t, which is why he’s groaning equally as loudly as you when you reach your high a few minutes later, your shakes and shivers against his skin leaving him drooling at the sight of your back arching, tits jutting out and your thighs clenching even tighter around himself. You’re so attractive like this – all sexy and adorable even when he’s doing such filthy things to you, and it’s the sight and knowledge that he’s the one making you feel this good – that it’s his face and tongue and cheeks and body – that are getting you to violently jerk and moan his name, fresh rounds of slick dripping against his tongue and making him groan tightly against you.

And you’ll be able to tell just how much the mental and physical pictures affected him because once he’s had his share – pulling four or five orgasms out of you with just this method – there’s a distinct wet spot over his trousers, seeping across the fabric and leaving everything thick and warm with cum.

But don’t worry – there’s plenty more where that came from that he’d love to you.

Plenty.

[the-faceless-bride]

More Ideas for KNY (demon slayer) different characters ♡ (SOME NSFW CONTENT FOR SANEMI AND MUZAN AND MENTIONS OF GORE IN SANEMI AND LIGHT NSFW IN GYOMEI)

<- Part 1

Imagine being dangerously in love.

Imagine being a demon, obsessed with the brash, and blood thirst Wind Hashira. the first time ever being in battle with him is what leads you down a path of want and lust for the cruel hashira.

Imagine going out of your way to always be where he is, always catching his attention and being attacked by him. He believes you're mocking him, following him just to show off that he hasn't been able to kill you. But that isn't true at all. When you fight, you never actively try and gut him, only blocking your neck and leaving the rest of your limbs exposed to be lashed in this masochism tango.

Imagine struggling to hide your enjoyment and ecstacy each time his sword ripped, teard, and scar your body. He had to have known how me made you feel. He must. The darkness of your cheeks must've been a giveaway. Right? His eyes bewitching you in how intense he glares into your soul. It sets a fire under your cold skin, a burning desire.

Imagine one time when you and Sanemi are fighting. Other slayers show up. But they don't instantly jump into the fight. 1. from looking at the fight, you hadn't landed a single strike and seemed to be a greater deal slower than the hashira, and 2. Tanjiro made an odd comment. "Huh, it's like she's avoiding striking him on purpose."

Imagine how Shinobu decided the fight was long enough and tried to sneak in and end the fight. Only for a switch to set off and catch her off guard and spin at the speed of light, leaving a large gash across her body from her left founder to her hip. And Sanemi instantly tried to help her. Only to be stopped by your own weapon pressed so close to his neck that even swallowing made his Adamsapple scrape against a sharp blade. "Don't you dare. Your attention is meant for me. Are you seriously letting her attempt to get between us work?" And that made Sanemi pause... "us? Wha-" -- "don't play dumb darling. We're soulmates, Sanemi~" you whisper to him. "What the fuck."

Imagine how now you make him feel so conflicted, how he hates you for what you are but loves you for how you make him feel... in his home in his spare time as the sun rises, his windows covered and locked tight as he has you on your knees, leaning forward and his chest pressed to your back. Your head locked between his bicep as his other hand held his sword under you. It nicks you each time he thrusts. If he pushed you forward anymore, his blade would surely cut your chest and stomach open. "I HATE YOU, YOU FILTHY DEMON. I DONT WANT YOU. CURSE YOU FOR DEMONIC TEMPTATION." You softy cry at the harsh words from your love, "I don't care if you don't want me... I'm yours right now..."

Sanemi Shinazugawa × Demon reader Trope: Yandere Lovesick/I hate you so much I love you.

Imagine being with Muzan his entire life... your family were servants to his family. And from a young age, you were assigned to be Muzans personal maid or companion as you were too young to really do any work than cleaning up his room. But since you can remember, you've always been with Muzan.

Imagine being the one he confides with most. His fears, his wishes, and despite his coldness. His shouldering eyes seemed to be less scorching when it came to you. His one and only friend. Even if you didn't have much of a choice in the companionship. It was you who sat in on his doctor's visits about his deteriorating health. When he got the news of how it would be a miracle for him to even make it to his mid 20s...

Imagine how one night after a particularly scary coughing fit, he simply places his head to your mid section as you blush his hair and pull it back into a braid. He softy thanks you as he tilts his head to look up at you, "Of course, I'm always happy to take care of you." But that isn't want he wants. He wanted to take care of you. Not you to him. And without thinking, he pulls you down to him.

Imagine His heat is pounding in his chest. You lay across him as his long and slim fingers tease you between your legs. You try and stay quiet, your face twisted with pleasure and guilt. You felt like you were taking advantage of the sick man who would never find love or feel the love of another in such a romantic and intimate way. You thought maybe that this was him just grasping for a moment where he didn't feel so useless being bedridden. But it was so much more. If this was the last thing he did, pleasing the only one who he cared for most. The one he wished he could've married... he would be happy to die. This surely isn't good for his heart, but he couldn't care less. You hovering yourself above him. As he tried weakly to pull you in to rest your whole weight. This was how he wanted to spend his last days, weeks, and months. However long he had left. He wanted it to be with you.

Imagine as days go by, and he feels more and more guilty. He starts to feel as though you let him do these things because you feel obligated as his personal maid to do so. Nights in the dark ask he fingers you, giving and receiving oral pleasure. But you still won't give him everything. You refuse to fully lay with him. Sometimes, he feels like it's because you don't really love him. Not like he does you. Or maybe you find him... pathetic... he can't actually make love to you. You'd be doing all the work. He doesn't want that, and it seems you don't either... eventually, his thoughts become too much, and he decides to let you go...

Imagine you were relieved of all your maid duties, not just to Muzan but to the family as a whole. You were heartbroken. And the heartbreak only worsened at the news of Muzan and his families and your families deaths. You'd cried more times than you'd ever had before in your life. And you were so very confused when you'd found a Man who looked exactly like Muzan sitting in your bed a few nights later. "Hello dear. I'm home." He invented to truly give you what you wanted, and he was eager to give it too you.

Muzan Kibutsuji × reader Trope: Unrequited/reunited love/soulmates

Imagine being Master Kagaya's faithful slayer, you'd always admired him. You and your Master had created a strong bond. Stronger than others. Moments like this reminded you that you were special. You sat on your knees as you just like you had the first time. Your head pressed to his chest and he dragged his fingers over your head.

Imagine trying not to tear up as you remember the first time you'd kneeled for him. You'd been reckless and impatient leading to a fellow slayer getting extremely hurt. You kneeled before him as you sat in the room alone waiting for him to speak. Doing your best to not make any noise as you silently cry. You'd failed him. Your beloved Master. But he didn't yell. He didn't make you feel like you were a problem. He merely hummed before knealing with you, one hand on atop your head and the other cupping your cheek feeling the wet stream of tears and wiped it away. "It's alright. You didn't mean for this to happen. I know you didn't. I know you're a good girl." And your breath hitched. He noticed. And from then on he gave you positive affrimations which encouraged you to do better. For him.

Imagine how as you sat there listening to his words letting yourself flow away and melt into your master. He thought it was innocent. He was simply your master helping you, if it wasn't him maybe you'd find these soft words from Gyomei or maybe even Kyojuro... but he was wrong. So wrong. It was him. Only him. You'd put yourself on the line so much more than you should've. All to hear those soft praises. His wife must not like you... you do take up more and more of his time as days go on...

Imagine how he softly calls to you. Late that night, he'd heard your footsteps. He sat with you talking. About anything that day. Soft and short conversations. Quiet but not uncomfortable. "You're my favorite you know." He sighed, before he let out a small chuckle "don't tell the others." You know he was teasing. But your heart told you other wise.

Imagine being hurt. In battle you were hurt. But even in your pain you still made your way to your master... your beautiful Kagaya... the married man, the family man, that you had fallen in love with. "My dear, you still come and see me while you're in such pain?" He seemed shocked. But you aren't sure why, you'd walk on hot coles and crawled on your hands and belly to kneel for him. You'd do anything for your master. And you could only hope as his favorite... you wouldn't let him down. Finally you lifted your head from his chest, pulling his hands from your hands, leaving a kiss to his knuckles. One day. One day you'll have him.

Kagaya Ubuyashiki × Slayer reader Trope: unrequited love/lovesick/slow burn

Special Part two of Forbidden love with Gyomei × demon

Imagine how the rest of the slayers flock around Gyomei, asking him so many questions. And he couldn't even answer them all. Too consumed by his disbelief that the person he'd fallen in love with so deeply, had turned out to be a demon.

Imagine how he layed in bed lonely and... missing you. He began to long of your cold touch, your voice, your laugh that was so contagious to him. He missed you. He'd fallen for you. Demon or not. He laid in his bed trying and failing to get even a wink of sleep. But just as he had almost fallen asleep he was awoken by a sound. 'Tap tap' was the sound, 'tap tap' on his window. "Gyomei... my love..."

Imagine how he practically leaped from his bed. Demon or not you had carved yourself a spot in his heart. Slamming open the window and pulling you inside, his hands instantly feeling over your cheeks, your nose, your neck. Kissing the knuckles of your cold hands.

Imagine being the one that made Gyomei for a moment stay from his faiths. Gyomei devoted his life to his beliefs, that includes waiting. Waited all his life for the one. Saving himself and waiting. But you both were in a unique circumstances... so from that point on Gyomei promised himself to you. You would stay with him in his home and he would always come back to you. That night he would kiss you, love you, lay you under him while he whispered for you to be his.

[nyctoaerah]

⋆♱⋆THINKING ABOUT...

Content Warnings: Yandere Behaviors, Stalking, Fluff, Smut, Masturbation (M), Oral (F receiving), Perv! Sanemi. Reader is the same age as Sanemi, Filth. Mdni.

Pairings: Yandere! Sanemi Shinazugawa x Fem! Tsuguko Reader.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 loves admiring you from afar, and never confessed his feelings for you. He’s always making sure that you’re safe whenever you’re on a solo mission while justifying and convincing himself that he’s just being a responsible hashira and totally not a creepy stalker. After all, a responsible hashira needs to protect his tsuguko, right?

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 would always mask his obsession attraction and love by being all grumpy and pushing you to your limits during training, only to spoil you and be gentle to you afterwards. He just really likes giving you mixed signals.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 doesn’t allow you to go on missions with other people — especially not with those lower ranking demon slayers, he only lets you go on solo missions, or missions with the hashiras and him. He doesn’t let you go on missions with Giyuu and Tengen though.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 intimidates people who tries to approach you. Why bother talking to them? You have him after all. He is stronger and more capable than them after all.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 can read but can’t write since he never really got proper education and he spent his life slaying demons, so he mostly asks you to teach him how to write, but he’d end up getting flustered when you would grasp at his hand and help him how to properly write the letters.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 cooks food for you and acting like your husband instead of your predecessor. He loves cooking foods for you, loving the way your eyes would lit up and lovin’ the way that you would smile and thank him.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 would always insist on giving you a massage, after a strenuous training session, his hands kneading away the tension in your muscles. He’d murmur apologies for pushing you so hard, but he’d end up saying that the only reason why you’re so sore because you’re too weak.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 would always allow you to join him soak in the hotspring in his estate. However, whenever you would bathe with him, his cheeks would flush crimson, and he would avoid meeting your gaze, because his fuckin’ mind would start to conjure inappropriate things.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 has zero tolerance for anyone disrespecting you. Catch him overhearing even a whisper of slander about you? He’ll make sure to make the person shut up and makes sure to make their life miserable.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 absolutely hates it whenever he hears that you’ve been injured and ends up scolding the shit outta you and making you not go on missions for some weeks and not letting you out of his sight.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 started having weird dreams of you — however, this time it wasn’t all rainbows and unicorns, and innocent like the last one.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 found himself getting a wet dream about you, where he was on his knees before you, his mouth eagerly devouring your dripping cunt, tongue swirling skillfully over your needy clit, and eliciting sweet, desperate moans from your lips.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 ended up waking up with a feverish body and flushed face and a cock that’s stiff and aching from the steamy dreams that had him moaning in the dead of night like a bitch in heat.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 let out a frustrated groan as he saw the bulge in his pants, because damn, he despised jerking off and he rarely did it because he thought that it’s just a ‘waste of time’, but he couldn't resist giving himself a little pleasure, his dick was just begging for it after all.

Sanemi shot a frustrated glare at the prominent bulge straining against his pants, his annoyance growing at the sight of the small, glistening wet spot that adorned the fabric.

Did he cum in his pants while sleeping or was it because his dick is licking pre? Either way, he didn’t liked it.

“Fuck...”

he grunted in exasperation, a slight shift in his stance prompting him to swiftly unbuckle his belt.

With a smooth motion, he let his pants drop down to his mid-thigh, a wince crossing his face as his cock sprung free, slapping against his abdomen with a lewd sound.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” His eyes widened slightly at the sight of how hard he is.

Sanemi sighed as he hocked a thick wad of saliva into his palm, and winced slightly as he grabbed the base of his cock, feeling it pulsate in his hand and ooze precum.

“What the fuck am I even doing?”

He muttered, his hand trembling as he slid it along his length, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as he dragged his thumb over the sensitive tip, feeling the slickness there.

“This is such a waste of time,”

he grumbled underneath his breath.

“You better behave after I take care of you, you hear me?” He chastised his dick as if it has a mind of its own as he started to moved his hand up and down his cock.

“Stupid fucking hormones,”

he cursed, his grip tightening around his cock. He adjusted his hand for better leverage, and he made sure to press his fingertips against the sensitive underside with each stroke, relishing the way the veins pulsed beneath his touch.

He sat on the futon, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, the sounds of lewd squelching and his hand moving vigorously over his dick echoing in the room.

It was a relief that today was his day off, free from any missions or distractions.

But the memory of the wet dream that had left him throbbing and aching still pissed him off, because what the fuck, he was supposed to relax and get the sleep he rarely get instead of waking up in the middle of the night and jerking off just because a dream had him all wet and bothered!

Thoughts of you suddenly invaded his mind as he stroked himself, his heavy breathing mixing with the dirty sounds of his fists moving against his slick cock.

Gripping tighter, he recalled the taste of your cunt in his tongue, and it was a phantom sensation that felt too real to be a mere dream.

He started to stroke himself faster, breathing heavily as he started to fantasize about the things that he wants you to do to him.

He wanted you to sit on his face, suffocate him with your thighs, and smother him.

He wants you to use him.

He couldn’t help but close his eyes and let his fantasy take over. The image of your hands moving on his cock flashed through his mind.

“Fuck, [Name]...” he groaned. Imagining that it was your fingers expertly coaxing pleasure from him instead.

The mere thought of you whispering filthy words in his ear sent a shiver down his spine, and a low whine escaped his lips, the muscles in his abdomen tensing and contracting with pleasure as he nears his release.

“fuckk, just a little bit more...”

He said as a whine escaped his lips.

He was about to cum until he suddenly heard a knock on his door.

“Shinazugawa-Sama? Are you alright? I’ve heard some weird sounds coming from here...”

He heard your voice say, and he froze.

Fuck... He forgot that you also lived with him.

©𝐍𝐲𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐡 || 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝.♡

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: ❤️‍🔥𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐨.<𝟑

[gothicxreylover]

I love your yandere hashira au. Can you do a fic of when the male yanderes are in public with their S/o (s/o is basically a house wife at this point) and some pervert comes and squeeze their ass in front of them and has the audacity to make perverted jokes about them afterwards. I can imagine obanai cutting someone's hands.

╔═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╗

I hope you enjoy! I didn’t do Muichiro as he is a minor.

These scenarios contains violence, threats, and unwanted touching and flirting

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╝

Obanai

The market was bustling, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow over the crowded streets. You were walking alongside Obanai, basket in hand, as you picked out fresh ingredients for dinner. He stayed close, as always, his mismatched eyes darting toward anyone who ventured too near.

“Careful, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low but protective. His bandaged mouth concealed a subtle frown, but you could feel the tension radiating from him.

“Relax, Obanai,” you said with a small laugh, brushing his arm reassuringly. “It’s just the market.”

You’d barely turned your attention back to the produce when it happened. A rough hand grabbed a handful of your backside. The sensation was fleeting but unmistakable, and the loud, mocking laugh that followed made your stomach churn.

“Well, well,” a gruff voice jeered, “didn’t think housewives were this soft. Lucky guy!”

The market seemed to freeze in that instant. You turned in shock, clutching your basket tightly, your face burning with a mix of embarrassment and anger. But it was Obanai’s reaction that sent a chill through the air.

He was silent at first, too silent, his body stiff as his gaze locked onto the offender. The man was grinning, clearly amused by his own audacity, but that smile faltered when Obanai stepped forward.

“Touch them again,” Obanai said, his voice colder than ice, “and you won’t have a hand left to touch anything.”

The man laughed nervously, holding up his hands as if to mock surrender. “Hey, relax, man. It was just a joke—”

Before he could finish, Obanai’s sword was unsheathed in a flash of silver. Gasps echoed around the marketplace as the blade hovered dangerously close to the offender’s wrist.

“Let me correct you,” Obanai hissed, his voice venomous. “That wasn’t a joke. It was a death wish.”

You reached out, placing a hand gently on his arm. “Obanai,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the tremor in your chest. “It’s okay. Let’s just go.”

His gaze softened when it met yours, but only slightly. “He disrespected you,” Obanai growled. “I can’t let that slide.”

The man was pale now, stammering apologies and backing away as he screamed in agony . “I—I’m sorry! I didn’t mean anything by it!”

Obanai’s blade didn’t waver. “You’ll leave this market,” he said, his tone final. “And if I see you anywhere near them again, you’ll lose more than just your hand.”

The man scrambled away, disappearing into the crowd as onlookers whispered nervously. Obanai sheathed his sword with a sharp click and turned back to you, his expression softening into something more tender.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

You nodded, though your hands were trembling slightly. “I’m fine. Just… surprised.”

Obanai gently took the basket from your hands, his touch careful and protective. “Let’s finish quickly and go home,” he said, his usual calm returning. “I don’t want you out here any longer than necessary.”

You smiled faintly, leaning into his side as you walked. Though his methods could be extreme, you couldn’t deny the warmth in your chest at how fiercely he protected you.

As you left the market together, you knew one thing for certain: with Obanai by your side, no one would ever dare cross you again.

Rengoku

The lively chatter of the festival filled the air, accompanied by the enticing scent of grilled food and sweet treats. You walked beside Rengoku, your hand resting lightly on his arm as you admired the colorful stalls lining the path. His bright smile and infectious energy drew attention, but as always, he only had eyes for you.

“Look at these lanterns, my love!” Rengoku exclaimed, pointing to a stand displaying intricately designed paper lanterns. “Wouldn’t one of these look lovely at home?”

You nodded, giggling at his enthusiasm. “They’re beautiful. Let’s pick one out!”

As the two of you approached the stall, you felt it—a rough, unwanted hand squeezing your backside. The shock was instantaneous, and before you could react, a voice called out:

“Hey there, sweetheart. Didn’t think a pretty little thing like you would have a flame this hot at home!”

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and anger as you turned to face the culprit, a grinning man with an air of smugness.

Before you could utter a word, Rengoku’s laughter rang out—not the warm, hearty sound you knew so well, but something sharp and dangerous.

“Ah,” Rengoku began, turning toward the man with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “it seems you’ve made a grave mistake.”

The man blinked, clearly not expecting such a reaction. “What? It was just a joke, man—”

“Jokes,” Rengoku interrupted, his voice loud and commanding, “are meant to bring joy, not disrespect. What you’ve done is no laughing matter!”

In an instant, Rengoku was in front of him, his towering presence casting a shadow over the now-nervous man. The festival-goers nearby stopped in their tracks, the cheerful atmosphere replaced by a tense silence.

“You dare lay a hand on my beloved?” Rengoku’s fiery eyes burned with an intensity that made the man take a step back. “Such insolence cannot be ignored!”

The man raised his hands defensively. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it!”

Rengoku’s expression darkened. “No excuse can justify your actions. Apologize!”

The man stammered, his bravado crumbling under Rengoku’s unwavering gaze. “I—I’m sorry!”

Rengoku didn’t move, his eyes locked on the man as if deciding whether an apology was enough. You gently touched his arm, drawing his attention.

“Kyojuro,” you said softly, “I’m fine. Let’s not cause a scene.”

His gaze softened instantly when it met yours, though the fire in his eyes didn’t completely fade. “If that is what you wish, my love,” he said, his voice steady. He turned back to the man, his tone firm. “If I see you behave this way again, I will ensure you regret it. Now, leave!”

The man stumbled away, disappearing into the crowd as the onlookers murmured in awe and fear. Rengoku turned back to you, his usual warmth returning as he took your hands in his.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

You nodded, offering him a small smile. “I am. Thank you, Kyojuro.”

He cupped your face gently, his touch a stark contrast to the fury he’d shown moments before. “No one has the right to disrespect you. Ever.”

You leaned into his touch, feeling safe and cherished. “I know. You’re always looking out for me.”

His smile widened, his voice bright once more. “Always! Now, let’s pick out that lantern and enjoy the festival! No one will ruin our evening!”

With Rengoku by your side, his unwavering love and fiery devotion, you knew you were in the safest hands possible.

Sanemi

The streets were bustling as you walked through the marketplace with Sanemi, your hands full of items for the week’s meals. His sharp eyes scanned the crowd constantly, his presence warding off anyone who might even think of approaching. You felt safe, as always, knowing Sanemi’s protective nature meant no one would dare cross you.

Or so you thought.

You were busy inspecting a bundle of herbs when it happened—a hand groped your backside, rough and deliberate. You froze in shock, spinning around to find a smug-looking man grinning at you.

“Didn’t think someone as sweet as you would belong to someone like that,” the man sneered, glancing toward Sanemi with mockery.

For a moment, the world seemed to still. Then, faster than you could process, Sanemi was there.

“What the hell did you just say?” Sanemi growled, his voice low and laced with menace.

The man flinched but tried to play it cool. “Relax, buddy. It was just a little fun—no harm done.”

Sanemi’s laugh was sharp, humorless, and chilling. “Fun? You think touching my partner is fun?”

Before the man could respond, Sanemi grabbed him by the front of his shirt, lifting him off the ground as if he weighed nothing. His scarred face twisted with fury, and his pale lavender eyes gleamed with a dangerous light.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve for someone with such fragile hands,” Sanemi spat. His grip tightened as he raised his other fist, veins bulging as though his anger alone could crush the man.

“Sanemi!” you called, stepping forward and touching his arm gently. “Let him go. Please.”

His eyes snapped to you, his expression softening ever so slightly. “He touched you,” he said, his voice still simmering with anger. “He doesn’t get to just walk away.”

“I know,” you said softly, holding his gaze. “But I’m fine, and I don’t want you to cause more trouble. I just want to leave.”

For a moment, he looked conflicted, his gaze darting between you and the trembling man in his grasp. Finally, with a snarl, he released the man, who stumbled back and fell to the ground.

“Get out of here before I change my mind,” Sanemi barked, his voice like thunder. The man scrambled to his feet and bolted, disappearing into the crowd as onlookers quickly turned their attention elsewhere.

Sanemi turned back to you, his expression softening further as he reached out to cup your cheek. “Did he hurt you?”

You shook your head, placing your hand over his. “I’m okay, Sanemi. Thank you.”

His jaw tightened, and he let out a frustrated sigh. “I should’ve done more. Bastards like him don’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.”

You smiled gently, leaning into his touch. “It’s enough that you’re here. I feel safe with you.”

His eyes searched yours for a moment before he nodded, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Let’s go home. I don’t want you out here anymore today.”

You laced your fingers with his, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. As the two of you walked away from the market, Sanemi’s protective grip didn’t falter, and you knew no one would ever dare cross you again with him by your side.

Giyuu

The quiet serenity of the village market was one of the reasons you loved accompanying Giyuu here. The hustle and bustle of people bartering and chatting didn’t seem to faze him, though he always kept close, his quiet presence a constant reassurance. You were admiring a display of freshly picked fruit when the unexpected happened.

A rough hand groped your backside, and a loud, mocking voice followed. “Not bad for a little housewife. What’s it like being tied down, huh?”

Your breath caught in your throat as you spun around, shock and indignation burning in your chest. The man who had the audacity to touch you stood there, grinning as if he had done something clever.

Before you could even process your response, Giyuu was there, stepping between you and the man. His movements were so swift and silent that the offender didn’t notice him until the air turned icy.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Giyuu’s voice was calm—too calm—but his dark blue eyes bore into the man with a chilling intensity that made the air around you feel suffocating.

The man shrugged, trying to play it off. “Relax, it’s just a bit of fun. No need to get worked up.”

Giyuu tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Fun?” he repeated, his tone devoid of emotion. “Is assaulting someone fun to you?”

The man faltered, but his bravado returned quickly. “Come on, man. Don’t be so uptight. It’s not like I hurt her.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

In a flash, Giyuu grabbed the man’s wrist, twisting it just enough to make him wince but not break. His grip was unrelenting, and his expression remained eerily calm.

“You don’t touch them,” Giyuu said, his voice low and deadly. “Ever. If you think this is a joke, I can show you just how serious I am.”

The man tried to pull away, his confidence quickly dissolving. “Alright, alright! I’m sorry!”

Giyuu didn’t release him right away. Instead, he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that only the man could hear. “If I ever see you near them again, you’ll wish you hadn’t been born.”

Finally, he let go, and the man stumbled back, clutching his wrist as he muttered incoherent apologies before scurrying off.

Giyuu turned to you, his expression softening immediately as he reached out to gently touch your arm. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, though your heart was still racing. “I’m fine, thanks to you.”

His brows knit together slightly, as if the thought of what could have happened pained him. “I should’ve stopped him sooner. I should’ve—”

You placed a hand over his, offering him a small, reassuring smile. “You did enough, Giyuu. I feel safe with you.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly at your words, though the tension in his jaw remained. “Let’s go home,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to stay here any longer.”

He took your hand, holding it firmly yet carefully, as if afraid to let go. As the two of you walked away from the market, his quiet protectiveness wrapped around you like a shield. You knew that with Giyuu by your side, no one would ever lay a hand on you again.

Gyomei

The peaceful hum of the village market was something you cherished when walking with Gyomei. His towering presence always drew attention, but his calm demeanor and the prayer beads wrapped around his large hands made people keep their distance. You often marveled at how gentle he was despite his intimidating size, especially when he carried your shopping basket with effortless ease.

You were examining some flowers at a stall when it happened. A firm hand grabbed your backside, squeezing it unapologetically.

“Didn’t think a giant like him would have someone this soft to keep him company,” the man sneered, laughing loudly.

You froze, shock and anger burning through you. Before you could react, you felt Gyomei move.

He didn’t speak, not at first. Instead, he stood between you and the man, his massive frame casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the offender whole. The man’s laughter faltered as he craned his neck to look up at Gyomei’s face, which was as calm as a still lake—but the air around him was anything but.

“Explain yourself,” Gyomei said quietly, his deep voice like distant thunder.

The man hesitated, trying to muster some bravado. “What’s the big deal? It was just a joke. No harm done.”

Gyomei’s hands, large and calloused from years of battle, tightened around his prayer beads. “You have disrespected my partner,” he said, his tone as steady as a drumbeat. “That is harm enough.”

The man scoffed, though his voice wavered. “Relax, big guy. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Gyomei exhaled slowly, the sound deep and deliberate. He raised his head slightly, his unseeing eyes fixed in the man’s direction with unnerving precision.

“Karma will find you,” Gyomei said, his voice still calm, though an unmistakable edge had crept in. “But if it doesn’t come quickly enough, I will deliver it myself.”

With that, he reached out and gently placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. What seemed like a light touch made the man wince, as if the weight of Gyomei’s presence alone was enough to crush him.

“Apologize,” Gyomei said simply.

The man stumbled over his words, his confidence utterly shattered. “I—I’m sorry! It won’t happen again!”

Gyomei released him and straightened, his serene expression never faltering. “Leave. Now.”

The man didn’t wait to be told twice. He bolted into the crowd, disappearing from sight as onlookers whispered among themselves.

Gyomei turned to you, his demeanor softening immediately as he knelt slightly to meet your gaze. “Did he hurt you?” he asked, his voice filled with quiet concern.

You shook your head, though your hands trembled slightly as you reached out to touch his arm. “No, Gyomei. I’m okay. Thank you.”

He frowned, his brows knitting together as he cupped your hands in his. “You should never have to endure such disrespect,” he said softly. “I am sorry I couldn’t prevent it.”

“You did enough,” you reassured him, squeezing his hand. “I feel safe with you.”

His lips curved into a small, gentle smile. “I will always protect you,” he promised, his voice steady and unwavering.

As the two of you continued through the market, Gyomei kept you close, his presence a shield against the world. You knew that with him by your side, no one would ever dare harm you again.

Tengen and wives

Title: A Flash of Color and Fury

The festival was alive with music, laughter, and vibrant colors. You walked hand in hand with Tengen while his three wives—Makio, Suma, and Hinatsuru—flitted from stall to stall, their excited chatter filling the air. It was a rare moment of peace, and Tengen’s booming laughter complemented the joy radiating from his family.

“Look at this one!” Suma called, holding up a glittering bracelet. “Hina, it would look perfect on you!”

Makio rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. “Stop fawning over everything. You’re going to spend all our money.”

Tengen smirked. “We’re here to have fun. Let her enjoy herself!”

You smiled, feeling warm and safe in the lively chaos that always surrounded Tengen and his wives. But the moment was shattered when a rough hand groped your backside.

“Not bad,” a stranger’s voice sneered behind you. “Didn’t think a guy with a whole harem would let one slip away.”

The world seemed to freeze. The shock of what had just happened left you speechless, but Tengen’s reaction was immediate. His eyes darkened, his grin disappearing as his entire demeanor shifted from playful to deadly.

“What did you just say?” Tengen’s voice was calm, but there was a sharpness to it that made everyone nearby stop and stare.

The man smirked, clearly not understanding the danger he was in. “Relax, big guy. It was just a joke—”

Before he could finish, Tengen’s hand shot out, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt and yanking him forward. The stranger’s smirk vanished as he found himself nose-to-nose with Tengen, whose vibrant, flamboyant aura was now laced with fury.

“You think touching my partner is a joke?” Tengen’s voice dropped, low and deadly. “Do you have any idea who you’re messing with?”

Before the man could stammer out a response, Makio stormed up, her eyes blazing. “You disgusting pig! Who do you think you are?!” she snapped, fists clenched.

Suma, usually the most timid of the group, was on the verge of tears—but her voice was sharp. “How dare you do something so horrible?!”

Hinatsuru, calm but cold, stepped closer. “You’re lucky Tengen grabbed you first. If it had been me, I’d have aimed for your throat.”

The man’s bravado crumbled under the combined wrath of Tengen and his wives. “I—I’m sorry! I didn’t mean anything by it!”

Tengen’s grip tightened, his knuckles white. “Your sorry excuse for an apology isn’t going to cut it.” His gaze flicked to his wives. “Ladies, what do you think? Should we let him walk away?”

“Absolutely not,” Makio snapped.

Hinatsuru crossed her arms. “But we shouldn’t waste too much time on him. He’s not worth it.”

Suma wiped at her eyes but glared at the man. “Make him leave! I don’t want to see his face anymore!”

Tengen grinned, though it was far from friendly. “You heard them.” He released the man with a shove that sent him stumbling backward. “Get out of here before I decide to really make you regret it.”

The man bolted, disappearing into the crowd as quickly as his legs could carry him. Tengen turned back to you, his expression softening as he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Are you okay, my love?” he asked, his voice now filled with concern.

You nodded, though your heart was still racing. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

Makio stepped closer, frowning. “You shouldn’t have to deal with scum like that. I swear, people are the worst.”

Hinatsuru placed a comforting hand on your arm. “Don’t let him ruin your day. You’re with us, and no one will ever hurt you.”

Suma hugged you tightly, tears streaming down her face. “I was so scared for you! I’m glad Tengen was there!”

Tengen wrapped an arm around all of you, pulling his wives and you into a protective embrace. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice filled with warmth and conviction. “No one gets away with disrespecting my family. You’re safe with me—and with us.”

The group stayed close as you continued through the festival, their love and protectiveness an unbreakable shield. With Tengen and his wives by your side, you knew you were cherished beyond measure.

[itachislbeloved]

Look at that

"Look at that. Look up in the mirror, or I will stop. Keep looking at the way your whore of a pussy is clenching so hard around me. Look at the way it is holding onto me for dear life." As he said that, you looked up to see your disheveled state. Your face was red from all the crying and still he had one of his hands wrapped around your neck while he continued pounding in you from behind. You could see his other hand rubbing on your clit from the mirror, as it added more to your pleasure.

"Yes, just like that, my dirty little whore, if you close your eyes or stop looking at us in the mirror I will stop." He warned you as you looked in the mirror at the sinful image of him pounding in your sensitive pussy. You continued moaning as he continued pounding in you, "Choke me harder please." You begged as he chuckled in a deep voice, in your ear from behind, "You like it, slut, huh? You like it when I choke you?" He asked as he choked you harder and you could feel your head feel lighter as he continued pounding more into you. His thrusts got more rough and you were sure that his grip on your throat would leave marks.

You couldn't help the loud moans that escaped past your lips due to his relentless thrusts. You looked at the image of you two in the mirror through your half lidded eyes as you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge and he chuckled in your ear as he felt you clench around him tightly, "Are you going to cum, my little slut?" You could just nod your head and looked at him with a pleading look through the mirror and his hand tightened around your throat as he whispered in your ear from behind, "Come around me, make a mess, show me how much of a dirty little whore you are."

As soon as those words escaped his lips, you came undone around him and heavy breaths escaped your lips while his poundings didn't stop and you felt him twitch in you and you grinded your hips around him, "Mhm, darling, I'm going to come in you, is that what you want? Want me to pump you full of my cum till it oozes out, hm?" He asked in a hoarse voice and you couldn't speak anything but just nod your head with little whimpers escaping your lips as he pounded in your sensitive pussy. "Fucked you so dumb that you can't even form a sentence, huh." He said smugly and you felt ropes of thick cum paint your insides and you yourself felt cumming around him again.

---------------------------------------------------

Geto, Toji, Kakashi, Shikamaru, Sanemi Shinezugawa, Gojo, Shisui, Sasuke, Gaara, Sukuna, Madara, Tobirama.

(I can't think of other characters, do let me know if I missed others <3)

I don't know what this is I just wrote anything I'm so sorry😭

[yanderecrazysie]

Saw this demon slayer fic where the reader dances while they fight, i found it a cool fighting style and it would be rlly nice if u wrote yan hashiras x a reader like that :3

I decided to go back to doing headcanons quickly (as compared to oneshots) so I skipped ahead to the first hcs on the list.

And that sounds really cool! My little sister is a dancer! She does competitions and stuff- she’s absolutely amazing and will be auditioning for a pro studio in a few months! I’m so proud of her. 

Me though? I’m ungraceful as fuck and have a bad knee.

WARNINGS: yandere themes, mostly fluffiness 

Tomioka Giyu

Tomioka’s face gives away none of the amazement he feels watching you fight for the first time.

He wants to get to know you better, but he’s awkward by nature and doesn’t like talking much, so he struggles to do so.

Master Ubuyashiki can tell his little Giyu has a crush, so he often pairs you both up on missions, hoping you’ll give him a chance, not realizing how dark Tomioka’s love really is.

Thankfully, despite his obsessiveness, Tomioka is more of a watcher (and stalker). He would never hurt you.

He just wants to watch you dance until the end of time.

Tokito Muichiro

Tokito is another calm yandere that isn’t easily impressed. But even when seeing your dance moves, he’s not blown away.

However, he does think your dancing is quite pretty and finds himself thinking about it even outside of battle, which is confusing to him.

He can’t figure out why you keep appearing in his dreams and it frustrates him a lot at first.

But then, he’s sitting there under the full moon, watching you twirl and leap as you practice fighting against the butterfly hashira, and he understands.

He’s fallen in love with you.

Rengoku Kyojuro

Rengoku, on the other hand, is very impressed and tells you so!

He’s very vocal about how much he loves your fighting style, and you enjoy showing off for him.

He doesn’t like fighting against you, because he’d much rather sit back and watch instead of try to overpower you. 

You’ve beat him several times in practice, and it only causes his respect (and love) to grow.

Anyone who thinks you’re just a pretty ballerina has another thing coming when you pull out your sword, and he knows that first hand.

He likes watching you so much that he’s asked you to dance for him, and he applauds very loudly and enthusiastically when you’re done.

Tengen Uzui

You’re a flashy person like he is, and he respects that!

Your dance moves are cutting-edge, quite literally, with a spin of hip-hop in with the ballet. It’s a unique style and he loves it!

He invites you on his missions, even if he could easily do it alone, simply because you’re the only human on earth that can match his level of flashiness.

He loves to fight alongside you, trying to make his moves as graceful as yours can be.

He finds himself researching dance more, so he can choreograph his battle moves too.

He feels all warm inside when you compliment his attempts at dancing, even though he’s kind of clunky and awkward at it with his big figure.

Iguru Obanai

Iguru will, of course, tell you that it might not be possible to always dance during a battle.

He also complains that you’re using too much stamina with your moves.

But secretly, he really loves watching, and he’s just very worried about you.

He gives you pointe shoes in your favorite color as a gift, and you wear them with your uniform.

He’s very proud that you like them and blushes when you hug him, telling him that they’re the perfect gift.

Shinazugawa Sanemi

Shinazugawa will never tell you that he thinks your hip-hop dance moves are badass.

But he does. He really, really does.

He sometimes puts you down, implying that being a dancer is weak and stuff like that.

But when you knock him on his butt in sparring practice, that shuts him up pretty quickly.

He finds himself actually competing with you a lot, determined to prove he’s better than some “dancy-pants”. But you always perform better than him.

The two of you are always butting heads, so you’re not paired together very often. But when you are, you don’t end up working well together.

He develops a crush without realizing it and it just ends up making him even angrier.

But the moment he sees you in danger, he’s ripping the demon limb-from-limb.

Himejima Gyomei

The first time you dance, you move him to tears. He’s never seen anyone or anything so beautiful.

You find it funny that your pirouetting can literally make someone cry, but you’re gentle with the tearful hashira, telling him you’re honored he likes your ballet so much.

The two of you end up being friends, with him quietly enjoying your dancing and battle practice.

You end up being on a lot of missions together since, despite the difference in your abilities, you fight well together.

He loves you so deeply and is extremely protective of you, so the others are intimidated away by the gentle giant, leaving him as your only friend

[kanroji-san]

QSH: Pfftt! Oh come on guys, I wasn't that drunk last night!

Human fighters: .....

Nicola: you were flirting with Sanemi while pinning him against a wall...

QSH: So? We are married, I don't see the prob–

Leonidas: You asked him if he was single and cried when he said he wasn't....

Flashback

QSH crying with his body completely fallen onto Sanemi with his head on his shoulder while Sanemi is hugging him awkwardly

QSH: *hic* BuT–*hic* i prOmIse yOu i CaN trEaT–*hic* tReaT yOu BeTtEr tHaN AnyOnE! *hic*

[married-to-google-translater]

How would yanderes Tanjiro and Sanemi(Separate) react to reader living with their friend and she and her friend are roomies? Let’s make it a male roomie since I need some drama

Yandere Sanemi Shinazugawa

Ahahahahaha yeah, this definitely wouldn't go on.

Sanemi doesn't like this at all. His feelings for you would still be new to him. Something that Sanemi would try to deny.

He would also believe that he is not good for you and the best thing would be to stay away.

You certainly didn't tell him this directly. You weren't even very close when he found out about this. Sanemi overheard your conversation with someone else.

It seems that the only thing he would see for a moment would be red.

Sanemi would DEFINITELY find out everything about your roommate. Damn, he would really hate that person already.

ALL thoughts of pushing you away are instantly forgotten. Sanemi would understand that he wouldn't want to lose you to anyone else. You're just his only one.

Sanemi would definitely threaten this person to move elsewhere. If that didn't work, Sanemi thinks violence would be the solution.

Their fault for not listening :D

Such a situation should never happen again. Sanemi was going to make sure of that somehow.

Yandere Tanjiro Kamado (older)

Ooooh nooooh. The cutest boy of all would be jealous. Tanjiro probably doesn't even know what jealousy would feel like. He would have been far too innocent for that before.

Tanjiro still remembers the moment he saw your roommate for the first time. It was a cold evening and he was taking you home. Tanjiro would be really happy because he would "officially" see your home for the first time. Maybe you'd even invite him in~

However, all the cheerfulness would have drained away when another man opened the door. Tanjiro would think for a moment that you were cheating on him.

The fact that you said the man was a roommate would help a little. However, only a little. At first, Tanjiro doesn't understand it properly. Only when the door closes in front of him does Tanjiro realize the situation.

He would feel envy in his chest. And oh Tanjiro wouldn't like that.

He wouldn't want to upset you though. Tanjiro hates to see you sad. But this situation could not continue.

Tanjiro would "talk" to your roommate. As a result of the 'discussion', they would move out... and Tanjiro would move in.

This would be perfect right?

Tanjiro is sure that you too will be satisfied with this solution.

[theshinazugawaslut]

JEALOUS! EX! SANEMI

In my darling opinion, Sanemi is the type to fall in love once in his life, and he falls in love madly, ferociously, fucking deranged ass love.

So when you break up with him; he can't fathom why.

He did everything for you, he even had a ring ready since he knew how important marriage was to keep you both together; he had wanted to call you his wife.

And you just went and destroyed his heart like that.

Even when he gave you all his firsts, when he exposed every raw, aching, vulnerable part of himself.

"My first, my last, my only..." he had whispered the first time he lost his innocence to you. "My one and only- Fuck, I love you so much."

And you broke up with him.

He won't take it.

He won't allow it.

You can't be anyone else's, he doesn't care why you left, he had been so gentle with you- Was it your parents? They had disapproved of him since they met him, all because he had a few scars on his face and his personality didn't match his face.

He can't let all these stupidities come in the way.

You're his everything.

You had squealed and giggled when he picked you up with ease by the waist and spun you around; laughed into the crook of his neck as his rough hand came to cup the back of your head.

You had loved him too.

No, you probably still love him.

Your stupid friends were probably jealous and convinced you his 'possessiveness' was getting out of hand—for fuck's sake, he was only trying to protect you and it's not like you need to see your friends so often.

He dropped his friends entirely to be around you all the time.

And you had been so happy with his attention and time, always so pleasant and grateful as he lavished his money and love on you.

He gave you everything.

Every pretty eyeshadow palette, every shimmering necklace or ring, every designer bag and tote, every treatment you asked for. He never let you lift your finger unless it was to get your nails done.

Did you want more? Is that why you left? If you wanted more, he would've put a wad of cash in your hand- You already had his card but did you want more?

Did he not spend enough time with you?

He took you to every cafe, every restraunt. He took you out to beautiful, remote forests to stargaze. He drove you to the loveliest places, to all the gorgeous waterfalls and mountains and islands your heart desired to see. He had just planned a trip to Switzerland since you said you had so badly wanted to go one day...

Sanemi cries in his bed, hugging your pillow to his chest, smelling the fading scent of your rose shampoo and black cherry perfume. God, he misses you, he can't do this anymore, it's only been a few days and he's going mad.

He needs you back, now, right now.

He won't- can't live without you.

And he can see the surprise across your pretty face as you open the door of your new home, the one without him in it, and before you can even open your sweet lips, he's kissing you desperately, stepping inside forcefully and closing the door hurriedly behind him, pressing you against the nearest wall despite how you hands press against his chest, trying to get him off.

"I love you, I fuckin' love you," he mutters wetly against your lips, placing a hand against your head to make you kiss him back. "C'mon, baby, don't- don't do this to me-" he almost cries against your lips, tears running down his face, and he feels sick as you try to push him away- "Don't you love me? Baby, I did everythin' for you, do you want more? I can do more, I'll do anythin'-"

You quit his rambling by a firm slap across his face, tears running down your own delicate face. He goes silent as his head remains turned to the side from the force, snowy hair hanging in front of burning lavender eyes, they go bloodshot from rage but when he turns to look at you and sees you crying, he immediately cradles your pretty face in calloused hands.

"Honey, don' cry," he murmurs, kissing your face open-mouthed and brushing your hair from your face. "Baby, don't be sad, 's fine, I'll make it okay-"

"-Just stop, Sanemi! Please, for God's sake, just leave me alone!" you cry and he freezes. "Sanemi, I- I can't, not anymore, you- you're a good man but you- you- God, Sanemi, I found out you threatened half my friends behind my back to stay away from me and..."

Sanemi feels white-hot rage pour over his head like cold water, and suddenly he's wrenching a fistful of your hair to hold you flush against him, his other hand coming to hold your jaw firmly to force you to meet his eyes. Your scrambling hands trying to claw at his forearms are nothing more

"Sweetheart," he says and the word is like poison. "You're telling me you care more about some fucking idiots that don't give two shits about you over me?" His voice is quiet and suddenly you'd wish he'd yell as he keeps your face in that painful grip, and he lets go of you to cup your face, then one hand moves to run his fingers through your hair. "You can't really be that stupid, baby?"

He plants a firm kiss on your forehead. "You know, I know you're a bit naive, gullible... So I'd be willing to forgive and forget your stupidity if you came back home, to me, of course."

"Sanemi, no, just get out, please, I'm begging you, just leave me alone," you say desperately, sobbing softly, trying to helplessly push him out the house, to the front door.

Sanemi can feel himself pushing back the urge to grab your wrist and just drag you back home.

"Baby," he says sweetly, "you're gonna crawl back like a little bitch to me in no time, so spare us both the trouble and ditch whatever snivelling excuse for a man you've chosen as my replacement before I make you."

"But I like him," you cry uselessly, gasping as Sanemi's one hand is more than enough to bind both your wrists together and render you defenceless. "'Nemi, please..."

But he's not listening, looking to the side, deep in thought, and after a minute of silence, his eyes light up and he looks at you, smiling sweetly. "What if I killed him, hmm?"

Your blood runs cold. Sanemi never made suggestions that he didn't plan on fulfilling.

"Would you like that?" he asks you, kissing your temple slowly, free hand moving up to tuck some hair behind your ear. He moves his face close, so close that his lips graze yours as he talks. "You can have his head as an engagement gift if you'd like, I'll hang the ugly thing on our mirror and you can both watch as I fuck you into oblivion, and I'll cum inside your pretty little pussy as well. I'm sick an' tired of not being able to cum inside you... You should let me, as an apology."

He grins against your jaw now, placing a kiss there too. "Make your choice, love," he whispers, "I just want what's best for you."

The smile on his face is broad and crooked, victorious, as you allow your delicate hand to be engulfed by his as he packs your things into a bag and drag you back home.

"You're such a silly girl," he coos as he brings you back to the bedroom you so sorely missed, "thinking you could leave me... I should teach you a lesson."

/ A few months later, news spreads quick about the baby in your belly and your engagement to the man who's kisses are like heaven and hell all at once.

[yandere-romanticaa]

Sanemi is the most feared Hashira amongst his peers and it is not difficult to see why.

With his lack of patience and the anger coupled with the brute strength which could rival a demon it really isn't so shocking to see why so many people run away from him. Just who in their right mind would ever approach him willingly? What, got a death wish or something? He is notorious for his mean taunts and insults so harsh that being bitten by a demon almost feels like a merciful act.

Therefore, imagine just how flabbergasted every single person is once they see how... decent Sanemi is around you.

Gone is the angry and bitter attitude nor is he reaching for his sword to cut you down. He was acting like a normal human being, something that honestly terrified the people around him a lot more than it should have. Perhaps he did have a heart? An actual real, bleeding, beating heart?

Who would have thought!

Sanemi almost treats you like glass sometimes. Sure, he yells, complains and grunts but he never has the nerve to fully go against you either. No matter what you did he could ever resent you for anything you did, ever.

What mostly made him mad were the people who took up so much of your and his time.

What, can't a guy drink tea in peace?! So what if he's with you?! Leave him be!

If it were not for Gyomei, countless slayers would have lost their lives because of Sanemi.

When he's with you his hard and tough attitude melts, like an iceberg that just barely got touched by the sun but it was still touched none the less. He loved being with you but he would rather die than say that out loud. God knows what would become of him if people were to find out about his weakness and he just was not willing to share you like that. You were his to treasure, his to protect and his to love.

And there was no one else who could fulfill that role.

He would not allow it.

[yumekojabaml]

ঞじòぴé Chapter 1 ઈଓᦗ࿐

Summary: M/n is a cute little white boy in Japan filled with demons and slayers. What if I told you those demons and slayers want him?

Harem list: 1/2 2/2

Chapter 2

author's purpose: Yes, I’m making another series even though I will NEVER finish it. If you guys could give me and idea on each post I got you👌🏽. The yandere will be speaking with bold and a color of my choice. The reader will have just bold.

TW: Death

“Something bad is 'bout to happen to me. I don't know what, but I feel it coming”— Steve Lacy

“M/N M/N RUN RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN”

“I'm sorry m/n I'm sorry I couldn't protect you.”

“M/N GET BACK HERE YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE WITH ME.”

“HELP ME SOMEBODY PLEASE.”

“MAMA PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME AGAIN.

“GET AWAY FROM ME.”

“Nobodys going to help you.”

You woke drenched in sweat from a dream. “Type of dream was that?” You spoke out loud you've never had a dream like that before why all of a sudden?

‘I should get dressed.’ before getting dressed let me tell you what you look like. You have (h/l) hair with a petite body, long beautiful nails, and princess peach-like lips. You had a beauty that women wanted but never got.

Getting dressed, you ate, brushed your teeth, then left.

You open the shoji doors and close them leaving to get food since you are slowly running out. As you got there you got some stares from men mostly— the women envy you they just wished you, a foreigner NEVER came here. Did you care?… no you didn't.

“Hi, M/n It's been a while. “Spoke the pregnant lady. “Yes, it has been— how's the baby?” She smiled at you rubbing her belly. “He’s a fighter for sure he's been kicking me all day like he wants to see the world already.” She chuckled making you smile. “When he's born I want you to be his god uncle. “Does she really want that a teenager who should still be in middle school? “You mean it ame?” She nodded. “Now come help me.” she grabbed your wrist.

“Bye see you tomorrow!” She yelled waving goodbye as you walked away. All she wanted was for you to help her cook when her husband come home she gave you some of her food before you left. At least you don't have to cook.

For some reason when you came home and ate you just got this uneasy feeling like— something scary was gonna happen.

Laying your head down to rest all you hear is a loud, bloody murder scream. And your dumb ass got up and ran to the screaming once you got there the screaming stop all there was, was crying. You went to Ames's home seeing her holding a baby in her hands. She saw you. “M-m/n c-come closer.” You bent down in front of her.

“T-take c…are of m-my baby pl…ease. “Tears ran down hers and your face Ame chocked on her blood handing you her baby. “I will Ame… I’ll take care of him.” She smiled after saying. “You’ll be a better mother than me M/n.” Her hand dropped from your cheek before her eyes slowly shut. Your body was shaking if only Ame knew her baby was… gone before her.

— OBANAI’S POV—

‘Shit shit shit shit why didn't we get a report about this sooner.’ I thought seeing multiple dead bodies and blood. “We… are late- too late,” Giyuu said looking down of course we had to be late these demons are getting sneakier.

“Wait! I sense a heartbeat.” Sanemi ran in front of us we followed we made it to a house inside was a boy. Sitting on his knees sniffing holding a deceased baby along with a woman with tears streaming from his face. Giyuu was the first to step up to him.

“We need to get you out of here your family and many others will get a proper burial I just need you to let go of the baby and come with us.” The kid let go of the baby walking out of the house with his head down not even looking at us.

The kaiushi came cleaning up and burying the bodies I turned my head to the kid who was still there. Sanemi walked up to him. “Hey, listen you need to go home the sun is rising so you'll be fine walking home alone. “He didn't say anything well that's what we thought cause after Sanemi was done talking

“She was all I had left. “We looked at him he continued. “She loved me since the day I came to Japan she showed me around and treated me like I was a child of her own and now— she’s gone… because you couldn”t get here a second early.” He got up walking away from us.

It wasn't our fault we were late

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Sanemi Shinazugawa General Profile

Yandere! Sanemi Shinazugawa x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, violence/mild gore, Sanemi controls your diet/comments on what you eat, mentions of physical and sexual assault (not by Sanemi though because he is Consent King™), my characterization of Sanemi is a little unusual I think but I stand by it, part of that characterization involves him being very sexually frustrated so mentions of masturbation, Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of reader being insecure/having low self esteem, kind of mind-break ish for reader, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 13K

DARLING PROFILE:

Honest 

To Sanemi, there is nothing more worthless than liars - with the exception, possibly, of demons. He doesn’t understand why one would skate around the truth, and in his eyes it’s a sign of weakness, of an unwillingness to face reality and to cheat themselves.

Needless to say, he wouldn’t tolerate a partner who is prone to lying, who lets falsities slip from their lips like it’s nothing. He wants to know that his partner won’t front anything, that each word and phrase that they speak is nothing but how they feel, their honest thoughts and feelings.

Trust means a lot to him, and because it’s so difficult for him to fully open up, to allow himself to becomes vulnerable, he’s quite selective with who he lest see the real Sanemi Shinazugawa, the real man who wants nothing more than for the ones he loves to be safe and happy.

He needs a darling who won’t bullshit him, who can hold his respect and take a slight weight off his shoulders by knowing that they won’t ever lie to him.

It doesn’t mean his paranoia diminishes in any sense of the word, but the sentiment is still nice - it’s pleasing to him that when his darling is finally giving in and telling him in a defeated, resigned voice that they love him too, when he’s forcing out a compliment that sounded wonderful in his head but strange once it passed him that the small smile and soft ‘thanks’ they give is real.

He needs to comfort of knowing that his darling is authentic, that they’re showing their real selves to him, and with each glimpse he sees he only falls more and more in love. 

Opinionated

There is no doubt that Sanemi works tirelessly to be as powerful as he can, that it’s his sole drive in life to kill and defeat demons. He’s a man fueled by adrenaline and hate for the man-eating creatures, and he desires a darling who is similarly motivated.

His darling doesn’t need to have a tragic past or anything of the sort, but he appreciates someone who is somewhat of a spitfire.

He likes women who can challenge him, and if his darling is able to keep up with him and even occasionally be better than him at something, it’s a sure fire way for him to grow interested.

He loves the idea of his darling being capable and independent (ironic, considering the way he grows to coddle his darling and let his overprotectiveness convince him that they’re utterly helpless without him), and a darling who’s able to showcase this personality trait gets him ever so slightly flustered.

He likes someone who can stand up to him, who doesn’t let him boss them around, and while he’ll want them to be complacent and listen to him once he has a more solidified role in their life, there’s something so incredibly attractive about them having their own mind and opinion.

He may act like it irritates him at first, butting heads with his darling and even occasionally complaining about how headstrong they are, but it’s one of the very first things that catches Sanemi’s attention and keeps it.

(That and, of course, the color of their eyes, the sway of their hips, the lilt of their voice, and myriad other qualities that make him gape like some lovesick school boy. Pathetic.)

Kind

On the flip side, Sanemi is also wildly attracted to a darling who is a truly kind person.

They can be opinionated, hardheaded, competitive, any number of things that leave them labeled as a strong personality, but it’s in the moments where Sanemi sees how truly compassionate they are that his feelings really become cemented.

He’s had to bury his own compassion and empathy down over the years, hardening his shell and playing into the character so well that it’s become essentially his real self, and to see his darling able to be so kind and loving to the people around them makes him wildly flustered and jealous.

It reminds him of his old self, and while that brings its own heavy baggage, there’s something freeing and so very calming about it, like some long lost puzzle piece is slotting into place because it just feels right.

And when his darling turns that kindness onto him, Sanemi’s genuinely at a loss for words. The first time they scold him for getting injured and help tend to his wounds, he’s already putty in their hands. He’s momentarily struck silent when his darling presents to him a small gift from a nearby market, the gift itself meager and not something Sanemi particularly wants, but there’s something about the gesture that gets his heart racing, flattered and unsure why they’d be giving someone like him something.

It’s a quality that he subconsciously looks for, and though he’d never admit it, it’s difficult for him to not notice just how kind his darling would be in the context of motherhood. They’d be great with children, he’s sure, and while he doesn’t want to bring any children into the world while it's still crawling with demons, he’s nursing the quiet, embarrassed dream of his darling carrying his children and heading a loving, large family.

It’s the stuff of his fantasies, the kind of thing that makes him flush and get irritated at sappy at is, but with each kind gesture and compliment, his darling only makes it harder and harder to not dream of it.

Brave

On many levels, to become a person Sanemi respects you’d have to be brave. He simply doesn’t tolerate those who are weak-willed or meek, and a darling who’s more willing to put themselves out there or stand up for others is extremely attractive to him.

His darling doesn’t need to be a risk-taker, but he appreciates someone is willing to go outside of their comfort zone every once in a while. This is especially true when it comes to interacting with him. His tough demeaner scares most people off, so his darling would need to be willing to tough it out and stand up to him in order to dig past his rough exterior and get at the soft, vulnerable side of him.

It makes him proud, really, when his darling does something that he deems brave or difficult for them. It fills him with a sense of accomplishment, feeling genuinely happy for them because he’s so very proud when they achieve even basic things.

He's extremely observant and picks up on even minute aspects of his darling’s personality, and so he’s very in touch with what’s within his darling’s comfort zone and what isn’t.

This trait is by and large a positive for him, however there are times when it becomes the bane of his existence; if they do something he deems stupid or unnecessary and puts them in danger he becomes very, very angry. He’s paranoid in every sense of the word, terrified that his darling will die or somehow disappear, leaving him behind to be all alone, losing just another person he’s come to love.

(Though, love is perhaps not quite the word for it – needs, maybe, or even adores, just with a sense of finality that scares even Sanemi.) His darling’s braveness is a double-edged sword, and once they’re under his lock and key, he’s trying to cut down on their ability to act on this as much as possible, not only for their safety but also his sanity.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS: 

Protective

As a general rule, Sanemi’s expression of his feelings towards you is rather indirect. He’ll never outright confess that he’s in love with you until very, very late into his obsession, and by that time you’ll have already been trapped by his side for at least a few months, already uncomfortably aware that he feels something for you, even if he won’t put a name on it.

He’s not traditionally romantic in any sense, and while he does harbor fantasies about being all soft and mushy with you, he can’t seem to allow himself to act on these desires, particularly towards the beginning of his infatuation.

(He’ll spend his nights laying awake, staring at the ceiling while his fingers trace patterns against the scars on his chest, imagining they’re your own softer, prettier hands, that you’re laying beside him and lulling him to sleep with your touch and soft voice, that you’re telling him that you love him and that you feel so safe with you, Sanemi. Idly, he wonders whether you’re put off by the scars – you’ve never mentioned it, sure, but Sanemi isn’t stupid. He knows you’re too nice and perhaps too intimidated by him, but he still bites his lip and wonders whether you wouldn’t mind them, if you’d like them, if you’d be attracted to them, even… And suddenly his fingers feel like fire because now he’s imagining how it would feel to have your lips trail the scarred skin instead and oh god-)

He’s not particularly overt with many aspects of his obsession, with a few stark exceptions – namely, Sanemi is very, very overprotective of you. Call it a result of a traumatic childhood and adult life or perhaps even a coping mechanism, but once his feelings for you begin to fester, your safety becomes his number one priority.

And really, isn’t it understandable?

Seeing humans get slaughtered on a daily basis constantly reminds him that you’re weak. Sure, he’s a Hashira and risks his life with every breath, but you’re you. You’re painfully unprepared to handle a confrontation with a demon, and with each new violent, gory death he sees, Sanemi becomes more and more aware of this.

It’s maddening, really, because he’ll be out on a mission and be just a hair too late to save some poor civilian woman and oh, her hair color is so very similar to yours – from a distance it almost looks like you. Your faces aren’t similar, though, and as Sanemi runs past the fresh corpse in pursuit of the monster, he’s breathing a sigh of relief because for the smallest, briefest moment he was almost convinced that that was you.

And later that night, as he sits down alone in his quiet, empty mansion, every blink of his eyes is flashing an image of you in her position, scarlet blood staining your skin and tears drying against your cheeks. It makes him grit his teeth, pacing around the room and clutching onto his sword hilt, muttering under his breath about how you’re driving him crazy and this shit needs to stop, I have to stop, this has to stop…

But he still finds himself dashing off to the modest room you call home, anger flaring when he notices you’ve left your window open, mentally berating you and promising to sternly remind you tomorrow to not be so careless.

Wide eyes peer into your bedroom to catch sight of you peacefully sleeping, and he sucks in a breath at the sight. You’re just so pretty – all soft and warm in your bed, lips parted ever so slightly, the slope of your nose catching his eye, the slow rise and fall of your chest.

(He’ll stop to match his own breathing with yours, palm pressing against the glass of the window, unable to stop staring even as he calls himself pathetic and a creep for watching you sleep. It’s just calming in a way he can’t describe, and when he finally forces himself to move some thirty minutes later, the cycle only restarts as he steps foot back in his home.)

His anxiety that you’re unable to protect yourself manifests pretty early into his obsession – and you’ll notice, too. He’s unusually concerned with all aspects of your health and safety – he’s always asking when you’ve last eaten, what you had, if you’re still hungry, when you last had protein or a vegetable or drank water. And while he’s trying to be as civil and nonchalant as he can manage, he’s still staring, looming over you and looking at you with an intensity that makes you feel so very small, your answer more of a question than an answer.

And if he doesn’t like the answer, you’re being dragged to his own personal kitchen, all the while he’s grumbling about how you’re so irresponsible, can’t even feed yourself on your own, meanwhile he’s already boiling water and cutting vegetables, having forced you to sit on the most plush cushion he owns.

And you will be eating everything he feeds you – when you seem hesitant, he's threatening with a disturbingly serious I won’t let you leave until that tray is clean, the calmness and sincerity in his voice driving you to immediately pick up your utensils.

Typically, his cooking isn’t bad – perhaps ever so slightly charred, but it’s cooked to your tastes and preferences (though he never explicitly asked about them), and he’s always looking at you while you dine, those wide eyes of his never seeming to blink as he surveys every possible detail about you.

(Really, he’s doing two things – firstly, he’s obsessively checking over every aspect of your eating habits. How many times do you chew before you swallow? Which foods do you start eating first, and do you eat section by section or a little bit of everything? Do you blow on your foods if they’re too hot, your pretty lips puckering into a cute little ‘o’ that makes him suck in a breath? But even aside from that he’s staring, transfixed, because just last night he was dining alone at this table, solemnly chewing at his food while imagining your presence beside him, fantasizing about the day when you’re eating together, perhaps even swapping stories of the day or complimenting him or telling him that you look so handsome today Sanemi, it’s kind of pissing me off… Just the thought makes him sit up straighter, unconsciously puffing out his chest because he wants you to be very, very aware of the muscles lining every inch of his body.)

And even aside from food, his protectiveness is apparent in the way he treats you – he’s always quickly gazing over your body, checking for any signs of cuts, scrapes, bruises, or limps, the surveying genuinely clinical rather than perverse.

(Of course, later that night he’ll remember the details with a slightly lewder twist – wondering how soft your thighs must be and letting his hands flex into a fist in an effort to grab onto something, even though it can’t be you. He’s imagining exactly how those nipples of yours must look like, imagining in detail the way they’d look all pebbled, the skin soft and warm and god, he bets you’d taste sweet, like some sort of heaven.)

He’s refusing to leave your side when you walk into town, always trailing at your arm and constantly glowering at the people around you, his excuse something related to checking for demon activity in the crowd – you don’t mention that it’s daytime.

(He’s always raising a brow when men approach you, rage simmering just below the surface alongside an underlying sense of anxiety and insecurity because while he may be the most capable of protecting you, the kinder, gentler man that calls you beautiful at the small morning market may be more capable of winning your heart. And so, when they get too close, he’s quick to place himself between the two of you, a scowl on his face and his tone a mix of condescension and threatening when he tells him to get lost, one more step and I slice your arm off. It’s protection, sure, because who knows what these men could want from you, but the small, possessive part of him is smug when the man scurries off, his worries momentarily quelled because you’re still next to him, not that stranger.)

He’s pessimistic about people by nature, always assuming the worst, and so Sanemi accompanies you every free moment he possibly can, acting as your shadow and impossible to get away from. It’s irritating, really, because even if you fight and bicker with him about it, requesting that he please leave you alone because it scares you to have him hanging off of you like that, he’ll only resort to following you from a few meters behind, blending in with the crowd but still keeping those eyes on you, hand always tightly clutched around the hilt of his sword just in case your safety is threatened.

He knows it’s stalking, sure, and he reprimands himself for his weakness and inability to control himself, but the moment you’re out of his sight panic is racing through him, his breathing getting shallow and his skin feeling hot because fuck fuck fuck this isn’t happening, you’re not gone you can’t be gone please oh god where are you –

He’s running as quickly as he can to check behind every corner, desperation to find you so potent that it bars him from feeling embarrassed, only calming once he finds you. He’ll grasp onto your shoulders once he does, his grip nearly bruising as he demands to know where you’ve been, practically yelling at you to tell him if you’re hurt, if anyone bothered you, if you’ve been attacked or if you’re scared.

It’s only when you wince or beg him to back off that he does, freezing up and letting his mouth fall open stupidly, before suddenly jumping back as if touching you pains him, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, disappointment and anger in himself for injuring you rolling through him.

He treats you like you’re delicate, fragile, breakable, and no matter how often you tell him – and prove to him – that you’re not, Sanemi refuses to acknowledge it.

After all, you needing protection gives him purpose. It gives him justification to be around you, to be allowed in your presence – it makes him think he might, just maybe, be worthy of your love. And no matter how pathetic it makes him feel to admit it, Sanemi would do absolutely anything to get you looking at him and needing him like he needs you.

Anything.

Possessive

And it’s palpable. Sanemi is many things, but subtle is not one of them – and while he may be decent at masking many aspects of his obsession with you, his possessive side is certainly not one of them.

He’s easily jealous, always suspecting the worst of people that approach you. The man that comes up to ask you for directions obviously has an ulterior motive, perhaps wanting to ogle you or get just a hair too close to your body for Sanemi’s comfort.

The older man that accidentally bumps into you as he walks with his cane may seem innocent, but Sanemi’s immediately scowling, eyeing the man like a hawk because many old men seem to feel much too entitled and much too confident in bothering younger, attractive women, and he’ll be damned before he lets some old creep harass you.

(A bit hypocritical, all things considered, because while Sanemi may be your age, he’s significantly more of a creep – the way he’s constantly following you, constantly thinking of you, imagining your smile and your laugh and of what he’s sure is a very warm and oh so fucking wet place between those plush thighs of yours. The old man would probably only touch you – Sanemi wants to do much, much more.)

And so, a large portion of his possessiveness stems from his own protectiveness. He firmly believes that no one else is capable of protecting you to the level and degree that he can. He’s a Hashira, unafraid to throw himself into danger for a cause he fully believes in, so why should he be afraid to put himself on the line in order to keep you safe and sound?

Slaughtering demons is still his life’s mission, sure, but somehow you’ve wormed your way in, too, and Sanemi finds it increasingly difficult to simply ignore how much of an effect you have on him. And even as much as he tries to deny his feelings in the beginning, praying and hoping that they’re simply temporary, it becomes very, very difficult to force himself to not care when he sees anyone else speaking to you.

And honestly, a lot of the anger comes from the fact that you have never been this familiar and carefree when conversing with Sanemi – you never smile at him like you do with this new man, all teeth and rounded cheeks and glowing eyes. It’s cute, adorable, beautiful even, but it’s also infuriating, making Sanemi’s blood boil and something ugly and uncomfortable press against his ribs.

Other men always seem to be able to more easily speak with you – they’re wittier, better at complimenting you, managing to make you laugh and smile in a way that hurts Sanemi to see. It’s painful, more than anything, and early into his obsession it’s moments like these that show him that no matter how he tries to convince himself that his feelings for you aren’t as strong or potent as he thinks, he’s wrong.

He needs you in a way that simultaneously frustrates and terrifies him. He hasn’t felt a connection and genuine desire in such a long time that he doesn’t even recognize the feeling at first – it takes him seeing you interact with men over a prolonged period of time to even understand the nature of his infatuation, realizing that instead of mere irritation he’s feeling, it’s something deeper, harsher, more personal.

It’s something that makes it hard to breath, his fists clenching and his legs feeling like lead, dread settling deep in his chest because oh god, what does he do?

He tends to act before thinking when it comes to you, his body seeming to react before he even has a moment to process what he’s seeing, and this is certainly no exception when another man approaches you. He’ll be quick to step in, but as Sanemi’s obsession continues on, he becomes more and more torn about his possessive tendencies.

By and large, he’s lucid about the nature of his feelings for you. He knows what he’s doing is wrong, and as time passes and his love for you only seems to grow exponentially, he begins to wonder whether interfering with potential lovers of yours is really the correct move. He’s horribly jealous, of course, barely able to keep himself from hurling the moment he sees you interacting with anyone else, but there’s something else there, sitting just below the surface and giving him ever so slight pause.

It’s guilt, the idea that he’s becoming unreasonably possessive and territorial over you when he really has no right to. After all, thinking of you as his woman makes him feel good, his chest feeling all tingly and his cheeks going hot, but it’s not really true, is it?

You’re not his – he’s just an admirer, a stalker who desperately wishes he could call out to you and have you smile at him, look at him, let him wrap you in his arms and even press a kiss or two against his trembling lips. But you’re not – and it’s difficult for Sanemi to rationalize that the longer his obsession goes on.

And so, by the times that he’s a few months into accepting his feelings for you, Sanemi tries to limit his interventions into your interactions with others to only situations where you’re uncomfortable or in danger. And it’s noble, truly – but the problem arises from the fact that Sanemi is the one judging when this occurs, deciding when someone is bothering you.

His mood plays a huge role in this judgement decision, his moodiness and however long he's been away from you or gone without interacting with you swaying his decision. If he’s been particularly absent from your life for the last few days or weeks, Sanemi is believing that everyone has ill intentions with you – every man that glances at you, even every elderly woman that compliments your eyes or your figure.

They all want you, and it makes him panic, growing anxious and terrified that someone will snatch you away from him, that he’ll lose you and with you every bit of happiness and calm you make him feel. It’s a panic response, more than anything, and he’ll immediately rush in, sometimes not even caring how you grow irritated and frustrated that he always seems to just appear, despite the fact that you have the situation under control.

It’s a mixture of genuine worry for your safety and selfish desire to keep you all to himself that motivates him, and you’ll notice a stark difference in his behavior once he’s got you stolen away in his estate. He won’t directly reveal his feelings to you, but his sense of ownership over you will become much more apparent with the way he’s always providing for you, giving you all sorts of expensive gifts and getting only the best foods for you, doing anything and everything to get you to like him, to get you to become willingly his and to show you that no one else could treat you as well or love you as wholly.

He’s a prideful man, sure, but when it comes to you everything flies out the window – he’s barely able to conceal his desperation for you, and the defense is so weak that you’ll spot the cracks immediately. You’ll be able to tell just how badly he needs you to admit that you’re his, his control over your life worsening with every day that passes because he simply can’t stand knowing that you aren’t utterly, completely his.

And really, would it be so bad to give in? There’s something romantic about a man who wants you so badly that he’s so hyper fixated on keeping you his and only his, isn’t there? Something exciting, something flattering, something raw?

Sanemi sure hopes you think so, but at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter – he can’t stop himself, and you will become his at the end of the day.

Shy

But in an extremely specific way – he doesn’t shy away from interacting with you per say, but it’s very, very difficult for him to become completely open and vulnerable with you.

He’s simply too closed off – he’s entirely unused to having anyone close in his life, his few relationships held quietly close to his heart and rocky, to say the least. (His love for Genya, for example, or even the comradery he feels for Obanai and his fellow Hashira, though he’s much more expressive than he realizes.)

He’s simply not good with words, often finding himself saying things he doesn’t mean or speaking with a tone entirely unreflective of what he feels. And as a result, he struggles with the idea of opening himself up to you. You’re simply too important to him – you’re his everything now, the woman he wants to protect and keep safe above all else.

And while he’s not deluded enough to believe that you can understand him simply by looking at him, Sanemi hopes and prays that his actions are enough to convey the depth and nature of his feelings.

(Though, he’s often unsure of whether he wants you to really understand just how strong his dependence on you really is. Perhaps it would be better if you didn’t know that he can’t spend a single hour without passing thoughts of you sifting through his mind – a simple glance at a cloud has him thinking it vaguely looks like your hair, the shape making the corner of his lip turn up ever so slightly, his fingers subconsciously rubbing together and imagining the texture against his skin. He doesn’t want you to know that sometimes, when he’s sitting alone and eating the rather bare-bones, plain meal he’s cooked for himself, he’ll set a second plate, biting back his pride and quietly speaking into the air, pretending that you’re sitting there and entertaining him, nodding along to his words and encouraging him after a particularly difficult mission or seeing you getting just a tad too friendly with another man.)

Really, a lot of the fear of opening himself up comes down to Sanemi’s lucidity about his feelings for you. He has no romantic experience, true, but he’s not stupid – he’s aware that it’s unusual to be this attached when the two of you are really only platonically involved, even as much as he yearns to take things further.

He understands that it’s not normal to be so hyper fixated and concerned on your health and safety, always having a moment of clarity as he scolds you for wearing shoes that are worn down enough to hurt the soles of your shoes, or for not drinking water all day.

He’s very aware that it’s wrong of him to be following you home and keeping an eye on you without your knowledge or consent, and truthfully he’s afraid to see your reaction when you realize just how truly depraved he’s become for you. He's sure that you’ll find him repulsive – maybe you’ll curse him out, calling him a freak and a creep and even a monster for invading your personal privacy and space on such a regular basis.

(You’d be mortified, he’s sure, to find out that he often lets himself into your apartment during the day, knowing you’ll be at a friend’s place for the next few hours and wandering back after following you there, the familiar scent of you calming him immediately once he steps inside. He’s sure you’d be angry to know that he’s thumbing at each and every item of clothing you own, memorizing the feel of the fabric, running his fingers along the inside just to pretend to feel your skin, finding that this is the closest thing he can get to touching you. He’s sure you’d be mad to know that he’s picked up your pillow, hugging it to his chest and pressing his face against it, deeply inhaling and even planting a few unsure, rather stiff kisses against the material, wishing with a sort of boyish hope that tonight you’ll happen to press your face against that specific spot as you sleep.)

He’s naively nursing the hope that you’d by some miracle be okay with his more covert behaviors, wishing that you secretly feel as strongly for him as he does you. But even then Sanemi doesn’t let himself slide too deeply into that thinking, aware that it’s dangerous to become so detached from reality. You will be horrified, and he will be absolutely shattered to see the way you’ll flinch away from him, how you’ll look at him with fear and disgust in your eyes.

(And really, the pathetic thing is that while Sanemi will be ashamed of your newfound perception of him, he can’t deny that he’d be absolutely giddy to have you looking at him, your attention entirely on him even if it’s negative. And that only serves to fill him with more self-loathing, something ugly and heavy settling against his chest at the thought because it really is awfully pitiful that simply your attention is enough to have his knees feeling weak, his cheeks tingling and his palms growing sweaty because oh, you see him.)

And so, Sanemi does his best to avoid broaching the subject of how he feels about you. Instead, he tries every possible method he can think of to express himself through actions.

He doesn’t have much as a reference point, both his career and his comrades not exactly ideal sources of healthy, loving relationships, but at a certain point Sanemi becomes too desperate to ignore his few resources. He needs you to see him, to smile at him and acknowledge him, and so he bites his pride and awkwardly approaches Kanroji about it.

He’s not exactly overjoyed to be asking for her advice, but she’s the only one he feels has any sort of idea what you could possibly be looking for in terms of romantic gestures. (He’d also considered asking Shinobu, but he’d immediately crossed that idea out upon realizing that not only would Shinobu likely tease him in the moment, she’d very likely never let it go, constantly holding it over his head that the Sanemi Shinazugawa needed advice on how to woo a woman. At least Kanroji would be kind about it.)

He’s approaching her and asking as nonchalantly as he can manage whether women like men to give them flowers, escort them from location to location, cook for them, where women like to be touched (with a very, very quick clarification of not in a weird way immediately following the question), or any number of other things. And Kanroji, while suspicious of his intentions, is more than happy to gush about the small things that make women swoon. And Sanemi is hanging onto every word – pressing for details about what specific compliments to shower you with, what small gifts he should consider picking up on his missions to bring home to you, what tone of voice he should be using instead of his usual gruff, irritated lilt.

Sanemi is quick to try and instill some of these ideas into his ‘relationship’ with you – he spends easily an hour biting his lip and diligently searching through every single flower at the shop, his hands slightly trembling when he hands you the small bouquet, struggling to make eye contact as he quietly – and with something almost akin to a tremor in his voice – tells you that your kimono is beautiful, the statement almost phrased like a question.

It’s the closest Sanemi is willing to get to admitting his feelings in times like these, and up until the point where he steals you away into his own abode, these sporadic bursts of confidence and nerves will leave you with whiplash because mere moments later he’ll be growling at a drunk man approaching you, threats slipping from his lips and his aura suddenly switching from bashful, almost schoolboy-esque to deadly serious.

And once he’s been forced you kidnap you, this behavior mostly continues. He still doesn’t want to fully confess everything, but he’s trying his absolute hardest to make you as happy as possible – going out of his way to keep you comfortable and satisfied, guilt eating away at him and making him overcompensate by treating you like you’re royalty.

With time, he’ll slowly become more open to you – that mask will slip ever so slightly, bits of his true feelings shining through. He’ll accidentally let it slip that he knows something about you that he shouldn’t, cluing you into his behaviors revolving around the stalking and rifling through your things.

It’ll be the middle of the night and he’s suddenly jolted awake after a particularly graphic nightmare, half asleep as he rushes out of his bed and practically runs to find you. He’s frantic to check that you’re still in the bed he’s set up for you, his breathing only calming down when he sees your still form, a declaration of love, adoration, and relief slipping from his lips that you happen to hear and wonder at how he can be so sappy and whipped.

It’s embarrassing, more than anything, but Sanemi simply struggles to be vulnerable – eventually you’ll become uncomfortably aware of just how badly he needs you, what with his growing need for your affirmations and physical touch, but the process is slow going, frustrating, confusing, even. But please be patient with him – he’s trying his best for you, really, and with every rejection and laugh when he’s attempting to open up, the less likely he becomes to completely and fully trust that you could love him, too.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Sanemi has always been a bit more on the aggressive side; between slaughtering demons for a living and being a bit brash in his words in his personal life, he’s never been one for handling problems with delicacy, or even really diplomacy – when he gets angry, it’s a bit all consuming.

And when you get thrown into the equation? Well, Sanemi is a lost cause – his emotions regarding you are so complex, so overwhelming and deep that the moment he feels your relationship is being threatened, he’s immediately shutting it down, attacking the threat mercilessly with everything he has because fuck, he can’t let you leave him.

When it comes to romance and love, he’s honestly quite insecure; he knows that there’s no way he’s your first choice, that someone as harsh and rude and demanding could ever possibly be the one you desire. Not to mention the fact that he’s constantly putting his life on the line, the gamble he’s playing on whether he’ll live to see the light of day every night. And he’s not sure about the scars the job produces, too, because while he normally wears them as a badge of pride to signal his toughness and battle experience, he’s not so sure you’d share the same positive response to them.

(It’s such a constant worry for him that the moment you’re in his vicinity, he’s torn between leaving his uniform wide open to show off his sculpted pectorals and abs and simultaneously wanting to cover up, terrified that you’ll find his scarred and calloused body upsetting, repulsive.)

He knows he’s not the ideal man, but there’s a part of him that’s desperately clinging onto the idea that maybe, just maybe you love him too, that you’re just as happy being with him, that you need him as badly as he needs you. It’s unrealistic, though, and in his heart of hearts he knows it and berates himself for even entertaining the idea that you see him as anything more than an acquaintance (or a friend at most).

And yet, the moment that he sees another man – one that’s arguably more similar to what he’s sure your type must be - all reason gets thrown out the door. He’s gritting his teeth as he sees another man approaching you, talking to you, even so much as looking at you – it’s a threat to the relationship he’s precariously building between the two of you, a possibility for something to drive you away from him, the mere idea scaring the absolute shit out of him.

You’re his everything, the reason he lives to see another day, and the moment your safety is compromised (because Sanemi is absolutely fucking sure that that man approaching you with a flush on his face and wide eyes has intentions that are only bad, desires racing through his heart to hurt you, leave you crying and violated and so very scared) he’s immediately wanting to interfere, to break you away from whatever son of a bitch decided to come between what’s rightfully his, what he’s devoted so much of his time and energy to – you.

And even as he realizes that this mindset is detrimental, unhealthy, potentially irreparably damaging your perception of him, Sanemi can’t find it in himself to stop. He’s just too paranoid, too terrified that you’ll be so cruelly ripped away from him.

And of course, it’s also a matter of paranoia where your safety is concerned, too – he has no faith in your ability to fight, and he’s confident that if a bigger, stronger man were to assault you in some way, you’d be hard pressed to fight him off.

(A notion that makes him sick, immediately clutching at his sword and furrowing his eyebrows, the need to see you immediately making him spring to life, already sprinting to where he knows you typically are this time of day.)

And so, Sanemi will often step in between the stranger and you, regardless of the context. And while it pisses you off when it’s a friend of yours or even a simple stranger with innocent intentions, Sanemi manages to redeem himself because every time a creep approaches you, he’s always, always there to swoop in and save you just as the weight of your situation begins washing over you.

(And Sanemi is more than happy to play your savior – just the look you give him, so full of admiration and gratitude and, dare he say, awe, is enough to make him flustered for the next week, finding himself unable to fall asleep and instead imagining your face, clutching at his pillow and squeezing his eyes shut, small whispers of your name falling past his lips.)

In retrospect, you really shouldn’t have gone out for groceries this late. It was winter time, when everything goes dark much too quickly. Before you’d known it the sun was setting and you had yet to stock up on food for the week, making you quickly race out the door and trying to catch the last few minutes of vendors. The market was just barely open, the entire town feeling oddly deserted considering how early it still was.

As nightfall descended, the sun slipping past the horizon, you find yourself carrying a bag of heavy groceries and padding back home, grunting occasionally at the heavy weight in your arms. Your home wasn’t in the best of neighborhoods, the area always feeling just slightly ominous at night, but the rather depressing sight of your empty cupboards had forced you to venture at a time you’d normally avoid leaving your front door.

Biting your lip, you let the groceries in your hand shift slightly, letting the weight shift from one arm to another. Your attention is so focused on the cloth bags in your arms that you fail to notice the figure standing at the side of the road, lounging in front of a small family-owned restaurant that was closed for the evening. His robes are a dark green color, stained with something along the front that left it dark and greasy, a bottle of something strong-smelling in his clutched fist.

You hadn’t noticed him at first, but you suddenly go stiff as he whistles, the bottle crashing to the ground and shattering. Freezing only momentarily, you quickly keep moving, trying to ignore the way the man is calling after you.

Hey, get back here, woman, he’d slurred, even audibly sounding drunk.

The rather weak torches stationed every few meters along the street make it difficult to see behind you, but you can clearly hear his footsteps getting closer.

You can also hear the distinct lack of others’ footsteps, meaning you’re totally alone with a drunk man seemingly intent on bothering you.

Gulping, you keep your shoulders low, trying to curl into yourself but keeping the same pace, hoping by some stroke of luck the man would lose interest or give up on following you. Your home was only a few blocks away, if you could just push a little further maybe you’d be able to close him off at the door, and surely he’d stop then, right? He’d be too bored waiting outside for you, surely.

Hey bitch, turn around! His hand is suddenly on your shoulder, fingertips digging tightly against your clothed skin and making you wince slightly. He’s taller than you’d thought, something that becomes frighteningly obvious as he turns you to face him.

He’s sneering, lips curling up into something ugly that makes your gut twist. His breath reeksof the same sour, alcohol-baked scent, and as he leans in, you try your best to step away, leaning away from his approach.

Please leave me alone, you try, your voice sounding pathetically weak even to your own ears. He’s strong, you can tell – the dingy clothing hid his physique, but it’s not hard to feel the way his grip tightens, the way he makes an unpleasant noise that has fear prickling up your spine.

What did you just say to me? He asks, baring his teeth and moving to cup your jaw between his fingers, pressing his thumb against your lips and pressing hard enough to make you squirm, the pressure against your teeth making your panic only grow worse. He cocks a brow at your struggling, his smile creeping up again as his free hand came up to rest at your hip, moving down and towards your middle, barely passing over your clothed navel and making you open your mouth to scream. The groceries are dropped, your fear overweighing your despair at losing your week’s salary on a single grocery run.

You’re barely able to vocalize your fear before a sudden flash of white fills your peripheral, the pressure against your mouth suddenly lessening. Your body slumps down, falling to your knees on the ground as your eyes grow wide, your breaths heavy and labored as you look upon the scene before you.

The man – your savior, is standing before you, five fingers wrapped around the man’s throat and shoving him up against the wall of the nearest shop, Sanemi’s teeth bared and his own chest rising and falling rapidly.

He’s got his free hand clutched onto the hilt of his sword, and for a brief, terrifying moment you’re sure he’ll whip his blade out, perhaps slicing into the man’s guts and leaving him a bloody, mutilated pile of bones. Some sick, malevolent part of you finds a sick sort of pleasure in the idea, but your body is moving before you can even think, struggling to your feet and moving to rush forward and stop Sanemi from acting on what you’re very aware is a quick-trigger temper.

But before you can take more than a few steps, the sound of the Hashira’s voice is ringing in your ears. It’s low, gravelly, sounding as if it’s taking every bit of his concentration and self-control to not be screaming and yelling, nasally and gravely, the words clipped and uneven as his fingers tighten.

You piece of shit, touching women without their consent, you’re fucking disgusting, rot in hell –

It’s like a mantra, Sanemi sounding so very genuine and forceful, and as you stand frozen at the intensity in his voice, his words only become darker, more sinister.

Don’t touch her, don’t you fucking dare or I swear I’ll slice your head clean off and dismember your every limb. He grins, eyes going wide. I’ll slice off your cock, too, that’d be good, huh? Can’t bother any innocent women when you’re not even a man.

He punctuates this point with a kick to man’s groin, the pained groan he lets out only making Sanemi’s smile widen. You take a small step back, but Sanemi doesn’t even seem to notice.

Anyone who touches her is dead. You hear me? You’re fucking dead.

The harasser is clawing at his hand, whimpering and wheezing as his air supply grows smaller and smaller.  It’s at this point that you audibly gasp, covering your mouth with your hand and staring at him with shock, your fingers trembling and your heart racing.

That noise seems to snap Sanemi out of his trance, his muscles going rigid and his head snapping to you. His eyes widen and his lips part, the airiest whisper of your name falling from his lips, and then he’s suddenly letting go of the stranger, backing away and staring at his own hand in shock, as if he’s horrified by what his own body has done.

The man falls to the ground, curled up and coughing, but neither you nor Sanemi pay him any mind. He’s still looking at you, mouth opening and closing like a fish, mind racing as he tries to think of something to say – anything to say, really, because the way you’re looking at him right now is making his heart break, panic engulfing him because no no no now you must think he’s a violent killer and oh god you must hate him now –

He breaks the trance by rushing forward, hands immediately coming out to clutch at your shoulders, his grip noticeably softer than how he’d been choking the man. His eyes are searching over your face, glancing over every inch of your body, his breaths still coming out uneven and ragged, and Sanemi’s quickly swallowing, unsure of what to say but practically blurting out the words.

That wasn’t – I don’t – I’m not going to hurt him, I promise –

You blink at him, body stiff and unsure, but the longer he babbles on the more your muscles relax.

I wouldn’t hurt a human, I’m not a monster, I just – he was harassing you and I don’t even know what happened, I just started moving and –

You shut him up by carefully, hesitantly placing a hand over one of his, the skin contact making him suck in a sharp breath, gaze immediately zeroing in on the sight.

Your smile is only half-genuine, fear and adrenaline coursing through you, but now that the man has crawled away, cursing Sanemi out, you’re starting to calm down. You’ve spent enough time with the Hashira to know he won’t hurt you, and seeing him this worked up, this flustered and desperate to get you to believe him is proof enough that he’s telling the truth.

Stop Sanemi, I know. I understand. At that he visibly relaxes, his jaw tensing and clenching as he swallows. Thank you for saving me.

He pauses, eyebrows rising ever so slightly, before he lets out a deep, shaky exhale, nodding his head and stepping back, releasing his grip on you.

Good is all he says, still looking at you, before his grip rests once more on the hilt of his sword. He glances towards your groceries, before scowling. Are you stupid? Why the hell are you out at this hour to get groceries?

You bristle at this, familiar behavior making you shoot him a glare. Don’t judge me, not all of us can afford to have private servants cook us meals.

Sanemi scoffs. I don’t have private servants, you’re making shit up again.

You continue to bicker, still shaking slightly as you gather the groceries that fell out of the bag upon impact with the ground. Sanemi begrudgingly helps you, forcing you to let him carry both bags while he escorts you home, berating you for being out at this time the entire way.

It’s only later that night that you really truly think about what had happened, his words ringing through your mind because why had Sanemi said that? How had he even known where you were, much less that you were in danger?

You’re not sure, but as you slip under your covers and bury your face against your pillow, you find yourself brushing aside the odd coincidental nature of the encounter, instead finding yourself thankful that Sanemi was there to intervene before things got truly bad.

(Meanwhile, Sanemi is staying true to his promise of not killing any humans – though he’s quick to track down the drunk man, scoffing at the state of him. He’d fallen asleep, evidently, laying on the dirty streetcorner a ways away from your home. Rage overcomes him as he recalls the way this man had touched you, even going so far as to grope your most intimate region without your permission, anger and even a small bit of jealousy overwhelming Sanemi.

He'll certainly not kill the man, but he wasn’t lying when he promised to slice off the man’s cock – he wouldn’t miss it, would he? Besides, he tells himself as he cuts clean and quick lines, it’s for you. This way, the creep might not feel the need to harass you again, and might keep his filthy hands to himself.

And when Sanemi drops him off unceremoniously outside the doors of the nearest medical house, he can only scoff, turning his back on the bleeding man and listening as the medics immediately begin swarming him.

He doesn’t like hurting humans, sure, but for you? Well, the walk back to your home is short, and as he slips inside, standing at the foot of your bed and swallowing at the sight of your sleeping form, he feels himself visibly relax. You’re just too perfect – and as he inhales the smell of you, he knows he’d do it again if it meant keeping you safe, keeping you his.)

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Though Sanemi can’t deny the allure of domesticity with you, kidnapping you is actually something he is very strongly against. It’s a combination of factors that leave him hesitant to steal you away – he’s worried that it would permanently alter your personality, and he doesn’t want you to fear him.

He’s lucid enough to know that his feelings for you border and delve into creep territory, his penchant for following you and compulsively checking on you making it difficult to see himself as anything other than a pathetically obsessed man chasing and lusting after an innocent civilian woman.

And yet, he can’t stop himself from wanting you, needing you so badly that it physically hurts, and so Sanemi gives into his more disturbing urges with the clear, resolute promise to himself that he’ll never do anything truly drastic.

And of course, kidnapping you falls into this category. It’s the only way he can justify following you around, fantasizing about holding you and touching you and hearing you say his name. It’s the only way he can calm himself down when moments of lucidity and clarity come rushing at him, guilt clawing at his throat because why the fuck is he hovering over your sleeping figure and reaching into his trousers right now?

He doesn’t trust himself around you, and that’s only another deterrent to keeping you locked up and away with him. It’s like he’s not in control of his body when you’re present – he’s always looking at you, sneaking glances even when he explicitly tells himself not to.

(Even when he instigates a sort of punishment system for himself – he clenches his fist hard enough to draw blood or pinches himself too tightly every time he catches himself doing it, trying to break the habit. Instead, however, he finds himself littered in bruises and all sorts of crescent-shaped marks on his palms, his will-power no match for the way he needs to be looking at you constantly.)

He’s always gravitating towards you, keeping his body facing in your direction, just so that if you do something or say something he’ll be able to immediately respond, every fiber of his being hoping that you’ll reach out, that you’ll speak to him, that you’ll acknowledge him.

(Hell, he’s even lost control subconsciously – he’s puffing his chest out without thinking about it when you’re around him, subtly trying to make the deep slit in his uniform go wider so that you can see more of his corded muscles, clenching his abs tightly enough to make the definition impossible to ignore. He’s running his hands through his hair the moment someone mentions your name, swiping his bangs out of his eyes just to look presentable, just so that if you see him you’ll maybe, just maybe find him attractive and appealing.)

It’s pathetic, he thinks, and he’s terrified that once you’re stolen away by his side, trapped with him as your sole companionship and provider (an idea that does, of course, make something pleasurable and good roll up his spine), these behaviors will only get worse. If he can’t control himself when he’s still physically distant from you, who knows what he’ll feel at liberty to do once you have nowhere else to run.

He’ll never hurt you, he’s sure of it, but he really, really doubts that you’ll be comfortable with all of the things that his subconscious wants to do to you. He’s sure you don’t particularly want to be encaged in his arms while he squeezes and squeezes and squeezes, trying to get you as close as physically possible because he’s still irritated that he can’t live inside of your skin.

(But what if he crushes you, or somehow breaks your bones with the strength of his affection? It’s enough to get him biting his lip, staring down at his open palms and scowling, frustrated at himself because he knows the euphoria of touching you will make him stupid.)

He’s sure you don’t want him to hand-feed you, bringing the chopsticks up to your mouth, watching your pretty, soft lips open up and letting him place the home-cooked food against your tongue.

(And seeing you looking at him with your mouth open, taking something that he’s made and given to you against your tongue will have him flushing, swallowing heavily and having to look away because fuck he’s such a pervert and he’s ruining a sweet moment by growing unbearably hard in his trousers, and oh god – what if there’s a wet spot when he stands up? Will you notice? Fuck fuck fuck!)

It’s a recipe for disaster, not to mention the fact that your fear and hesitance would likely force you to become a shell of your former self. You’d be reduced to nothing but a skeleton of your personality, and that’s the absolute last thing Sanemi wants. He wants you – authentically, fully, as you are when you’re free and independent. And stealing you away would change that, he’s sure – and he’d never forgive himself for diminishing even a flicker of your light.

But of course, misfortune seems to follow Sanemi like some sort of sick joke – it’s only a matter of time before something terrible happens.

It’s a demon attack, likely. Perhaps some demon has noticed that a Hashira seems to hold a penchant for a particular human, and with his marechi blood they’re very, very eager to lure him out and feast on him. And in the process, you get caught in the crossfire – it’s rare that Sanemi leaves you completely and truly alone, but when he’s been summoned for a mission, he can’t exactly decline.

And so, he rushes through the job, quickly finding the demon and slaughtering it in the quickest, fastest way possible before immediately returning back to you, falling into the shadows so that he can continue to keep an eye on you, letting out a rather harsh breath when he finally spots you again, in tact and unharmed.

Except one night, as he sprints through the dark forest, he sees the very faint outline of your home and immediately his eyes go wide.

Your front door is wide open.

He generally thinks you’re rather careless about your safety, sure, but even you aren’t that bad – something is wrong. He pushes himself to run faster, harder, his breaths sounding more like wheezing as he descend on your house, immediately rushing inside and drawing his sword. The adrenaline coursing through his veins only makes him falter for a moment upon seeing his absolute worst nightmare – you’re on the ground, eyes slowly blinking and your body crumpled up, most of your visible skin covered with blood.

His nostrils flare, the sight of the demon crouching over you making his grip on the sword hilt so tight his knuckles turn white, something akin to a genuine growl coming from him.

Get the hell away from her!

He’s yelling and charging, immediately activating his breathing technique and beheading the creature before it can even react. His chest is still heaving, and despite the black mist that begins to appear on the creature’s neck, he’s immediately settling down, straddling the creature and throwing punch after punch. It’s bloody – it’s spraying all over his uniform, staining the white as his fists dig into flesh, denting and tearing and destroying, all the while Sanemi is yelling at it, cursing and calling it a vile, disgusting creature, claiming it’s trying to hurt and kill his woman.

It’s terrifying, really, and as you slowly lose consciousness you’ll find yourself feeling even more terrified, unsure of what’s happening.

And as the demon disappears, Sanemi slowly calms down, gathering his senses and immediately grabbing you, carrying you to the Butterfly Mansion as quickly as his legs can carry him. He doesn’t want to bring you home (or at least, he knows he shouldn’t), but once Shinobu has you patched up and he returns to your now blood-stained abode, Sanemi’s biting his lip, wavering.

He can’t let you come back here – not with the knowledge that you could be attacked again, not when you’re out of his sight and protection, not when you’re so very vulnerable. And so, he begrudgingly brings you back to his estate, settling you into the bedroom as far away from his own as possible.

(He’d refrained from keeping you in the room he’s spent the last few months pretending was your own, too – outfitted with all of the items he’s bought for you but been too afraid to give to you: all sorts of hairpins, beautiful weavings, flowers, even small, curtly written notes he’d been crazed enough to write in the dead of night when he just could not stop thinking of you. No, that’d be too much – he doesn’t want to overwhelm you, so he locks that room up, praying that you never, ever find out about it.)

When you awake, you’ll find yourself changed into fresh, clean clothing (soft clothing, too, the kind that you could never afford), tucked into a bed in a room you don’t recognize. The futon is soft, the sheets warm and decorated with a pattern and color that you distinctly note is a favorite of yours. Your entire body hurts, wincing as you sit up.

It’s only then that the door slides open, a tuft of white hair greeting you as Sanemi clears his throat, wide eyes glancing at every visible part of your body. He’s rather curt when he explains where you are, glossing over the why and instead cryptically reiterating that you’re safe now, so drop it.

As a captor, Sanemi is surprisingly attentive – you’d known each other before your  kidnapping, of course, though he’d always seemed like a rather hot-headed, difficult man.

And those mannerisms certainly don’t change when he’s got you trapped with him – except now you can see that there’s something deeper under the surface, something vulnerable and raw and real. You’ll see it in the way that he touches you like you’re made of glass – shying away and retracting his hands just moments before they touch your skin, acting almost as if the idea of touching you repulses him.

(God, nothing could be less true – he so desperately wishes to brush his fingertips against the smooth skin of your thighs, to cup your cheeks in his palms, to press his lips against yours – softly, slowly, as if he can’t quite believe that you’re real.)

You’ll see it in the way that he has every meal cooked and prepared for you, the Wind Estate quiet and empty except for the two of you. It’s always your favorite foods, cooked with every idiosyncrasy and taste of yours in mind, with a level and degree of accuracy that will terrify you at first.

And frankly, you will be terrified at first – he’s reluctant to admit his feelings to you, sure that if you were to know the truth of the situation you’d immediately reject him, and as stupid as it is Sanemi doesn’t think he could handle your rejection. It would break him, emotionally, physically, and mentally, leaving him a shell of a man and still just as desperately, pathetically in love with you if not more so.

But the reason you’ll be terrified isn’t because of his demeanor or the way you think he feels – rather, it will become obvious very quickly that Sanemi knows much more about you than you thought. You know you’ve never told him your preferred menstrual supplies, and yet the bathroom he’s assigned to you is stocked full of the exact model and heaviness you prefer.

(It’s your own bathroom, thankfully, though when you’re asleep sometimes Sanemi will sneak in, picking up your toothbrush and letting it sit against his lips, suckling at the bristles and rifling through your trash just to find a pad or two when he knows you’re menstruating. He’d rather slice off his own hand than admit it to you, of course, but just being in a space that you regularly use makes him feel special, connected to you in a way that makes his knees weak and the smallest, faintest of smiles cross his lips.)

You’re sure you’ve never mentioned what clothing size you wear, and yet there’s a slew of brand new, beautifully made kimonos and lounging wear perfectly tailored to your body, all in a range of colors and designs that are your favorites.

(There’s also a few in a lime green material and a single, pure white one, both of which were guilty pleasures that Sanemi felt compelled to include in his orders from the local seamstresses. And if you were to wear one, willingly, during a shared meal with him? Well, don’t comment on the pink color of his cheeks, nor the way he ever so slightly stutters when he tells you that you look nice.)

Frankly, he’s a pretty good captor to have – he gives you space, and forces himself to stay away from you for most of the day in an effort to not overwhelm you. At least, at the beginning. He tells himself it’s enough to know that you’re locked up in the Wind Estate, safe and sound and perfectly removed from the danger of the outside world, but his paranoia and yearning for your company eventually drive him to spend just a hair more time with you.

Instead of giving you privacy during meals, he’ll instead knock at your door, entering with his own plate and sitting down as far away from you as possible within the room, silently eating and trying not to make his staring too obvious.

(He mentally justifies it as making sure that you don’t choke on your food, but really it’s more about seeing you enjoy what he’s made for you and knowing that you’ve eaten today. Good. He'll sharply inhale, biting back a smile as he slowly eats his own food, trying to prolong the moment.)

He spoils you with all sorts of gifts and supplies for any hobbies you may have, and while he initially doesn’t interact with you as you knit or draw or read, eventually he’ll gather the courage to ask you a question, trying (and failing) to sound nonchalant as he asks what it is that you’re drawing, how to knit, or what your favorite book is.

It’s a slow but steady process, and as time passes and you grow more and more complacent with your situation, you’ll find yourself coming to enjoy the rough, oddly charming presence of Sanemi. Even if his stalking and feelings for you become an unspoken truth, his fondness for you difficult to ignore (with the way he treats you so gently, spoils you, and very poorly hides the way his cock springs to life each time you say his name).

And so really, Sanemi feels guilty enough for being in love with you, and even more guilty for forcing you into a life of complacency – the least you could do is compliment him, right? You could at least invite him to join you for meals and walks around the modest garden of his estate. You could at least intertwine your fingers with his and pretend to not notice the way he gasps, mumbling something incoherent that sounds vaguely like your name.

Really, it’s the least you could do – and with every action, Sanemi only falls for you harder, deeper, his resolve to keep you safe, happy and his only growing.

PUNISHMENTS:

While his obsession with you alters certain parts of his personality, some characteristics remain absolutely true regardless of his feelings for you. And unfortunately, one of them is his quick-trigger temper.

You calm him, the mere sound of your voice making the tension in his muscle relax, the clenching of his jaw lessening slightly, the tensing of his shoulders becoming less pronounced. The feeling of your hand pressing against his chest makes him freeze in place, the anger simmering in his gut becoming more diluted, the rage slowly leaving him because god, you’re standing right in front of him and he can see every fine detail of your face and he can smell you and god…

You have a physical effect on him that calms him ever so slightly, but he still finds himself remarkably susceptible to rage, even with you in his vicinity.

Of course, rarely ever is he actually mad at you – early into his infatuation he’d found himself constantly irritated and enraged at you, convinced that you’d somehow purposefully made him into the lovesick fool that he is, unable and unwilling to admit to himself that it’s entirely his own doing leading to his spiral into dependence on you. He’d even tried to hate you, consciously filling his head with lies and telling himself that you were weak, a burden, only something that would slow him down. And yet, the anger was never quite real, never quite honest.

(Never directed at you, really, but more directed at himself for being so weak as to form such strong, dependent feelings on you.)

And so, Sanemi’s anger more often than not revolves around someone else – often, someone around you. Men that get too close, friends that meddle when they notice that you have Sanemi as an unwanted admirer, your boss when they treat you poorly, even strangers that are even the slightest bit rude to you.

He’ll never go far enough as to injure another human to point of death, if only because he’s still guided by morals that yearn to save humans, but Sanemi is absolutely committed to making sure that you’re treated like the royalty that he perceives you as.

(Often, any men that feel bold enough to approach you, or god forbid touch you meet a bloody, painful altercation with the Hashira, unable to do anything but be pounded into a pulp as he swings and punches, leaving them a bloody semi-conscious mess on the ground, even spitting onto them as he mutters something about being a fuckin’ monster, assaulting women like it’s nothing…)

But all that said, there are a few very specific things that can get Sanemi angry at you, too. He can forgive you lashing out at him and calling him terrible names, even openly welcoming it sometimes because he knows it’s true.

He’s mostly worried when you attempt to escape rather than angry, terrified that you’ll somehow hurt yourself or be eaten by a demon if you manage to get through the patch of wisteria trees surrounding the perimeter of his estate. Instead, his main triggers are when you injure yourself, or when you say something negative or degrading about yourself.

 He’s so paranoid about your safety and health that the mere idea of you injuring yourself gets him borderline panicking, his breathing getting heavier and his hands starting to tremble as panic engulfs him because he absolutely cannot lose you, too.

He’s always quick to reprimand you, yelling at you but dressing your wounds as gently as possible, treating you as if you’re made of glass and cleaning everything perfectly to prevent any further harm. But really, what truly angers Sanemi is when you display a lack of self-respect, though he’ll never explicitly punish you.

He loves you – so much so that it physically hurts, his chest aching when he’s away from you, every muscle growing restless and anxiety settling in his gut because he needs to see you right now. He’s a worshipper in every sense of the word, and to have you disrespecting yourself and talking down to yourself in any capacity is enough to get his blood boiling. It’s two-fold, really, because not only is it an assault on your character, but it’s an assault on his, too. It’s a remark against him for thinking of you so highly, for revering you and kissing the ground you walk on. It bruises his pride and makes him defensive of you, even if it’s you yourself making the remark.

And so, Sanemi tends to grow angry, unable to comprehend how you can possibly see yourself as something less-than when he’s so utterly enraptured with every fiber of your being.

Being trapped with him means long expanses of time where you’re alone, Sanemi out on a mission or pulled away begrudgingly, and as time passes this will slowly start to affect you.

Too much alone time equates to an awful lot of staring in the mirror, fingers prodding at the skin of your cheeks or arranging your hair this way or that, furrowing your brow and trying to understand exactly what it is about you that makes Sanemi so enthralled. You can’t put your finger on it – you’re just you, and while he’s never come right out and said it, you’re very aware that Sanemi finds you beautiful.

(You’ve overheard him, after all, late at night when he’s muffling his groans and the wet schlock schlock noise is audible even through the wall separating you. It’s difficult to not hear it, after all, when he’s moaning your name as he gets close, stuttered curses and little gasps of s-so beautiful, fuck and all sorts of other praises slipping out of him as his orgasm approaches.)

It’s too much time for you to be alone and overanalyze. And even now that you’ve been with him for well over a year, now that your whole world has become Sanemi Shinazugawa, it’s too easy to let the insecurities get the best of you.

And really, you shouldn’t have ever mentioned it – later that night, when Sanemi returns home from his latest mission, he can immediately tell that something is wrong. He closes and locks the multitude of locks on the front door, glancing at you with skepticism and worry, before placing his hands on your hips and pulling you close, leaving a single long kiss against your forehead as he asks you what’s wrong. Your small mumble of nothing doesn’t convince him, but Sanemi just pushes it aside, deciding to revisit the subject after you’ve both eaten.

 Dinner is quiet, and it’s halfway through that he decides enough is enough.

What the hell’s the matter with you? He’s asking, setting down his chopsticks and staring pointedly at you.

You’re not too terribly afraid of your captor by this point, but the intensity of his stare still makes you fold in on yourself slightly, embarrassment and self-consciousness eating away at you. Sanemi continues the staring, unwilling to back down, eventually scoffing and telling you to just spit it out, I’ll wait as long as it takes.

And that you believe, enough to get you blurting out a quick I’m not good enough for you to be so in love with.

It’s slurred and difficult to understand even to your own ears, but it gets Sanemi’s face twisting up, a mixture of shock and confusion making his brows knit together and that familiar scowl sit on his lips.

What the fuck? It’s all he can ask, really, because this is so out of left field and unexpected that he genuinely has no clue how to respond.

At his pointed confusion and silence, you play with your thumbs, hunger totally gone as the words start falling out of you like some sort of nervous word vomit. It’s just that I don’t really get why you’re so – so fixated on me. I’m nothing special, and before you get angry at me just know that it’s okay and I’m not trying to get away I just –

Sanemi cuts you off by rising to his feet before you can even blink, a hand snapping out to wrap around your wrist. Before you know it you’re being dragged down a series of long hallways until you come face to face with a door you’ve never set foot passed – Sanemi’s personal, private room.

Normally, when the two of you share a bed (something that has only recently begun happening, after Sanemi gathered the courage and you’ve become so touch-starved that you welcomed his presence), you sleep in the room he's had made up for you, Sanemi allowing you to stay in the quasi-comfort of your ‘own’ room rather than force you into yet another unfamiliar situation.

 But you hardly have any time to gawk at the room before he’s shoving you in front of his modest mirror, the reflection of yourself making you blink twice. He's angry – you can see his face in the mirror now, and his cheeks area  bright red and a few veins are standing out against his neck, a sure sign that he’s livid and is only barely able to hold himself back from acting on it.

 It makes you shrink slightly, though you’re confident at this point that he won’t hurt you, at least not purposefully.

Look at yourself, he tells you, voice strained. He’s standing behind you, gripping onto your shoulders and forcing you to face yourself in the mirror.

You do as you’re told, but it doesn’t seem to satisfy Sanemi.

He groans, resting his forehead against the slope of your shoulder. Look at yourself.

A pause, then: Please.

Swallowing, you search each and every feature of your familiar face. Your eyes, nose, lips, cheeks, eyebrows, jaw, anything and everything you can think of. After a few moments, Sanemi looks at you in the mirror again, his eyebrows furrowed tightly.

Do you really not see it? He asks, and you merely shake your head.

He bares his teeth. Dammit, how can you not? How can you be so fucking blind?

It’s harsh, his words making you wince slightly, but they’re loaded with something unlike his usual rage – there’s something sweeter to it, something that feels different and gets you meeting his gaze in the mirror. The look on his face is almost pleading, and you’re struck with the realization that he’s not angry, he’s frustrated. Genuinely frustrated that you don’t seem to understand just what he sees in you.

Slowly, you bring your fingers up to your cheeks, fingertips pressing against the soft skin. Sanemi watches you with bated breath, his grip on you still tight.

Compliment yourself, he instructs, the words sounding strained. You blink at him, swallowing heavily.

You mutter out a small comment of how your eyes aren’t too terrible, and Sanemi groans at that. His hand moves from your shoulder to your chin, pinching at it and bringing you closer to the mirror. Give yourself a real compliment, or I’ll stand here all fucking day until you do.

You tell him that you have pretty eyes, and it seems to please him. He nods, almost subconsciously, keeping his grip on your chin. Damn right you do. Pretty eyes and a pretty smile. Tell me more.

He keeps you in this position for nearly an hour, forcing you to list off each and every possible compliment about your looks and personality that you can think, his gaze never wavering in intensity or sincerity as he grunts and nods at each and every one.

It’s only as your jaw starts to ache and you start to grow restless that Sanemi eventually lets go, turning you gently to face him. A finger lightly traces over the shape of your lips as he exhales, the softness of his actions and the moment making you feel light.

Don’t undersell yourself. His voice is firm, his lips set in a thin line. You’re perfect, and you need to accept that.

He covers your mouth with his hand as you part your lips to respond, shaking his head. No, none of that shit. We’re doing this every day until you decide that you’re good enough for me – until you prove to me that you respect yourself the way you should. New compliments every day, and I don’t care how hard it is for you. When you run out, I’ll step in, but you’re elaborating on everything I say. Got it?

You nod, a strange sort of tenderness welling up inside of you that only makes tears prick at the corner of your eyes because oh god, how wrong is this? Your captor, the man who stole you away and keeps you trapped inside his him, is complimenting you and it’s making you feel more loved and wanted and appreciated than you’ve felt in your whole life. There’s just something so sincere about his push for you to understand just how wonderful he thinks you are that makes your lower lip wobble, the way he’s actually genuinely enraged by your insecurities and the absurdness of them making your nose tingle.

It's sweet, something your captor really shouldn’t be, and as tears slip down your cheeks Sanemi awkwardly presses you against his chest, silent as his grip grows progressively tighter. He’s no stranger to insecurity, and as he drags you to the mirror the next day and the next after that, you’ll slowly find yourself believing him when he says that you’re kind, that you’re beautiful, that he wants you more than he’s ever wanted anything else in his life.

It's strange and you may hate yourself for it, but as the days pass you’ll find yourself growing more and more fond of Sanemi, his commitment to improving your self-esteem feeling like the more intimate thing anyone has every done for you, and slowly you’ll find yourself seeing him in more and more of a romantic light. Sure, he’s stolen you away and stalked you extensively, but when he holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear and calls you beautiful in a voice so raw that it cracks, how can you not fall for him? Maybe you’re sick in the head, depraved, any number of terrible things, but with each compliment he forces from your lips, you’ll find yourself caring less.

He just really, really loves you, doesn’t he?

OVERALL DANGER:

4/10

By and large, Sanemi is akin to a large, possessive guard dog. The mere thought of hurting you makes him sick to his stomach, and he’ll go to any possible length to ensure your health and safety.

(He’s had literal nightmares about leaving you bloody and bruised, and he’s actually woken up and immediately hurled, breathing hard and nearly in tears because it felt so real and it’s almost like your blood is actually on his hands.)

He’s paranoid, terrified that you’ll somehow be killed and stolen away from him, your presence the only thing that seems to calm him, growing to become the only thing that motivates him to wake up every morning.

He’s overprotective, letting his fear for your safety bleed into every aspect of his relationship with you – he’s following you around like a lovesick puppy, constantly vigilant for threats to your safety. He’s obsessively tracking your meals, fussing over making sure that you’re getting balanced, nutritious foods, constantly asking you if you’ve drunk water on any particular day.

And he’s possessive – refusing to allow you to interact with most men, skeptical of your friends, entirely untrusting of each and every person in your life. He won’t try to manipulate you into isolating yourself, but Sanemi really, really wants to, only holding back for the sake of your mental wellbeing. And really, that’s a large factor in Sanemi’s behavior towards you – he loves you, or at least in his own deranged, too-intense way, and he’s willing to kill himself physically and emotionally just to make sure that you never frown, that you’re never sad or angry or afraid.

His first priority is you, always, and it’s only after that that he considers getting you to love him back. It’s of course the goal – he wants you so badly that you have no fucking clue, because how could you? How could you possibly understand just how deeply his dependence on you has become, just how intertwined a mere scrap of your attention becomes for his self-confidence, his happiness, his sanity in his day-to-day life?

He’s well and truly whipped for you, his every waking thought revolving around you, but you’ll that your life will be relatively good with him. He’ll treat you like a queen, spoiling you and doing everything in his power to keep you happy, and can you really hate it as much as you claim to?

Can you really, honestly say that Sanemi is a monster when he keeps you well cared for and respects you despite the way you know he wants to ravage you and keep you all for himself?

Can you honestly say that you don’t want him just as badly, that you’ve become so accustomed to him that you’re well and truly his?

Sanemi sure hopes not, and as time passes, you’ll slowly give into the small, desperately and pathetically hopeful looks of his, reaching out to touch him when he’s too hesitant to initiate, even whispering those lovely, sacred three little words. And once you do, he’ll only work harder to adore you, only falling deeper and deeper into obsession with every passing day.

With every passing second, really.

[animeyanderelover]

@lucyrose9820 asked: The yanderes receive a massage from her lover since she has seen them stressed (Sanemi, Tomioka, Reiner, Erwin, Kaneki, Tomura, Pain, chae yul).

Tw: Yandere themes, toxic relationship, possessive, behavior, obsession, clinginess, delusional behavior

Tags: @shumidehiro @swagenemyartisan @chxxz @flaming-vulpix @leveyani @iloveeyanderes @nightmaresprophet

Receiving a massage from their s/o

Pain

🌧️​Pain is a unique case because all the bodies he uses are corpses and his real body is always hidden away, even you get to see Nagato rarely. Physical affection is due to this fact in a sense almost pointless as you essentially only have the puppets he uses. Giving one of his bodies a massage wouldn't even resolve his stress yet he wouldn't deny you if you were to ask if you could do this for one of his bodies, most likely the one of Yahiko if we consider that this is the body he keeps around the most. There is going to be a potentially tense atmosphere though which is mainly derived from the lack of reaction from Pain's side as you massage the cold skin of one of his bodies. It is Yahiko's real body who would be in a more urgent need of a massage yet he'd be very adament on not letting you touch him. His body is in a terrible condition, wrecked beyond repair and you'd need a good portion of his trust for him to let you that close for that long to him, that is if you can even handle the sight of his destroyed and sick body. He'd be so tense the entire time though as you somehow have to work your way around the black rods embedded in his skin, purple eyes constantly looking at you slightly uncomfortable.

Erwin Smith

🎖️​Erwin is a man loaded with ambitions, responsibility and duties as the Commander of the Survey Corps and with that position comes a good portion of stress and problems at times. Normally he'd do his best to hide potential stress he is feeling from you but you eventually learn to read the subtle signs that something is plaguing his mind. Whether he actually accepts your offer or not is actually something that depends on what it is exactly that weighs on his mind as he is the type to keep such things to himself. He'd give in with a subtle sigh when he caves in and accepts your offer before he removes his shirt and lays down on your shared bed. He'd be quiet for the first half of it all until he starts slowly loosening up and starts talking with you. It'll mainly be about small and unimportant things as he remains secretive about what it is that is currently the source of his stress though if you manage to really kneed the stress out of his back muscles well, he may vaguely talk about the predicament he finds himself currently in. He'll also guide you a bit by telling you which areas are stiff and need the help of your fingers kneeding all the tension out of them.

Reiner Braun

🟤​Reiner's wellbeing, at least mentally, relies largely on you as the years pass and he receives trauma after trauma. This is no secret to you either as he panics and has meltdowns if he can't find you, extremely paranoid as well as terrified that you may end up leaving him too which would leave him utterly devastated and unable to deal with his life. His stress is very visible and he always reaches out to you first whenever it gets the better of him, which happens quite frequently. Any reassurance and affection is welcomed in such situations which is why he'd agree before you can even finish your question. He'll be a putty mess the entire time as your hands squeeze and massage his tense muscles, his breath hitching a couple of times when you find an especially tense knot and work your way through those spots until they loosen up. Instead of talking, he'd prefer to hear your voice throughout the massage as it is his favorite sound in the world. Talk about your day, your favorite memories or just whisper reassurances to him, you'll have him melting underneath you no matter what.

Tomura Shigaraki

✋Shigaraki is an individual who is prying for your affection and depending on which version we're talking about, he'll be either very bratty about it or more secretive and mature. He's always been a malicious and twisted person but he hasn't always considered that this would influence your own feelings for him which is why he would be more surprised to hear such an offer from you after he's freed himself from the shackles of his past due to him being more understanding of your possibly conflicted feelings for him at this stage. Pre-Re-Destro Tomura would be surprisingly iffy at first though, wondering if you have any hidden intentions whilst post-Re-Destro Tomura would be better to assess your request as honest and innocent, his own heart fluttering for a moment when he realises that you do seem to care for him. Shigaraki isn't used to being touched much and his bratty version is going to make that obvious by constantly squirming around when your fingers dig into his muscles and constantly stealing glances at you with a growing blush on his face whilst a more mature version of himself-whilst facing the same sensitivity- would be able to hide it better whilst remaining still.

Ken Kaneki

🔲​The biggest cause of Kaneki's stress is going to be his own insecurity in regards to you. Constantly fretting over your wellbeing and your safety whilst completely dismissing his own needs, you become the center of his world. He thinks of himself as despicable and a monster, thinks any hatred you feel for him is justified all whilst secretly craving for you to give him a slice of affection still. His heart nearly jumps out of his chest when he hears your question before he turns around with reddened cheeks, eyes blown wide open as he stutters and stammers. A-are you sure? Did he just hear that right? Easily manipulated to follow your every beckon and call as long as it doesn't require him to part ways with you, despite his low self-esteem he finds himself being guided to the futon where he lies down and removes his shirt. His heart is pounding and his face is burning the moment your fingers brush the skin on his back, his muscles tensing up due to how flustered and nervous he is feeling for a good while until he slowly starts relaxing. He gets embarrassed when he lets out a throaty grunt for the first time when your fingers dig into stiffened muscles until you reassure him that it's fine.

Tomioka Giyu

🌊​Giyu is a person who tends to get stressed out not only by his status as a Hashira and his survivor guilt but also because the people around him stress him out. Though he wouldn't admit it openly as he's aware os his obsessive feelings, your presence is needed in order for him to have some semblance of peace in his life. Your question catches him by surprise as he stops what he is doing for a second before he turns around to look at you with his deep blue eyes. Seconds trickle by and the situation gets somewhat awkward until you swear that you can see a faint pink blush on his face. You'll have to pester him for a while as you realise that he's feeling a tad bit shy with the aspect of having you touch him that much. Stubbornness eventually leads you to where you wanted to have him as he rests on his stomach on the futon, his torso bare for you to work on. He's almost too silent though so you feel the need to ask him sometimes how it feels and if there are any stiff spots he'd like you to work through and his answers are as short and laconic as ever. It's only when you catch a sight of his face that you realise that the pink blush has spread on his face as he feels your hands touching him.

Shinazugawa Sanemi

🌪️​As someone who has a rather short temper and thinks of himself at times surrounded by idiots, Sanemi finds himself on more than one occasion in a bad mood. Luckily you manage to cool his scorching temper efficiently by now as you have been more or less forced to adapt after all. It is your experience in how to handle him when he comes storming back to the house with a scowl on his face that leads you to ask him if he'd like you to give him a massage. He does stop for a moment to process your words before he agrees and drags you to the bedroom. He quickly undresses before flopping down on the futon, his scarred and muscular back facing you, flexing his muscles on purpose. If he notices that your gaze lingers on his scars and muscles, he's going to give you a cocky grin before reminding you to not forget to use your hands in between admiring his body so much. He'll remain surprisingly silent as soon as you start working on his back though, only the occasional grunt leaving his lips when you find a especially tense spot. He enjoys it a lot, in fact so much that he kind of demands you to do this more often from him whenever he has to deal with another bunch of idiots again.

Chae Yul

💜​Chae Yul is openly trying to coax any affectionate response out of you whilst busily smothering you in his own. He's touch-starved and deprived of any love and affection and acts like it to the point where he disturbs other people with his burning jealousy and possessive clinginess. Any affection you give him is something he will pounce on like a starved dog. His face immediately bursts into a red blush when you ask him if he'd be fine with you giving him a massage as he has been stressed out lately due to some of your friends trying to convince you that he is a bad influence for you. He agrees with a giddy grin on his face, his shirt tossed carelessly to the ground as he turns around to give you access. The blush only deepens as soon as your fingers dig into his flesh, his hands tightening their hold on the material beneath him as he starts to whimper whenever you find an especially good spot and press into his tense muscles. It honestly sounds like you're doing more than just giving him a massage, the red blush on his face not helping the image but he is much more shameless as he has fully embraced how depraved your love has made him.

[nyctoaerah]

⋆♱⋆THINKING ABOUT...

Warnings: Yandere behaviors, gore, delusional!sanemi, nemi is utterly smitten, explicit smut, oral (m + f receiving), death, MDNI.

Pairings: Yandere!Reversed Isekai’d! Sanemi x F!reader

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 got reversed isekai’d on your world due to a blood demon art of a random demon, and he ended up being on a mental asylum because they thought that he was crazy, ‘cause he’s babblin’ about demons and shit, while the other reason that he was on the mental asylum was because he was constantly harassing random people, demanding that they tell him where he was and why the fuck the streets and buildings looks different, not knowing that he’s not in his real world where demons actually existed.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 eventually found himself strapped into a straightjacket in a room because he was just too much of a wild card — violent and strong enough that the capture team couldn’t actually lay a finger on him. They had to resort to using a tranquilizer, and let me tell you, it was like trying to hit a bullseye on a moving target—his dodging skills and reflexes were nothing short of insane.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 shot you a death glare the moment he laid eyes on you, as if he was ready to unleash a tirade demanding his freedom and insisting that he wasn’t insane — if only that pesky gag hadn’t been in the way. They had to inject him full of sedative drugs just to get the gag off without him screaming at you like a banshee. But once the meds kicked in, he suddenly seemed to appreciate your finer features and actually thought you were cute—though to be fair, that could just be the drugs talking.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 was just staring at you, as if Cupid himself had taken a wrong turn and accidentally shot him right in the heart. The instant they yanked that gag off him, his mouth hung open like a goldfish, and his eyes were stretched wide. Because what the fuck, why the hell are you so gorgeous? Now he randomly and suddenly felt the urge to be shy, because what the fuck was he thinking on wanting to scream at such a pretty girl?

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 was blushing like a ripe tomato the whole time he was talking to you, your voice was like a sultry serenade that could charm a grumpy cat and had a calming effect on his frenzied mind, and the way you carried yourself with the grace of a swan? Yeah, good luck getting that guy to focus on anything other than the fact that he’s already head over heels even though he just met you

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 gets addicted by your presence, you were just so sweet and kind to him, unlike the other staff who would look at him in disgust and think of him as someone insane. He loves the way that you actually talk to him like he was an actual human being, and not some brute animal.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 blushes whenever you would bring him food — the food in the asylum was too bland after all, though, he never really tasted these foods back then, he still ate them, and he trusted you enough to know that you won’t poison him.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 loves the fact that you have to hand-feed him, because he’s wearing the straightjacket, and as much as it annoys him, it has its own perks! You were his caretaker and his psychologist, so you would have to do stuff for him, like brush his hair, and feed him.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 is absolutely very delusional. After all, why would you take care of him and look at him that way when you don’t like him? Surely you’re just giving him signs that you like him back, right, right, right?

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 tried his best to not hug you the moment he was freed from his straightjacket because you deemed him to be not that violent anymore — though, he was a bit disappointed because he has to do things by himself now.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 would often ask you questions about yourself, and take note of them — he would watch you yap and he would memorize every words that you said — that’s just how much of a simp he is.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 is a curious little creature, examining every single item you owned as if he were an art critic at a museum. Your phone and laptop, your earbuds — he treated them like rare archaeological finds, and the moment that you snapped a picture of the two of you, his instincts kicked in — He smashed your phone in the ground, because In his mind, it was a moment of sheer panic because apparently, you both had been duplicated and he was now facing his doppelgänger — and he thought that it was a blood demon art too.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 was sulking the moment that you started scolding him for what he did, but he just can’t help it, sanemi was worried that it might be a blood demon art!! He wants to keep his pretty lil psychologist safe after all. He tried to make it up to you by being a good lil patient, and somehow, someway, he ended up managing to get into your pants — tellin’ you that he could just make it up to you by pleasing you.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 found himself on his knees and in between your legs, hands grasping your hips, while his tongue laps at your dripping cunt, his skilled tongue circling your clit while his long fingers sink deep inside you. He hits all your sweet spots—you're certain he's some kind of cunt whisperer.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 loves the feeling of your praises as your soft lips wrap around his cock. The way that you look up at him throughогut, those desperate, adoring eyes, sending shivers down his spine and making his breath catch in his throat. He loves the way that your warm, wet mouth slides up and down his length — the sensation is so damnnnn good, he could almost cum just from that alone, not to mention, he has a real bad praise kink, want him to cum fast? Just give him some praises and tell him that he’s a good boy.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 thought that you two had something special, because of the usual ‘hooking up’ thingy, and he actually started to like bein’ in the asylum, so he started to assume that you two might be together, after all, why are you fucking him when you’re not even together? Surely you two must be together after all that session, right?

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 started to get violent thoughts whenever he would see you talking to other people. Why the fuck are you talking to them? Aren’t you supposed to be talking to him only? Your focus must be on him at all time, you’re his psychologist and not theirs after all.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 founds himself increasingly anxious the moment that you stopped going to the asylum to do your daily meetings. Where the fuck did you go? Did you ditched him? And left him?

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 broke out of the asylum and ended up killing a lot of people with his bare hands, demanding that they tell you where you are.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 ended up massacring the whole asylum, the guards? Yeah, he easily managed to overpower them, he is the wind hashira after all. He ended up knowing where you live when he was threatening a nurse before killing her off, because why did the nurse knew where you live? Surely, she must’ve been inlove with you, right? Yeah, he is totally delusional for his own good.

You sat in the dim light of the kitchen, your chair creaking softly beneath you as you leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, eyes fixated on the scattered notes that sprawled across the surface like fallen leaves after a storm. Each piece of paper held fragments of thoughts, scribbled words that felt like puzzle pieces yet to fit together.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that Sanemi was telling the truth—or at least his version of it. His words had a narrative so intricate, so unsettlingly detailed, that doubt began to gnaw at the edges of your sanity. The way he spoke about demons, with intense fervor and a wild look in his eyes, left you questioning stuff.

You sighed heavily, your fingers threading through your hair, tugging gently as if trying to pull the chaotic thoughts from your mind. How could someone be so unwaveringly serious about something as fantastical as demons? The notion seemed ludicrous, yet the fire in his glare spoke volumes about his conviction

Just as you were lost in the morass of thoughts, the tranquility of the moment shattered like glass. A loud crash reverberated through the air, a violent jolt that made your heart race and your breath hitch in your throat.

“Not now, please, not now.. damn it...” you murmured under your breath, a chill creeping up your spine as instinct took over.

Was it a thief?

Was someone trying to invade your house? Anxiety tightened its grip around your chest, making it hard to think. Your brows knitted together in a tight frown, and without a second thought, you rose from your seat, ready to call the police.

But as you took a step toward the hallway, the kitchen door burst open with an ear-shattering crash, splintering the wood like it was nothing more than a brittle cookie.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you stared at the figure lurching into view, amplifying the dread spiraling through your chest. Your heart thumped in your ears, each beat resounding like a warning drum as a chill swept through you, coiling cold fingers around your spine.

“Are you trying to fucking abandon me?” The voice was low, gravelly, sounding like it had scraped against something sharp. Sanemi stepped into the light, his fierce glare locking in your figure, and your eyes widened at the sight of him. He was a mess, blood splattered across his face, glistening under the dim glow of the flickering lanterns.

“Wh-what the—” Your words stumbled out, a jumbled array of shock and confusion that barely formed a coherent thought. Fear settled like a stone in the pit of your stomach, the memories flooding back — taunts and warnings from those who spoke of Sanemi, of how he’d beaten people up and how insane he truly was. You swallowed hard, battling the urge to recoil.

What the fuck was he doing here

no, no how the hell did he even managed to find out where you live?

How the hell did he escaped?

“Sanemi— what the hell—” Panic twisted your tongue, and you could barely manage to piece together a sentence. His presence enveloped you, a storm threatening to sweep you away. You felt the pulse of fear course through your veins, leaving you tongue-tied

“What did you think you were doing, huh?” he demanded, stepping closer, the intensity of his gaze sharpening into something almost accusatory. “Leaving me behind like that? You really think you could just walk away? It doesn’t work that way.”

“You promised me that you’ll stay until you managed to prove that i’m not schizophrenic.” He continued,

“Doc, i think i’m really schizophrenic, you still have to prove that i’m not.”

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝.♡

©𝐍𝐲𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐡 || 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 || 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐏𝐀𝐃

𝐀/𝐍: chat, watch me make this bullshit a whole ass book on Wattpad after i finish on doing limerence. ugh i’m so feral for soft!nemiii, he’s just so fucking hot aghhh, i should be focusing on my books n not be makin smuts for nemi💀💀💀

[gothicxreylover]

I'm a big fan of your writing so I want to request a Yandere hashira au (except muichiro unless aged up) when s/o abusive and toxic ex (husband/ wife or betrothed) comes to the hashira's and tries to take them back forcefully. Stay safe

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Hello!Thank you for your request and I am here to deliver! I wrote all the hashiras and in Muichiro’s story instead of a romantic relationship you have a toxic friendship and it’s implied that you and Muichiro take on a more platonic bond than Romantic. Anyways that’s all and I hope you enjoy!

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

(Forgot to state but toxic ex is switched genders around in some stories)

Kyojuro Rengoku

The tranquility of the Rengoku estate was shattered when your abusive ex-husband arrived, yelling your name and demanding you return to him. You instinctively stepped back, fear washing over you, but Kyojuro’s firm, protective presence moved in front of you immediately.

“Ah, so you’re the one who hurt them,” Kyojuro said, his voice steady but laced with quiet fury. “You have no right to be here.”

“They’re mine!” your ex barked, glaring at Kyojuro. “Get out of the way!”

Kyojuro’s expression didn’t waver. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “No. They are not yours, and they never will be again.”

When your ex tried to shove past him, Kyojuro moved with blinding speed, grabbing their wrist and twisting it just enough to make them yelp in pain. “Do not mistake my kindness for weakness,” Kyojuro said, his voice low and filled with restrained anger. “If you ever come near them again, I will ensure you regret it.”

The sheer intensity of his gaze made your ex retreat, muttering curses as they fled. Kyojuro turned back to you, his expression softening as he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“You’re safe now,” he said warmly. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again. You’re my responsibility, and I’ll protect you with my life.”

Gyomei Himejima

Your toxic ex-fiancé showing up at Gyomei’s temple was a mistake they would soon regret. As they shouted and demanded your return, Gyomei’s calm, towering presence made them falter.

“You’ve already caused them enough harm,” Gyomei said, his deep, rumbling voice steady as he clasped his hands in prayer. “Your actions have no place here.”

“They’re mine!” your ex hissed, trying to shove past him, but Gyomei’s massive frame didn’t move an inch.

“You mistake possession for love,” Gyomei said, his voice filled with quiet disappointment. When your ex tried to push harder, Gyomei grabbed their arm with one hand, his grip firm but not cruel. He effortlessly pinned them in place, his expression calm but unyielding.

“You will leave now,” Gyomei said, his tone as immovable as a mountain. “If you do not, I will ensure you cannot harm anyone ever again.”

The sheer power in his words made your ex flee, their bravado crumbling. Gyomei turned to you, his eyes soft with concern. “Are you unharmed?” he asked gently.

When you nodded, he knelt before you, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “You are safe here. I will not let anyone take you from this place of peace. You deserve love and protection, not fear.”

Muichiro Tokito (Toxic Ex-Best Friend)

It was an unexpected and unpleasant encounter when your toxic ex-best friend showed up, shouting about how you’d abandoned them. You froze at their familiar voice, but Muichiro’s protective instincts kicked in instantly.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Muichiro said calmly, stepping in front of you. His usually dreamy expression darkened, his sharp eyes locking onto your ex-friend.

“They’re my friend!” your ex-friend yelled, trying to push past Muichiro. “They owe me! They promised to always be there for me!”

Muichiro didn’t move, his stance as unshakable as a stone. “You’ve done nothing but hurt them,” he said softly, his tone devoid of emotion but carrying an undercurrent of danger. “That’s not what a friend is.”

Your ex-friend lunged forward, but before they could get close, Muichiro’s sword was out, the tip hovering inches from their chest. His expression remained calm, but his voice was icy. “Leave now, or I’ll make sure you can’t come back.”

The sheer coldness in his tone made your ex-friend hesitate, their confidence crumbling. They muttered something under their breath and turned to leave, shooting you a final glare before disappearing.

Muichiro sheathed his blade and turned to you, his gaze softening slightly. “You don’t have to deal with them anymore,” he said quietly. “You’re my family now. I won’t let anyone hurt you, no matter who they are.”

Mitsuri Kanroji

The soft hum of the Butterfly Estate was interrupted when your abusive ex-fiancé barged in, shouting your name and demanding you come back to them. The sound of their voice made you freeze, but Mitsuri’s protective instincts kicked in immediately.

She stepped between you and them, her usual bright and cheerful demeanor replaced by a fierce determination. “How dare you come here after everything you’ve done to them!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak.

“Get out of my way, you stupid woman,” your ex spat, trying to push past her.

But before they could get close, Mitsuri’s whip-like sword lashed out, the tip cracking against the ground just inches from their feet. Her green and pink hair swayed as she straightened, her eyes blazing. “You’re not taking them anywhere,” she said, her voice firm despite the tears pooling in her eyes.

Your ex faltered, sneering, “What can you do?”

Mitsuri’s grip on her sword tightened, and her voice dropped to a low, dangerous tone you’d never heard before. “I can make sure you regret ever laying a hand on them. Now leave before I lose my patience.”

The combination of her unyielding stance and the deadly glint of her blade was enough to send your ex retreating. Once they were gone, Mitsuri dropped her sword and turned to you, wrapping you in a tight embrace.

“You’ll never have to deal with them again,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’ll protect you. I love you too much to let anyone hurt you again.”

Shinobu Kocho

Your abusive ex-husband showing up at the Butterfly Estate was an unwelcome surprise. He barged in, yelling about how you belonged to him, but Shinobu was quick to intercept him, her ever-present smile masking the storm brewing beneath the surface.

“Oh my, what a rude intrusion,” she said lightly, stepping between you and your ex. “I’m afraid you’re not welcome here.”

“They’re mine!” your ex snapped, trying to push past her.

Shinobu’s smile didn’t falter, but her hand subtly tightened around a vial of poison she kept hidden in her sleeve. “Mine? That’s an interesting way to describe someone you treated so poorly,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

When he tried to grab your arm, Shinobu moved like lightning, her blade pricking his hand just enough to draw blood. “Careful now,” she said sweetly, her voice soft but laced with venom. “You wouldn’t want to get hurt, would you?”

Your ex recoiled, clutching his hand. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he hissed, backing away.

Shinobu tilted her head, her smile widening. “I could ask you the same question. Now, I suggest you leave before I decide to test one of my newest poisons.”

He stumbled out, cursing under his breath. Once he was gone, Shinobu turned to you, her expression softening as she reached out to touch your arm gently. “Are you all right, my love?”

When you nodded, she smiled, but this time it was warm and genuine. “Good. You don’t need to worry anymore. I’ll make sure he never comes near you again. You’re safe with me.”

Giyu Tomioka

The quiet peace of Giyu’s estate was shattered when your abusive ex-husband stormed in, shouting your name and demanding you return. You instinctively shrank back, but Giyu stepped forward, his expression as cold and unyielding as the edge of his blade.

“Leave,” Giyu said simply, his hand resting on the hilt of his katana.

Your ex scoffed, glaring at Giyu. “This has nothing to do with you. They’re mine, and I’m taking them back!” He tried to shove past Giyu, but before he could lay a finger on you, Giyu drew his sword, the sharp edge gleaming in the sunlight.

“You won’t touch them,” Giyu said, his voice low and calm, but there was an undeniable threat in his tone. “You’ve already hurt them enough. If you try again, I won’t show mercy.”

The man hesitated, his confidence faltering under Giyu’s piercing gaze. With one final glare, your ex turned and left, muttering curses under his breath.

Giyu didn’t lower his sword until the man was out of sight. Then he turned to you, his expression softening just enough to show his concern. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

When you nodded, he stepped closer, his presence steady and reassuring. “You’re safe here,” he said firmly. “I won’t let anyone take you away. Not ever.”

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Sanemi had been working out in the courtyard when your toxic ex-wife arrived, screaming insults and demanding you return to her. The sound of her voice made your blood run cold, but Sanemi’s reaction was immediate.

“The hell do you think you’re doing here?” he snarled, stepping between you and her.

“They’re mine!” your ex spat. “She belongs with me, not with some psycho like you!”

Sanemi’s laugh was sharp and humorless. “Belongs with you? You’ve got some nerve saying that after what you’ve done to them.” He cracked his knuckles, his eyes blazing with fury. “Touch them, and I’ll break every bone in your body.”

Your ex didn’t take the warning seriously and lunged for you, but Sanemi was faster. In an instant, he had her pinned against the wall, his hand gripping her throat just tightly enough to make her understand her mistake.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” Sanemi growled, his voice dripping with venom. “Next time, I won’t hold back. Get the hell out of here before I change my mind.”

She stumbled away, coughing and glaring, but she didn’t dare look back. Once she was gone, Sanemi turned to you, his expression still fierce but tinged with worry.

“You all right?” he asked gruffly, his hands reaching out to check for any signs of harm.

When you nodded, he exhaled sharply, muttering, “Good. I’m not letting anyone hurt you again, got it? You’re mine now, and no one’s taking you from me.”

Tengen Uzui and His Wives

Your toxic ex-fiancé had the audacity to arrive at Tengen’s estate, shouting about how you belonged to them and demanding you return. You froze, fear paralyzing you, but Tengen’s sharp laugh broke the tension.

“What a pitiful display,” Tengen drawled, stepping out with his wives flanking him. Makio had her daggers ready, Suma clung to his arm for dramatic effect, and Hinatsuru stood calmly with her bow in hand.

“You’re no match for us,” Makio snapped, glaring at your ex. “Get lost before you regret it!”

Suma added, “How dare you show your face here after what you did to them?!” Her voice was shrill, but the protective rage in her tone was unmistakable.

Hinatsuru didn’t waste time with words; she nocked an arrow, her eyes cold. “If you don’t leave now, I won’t miss.”

Tengen stepped forward, smirking. “Listen, unflashy pest. You think you can take my spouse back? That’s ridiculous. They’re part of my family now.”

Your ex lunged, but Tengen’s reflexes were unmatched. In an instant, he had them pinned to the ground, his blade at their neck. “You’ll leave and never come back. Or do I need to make an example of you?”

After your ex scrambled away in terror, Tengen turned to you with a broad grin. “See? No one messes with what’s mine.” His wives surrounded you, pulling you into a warm embrace. “We’ll always protect you.”

Obanai Iguro

Obanai’s obsession with you was a quiet but suffocating thing, his protective instincts always on high alert. So when your toxic ex-wife appeared, demanding to take you back, his first reaction was fury.

“How dare you show up here?” Obanai hissed, Kaburamaru coiling tighter around his shoulders. He stood between you and her, his mismatched eyes narrowing dangerously.

“They’re not yours,” your ex spat, moving to grab your arm. But before she could touch you, Obanai’s katana was drawn, its tip hovering millimeters from her throat.

“You’ll leave now,” Obanai said, his voice low and deadly. “If you try to take them from me, I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

Your ex tried to argue, but Kaburamaru hissed, and Obanai stepped forward, forcing her to back away. “Don’t come near them again,” he growled, watching her retreat.

Once she was gone, Obanai turned to you, his demeanor softening slightly. “You don’t need to be afraid. I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.” He gently wrapped his scarf around you, a symbol of his devotion. “You belong with me. No one else deserves you.”

[wisecura]

The wind and the leaf

p.5

Sanemi x Tsuguko-You

summary: You are the Tsuguko to Sanemi, the formidable Wind Hashira famed for his abrasive and harsh demeanor. Yet, your cool and calm presence in his live has him reeling. He just cant figure you out.

an: all smut no proofread. enjoy.

warning: this story may contain yandere-esque features. Just smut. and some fluff.

masterlist

p1. p.4

For the first time, Sanemi felt like he couldn’t hide.

Not from you. Not from the emotions swirling inside him that he’d been trying so hard to ignore. He clenched his fists at his sides, every muscle in his body tense, as if bracing for something he wasn’t prepared for.

The room seemed to shrink as the tension thickened between the two of you, the weight of unspoken words pressing heavily against the walls. Your question hung in the air, sharp and direct.

"What did you mean?"

Sanemi’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides as he struggled to meet your gaze. But there was no escaping this. Not anymore. His chest felt like it might explode, his heart racing as he finally let the truth spill out.

"I mean I love you," his voice somewhat weak, his voice low and laced with gruffness.

The words didn’t come out tender or gentle. They were raw and possessive, as though they’d been clawing their way out of him for far too long. He shifted closer, the distance between you evaporating as his intense gaze locked onto yours, deep and heavy.

"I love you," he repeated, his voice softer now but no less intense. "And I hate seeing you with anyone else. I hate the way you smile at him, the way you talk to him like he’s someone special."

His hand reached out, brushing against your arm as if grounding himself, keeping you within reach.

"You’re mine," he said, his tone firm, possessive, leaving no room for doubt. "Not his, not anyone else’s. Just mine."

You blinked, clearly shocked by his sudden confession. Your cheeks flushed a deep pink, your lips parting slightly as though you wanted to respond but couldn’t find the words. Despite your surprise, there was something shy about the way you looked at him, something that told him you didn’t hate what you’d just heard—not even a little.

Sanemi’s grip on your arm tightened ever so slightly, his gaze narrowing as he leaned in, his breath brushing against the skin across your neck.

"You shouldn’t keep teasing me, you know," he murmured, voice laced with affection, seeming to scold you. "Especially when you’re sharing a room with a man. Did you forget that? Or do you not see me as a man?"

Unconsciously, you shudder, your voice barely above a whisper as you stammer, "N-no, I didn't mean—" Your eyes dart away shyly, avoiding his intense gaze, but he doesn’t miss the way your thighs press together under the weight of his proximity. You shut your mouth before you embarrass yourself.

Sanemi’s sharp eyes dropp down to the subtle movement, and a smirk rests on his pretty face. He couldn't believe his luck. you were actually responding to him.

Slowly, deliberately, he moves a hand to rest gently on your leg, the warmth of his touch burning through the fabric of your skirt. He doesn’t grip or push—just rests it there, waiting.

His gaze doesn’t leave your face, searching for any sign of rejection or discomfort. But you don’t push him away. You don’t even flinch. If anything, your body grows even more tense, your chest rising and falling a little faster, your breath uneven. You cant look him in the eyes.

"You don’t hate this," he says, his voice low and husky, more a statement than a question. His thumb brushes your leg slightly, just enough to make your breath hitch audibly. "If you did, you’d tell me to stop."

Your lips part, but no words come out, only a shaky exhale that betrays your nerves—and something else. Your hands twitch slightly, as if debating whether to push him away or pull him closer.

Sanemi leans in closer, his face mere inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. "You’re usually so good at hiding how you feel," he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "And yet, I see the way you react to me. The way you can’t look me in the eye right now."

You don't stop him as his hand begins trailing up your leg. Both him and the wine making your head spin. His hand hot on the inner part of your thigh, as you shiver slightly.

You couldn’t stop yourself from pressing your thighs together again, catching his hand in place. He was so fucking smug. His eyes never leaving you. Absorbing anything you gave him.

"You don’t want me to stop," he said, his voice almost a whisper now, filled with both certainty and challenge. His fingers dig in, massaging lightly as you squirm. "Do you?"

"N-no," you stammered, your voice barely audible, your cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of pink. The only confirmation he needs.

"That’s what I thought," he murmured, his voice low and dripping. It stopped right where you needed it most, his touch igniting a wave of heat that coursed through your body.

You couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped your lips, he was so close. You could feel the heat radiating off of him. He didn’t move further—didn’t need to. The weight of his palm alone sent your thoughts spiraling. And what dirty thoughts they were...

"It's so adorable to see you like this." he whispered. "You’re so honest, even if you don’t say much. Your body tells me everything I need to know."

You trembled under his touch, your breath uneven as you tried to meet his gaze again. But his head was not buried in your neck, trailing kisses that burned.

"You’re mine," he said again, his tone a mixture of conviction and reverence, like it was the most undeniable truth in the world. His thumb brushed gently against your clothed pussy, sending another shiver through your body. "You’ve always been mine. Isn’t that right?"

He wanted to hear you beg. Wanted to know how much he effected you. He'd give anything to finish what he started, but he also craved to tease you. For the first time he didn't feel like he was clawing for your attention. Your focus was solely on him and him alone.

"Y-yes, I'm yours, please, I need more," you stammered, your voice trembling with a mix of vulnerability and anticipation boarding on whiny. And he loved it.

"Okay, pretty girl," Sanemi murmured, his voice filled with undeniable affection. And with that, he dove in, capturing your lips with his in a kiss so fierce and consuming it left you breathless. His hand rubbing across your drenched panties in a way that made you squirm.

Anchoring you in place, while his other hand cupped your face, pulling you impossibly closer. The warmth of his touch, the heat of his lips, sent sparks racing through your body. You felt yourself grow impossibly wetter at his touch. Your hands grip his haori, keeping him pressed against you.

As the kiss deepened, his fingers quicken their pace as you were damn near panting. And when you felt yourself growing closer to that edge, he suddenly pulled them back.

His grip on you tightened, and before you realized it, you were shifting onto his lap, straddling him. The sudden closeness made your heart pound, your body hyperaware of the way he felt beneath you—strong, solid, and completely unyielding.

His hands found your waist, holding you firmly as if to tell you he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

You could feel the tension radiating from him, the restrained hunger in his movements as his lips moved against yours again. He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath hot and ragged. His eyes met yours, intense and smoldering, and for a moment, the world outside the room seemed to fade away.

"You feel so good," he murmured, his hands sliding up your sides, his voice low and reverent. "Like you were made to be right here, with me."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but lean into him, your fingers clutching against his chest. The closeness, the heat, the way his hands held you like you were something precious—it was overwhelming in the best way.

Sanemi’s lips found yours again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if savoring the moment. His grip on your waist tightened, his movements bolder now, trailing along the inside of your shirt.

You could feel the heat radiating off him, his strength beneath your hands, and—most unmistakably—the firm bulge pressing against you. The realization made left you dizzy, and a wave of heat flushed through your entire body, pooling low in your abdomen.

Your thighs instinctively pressed around his waist, but it only seemed to intensify the sensation, the growing wetness between your legs impossible to ignore. Sanemi’s hands gripped your waist, thrusting up against you.

"Feel that?" he murmured. "That’s what you do to me, pretty girl." He held you in place as he thrust forward a few more times, letting out an almost feral groan. You left a pool of slick across his pants, yet he refused to let up. Your moans and whimper only fueling him to continue. You found yourself grinding into him shamelessly.

""You’re so damn responsive," he muttered, his voice rough with want as his lips trailed along your jawline. "Keep moving like that, and I won’t be able to hold back," he warned, his tone a mix of teasing and raw hunger.

You swallowed hard, your breath coming in shaky gasps as you fought to process what was happening. The friction, the heat, the undeniable tension between you—it was overwhelming. Intoxicating.

Sanemi’s lips were rougher this time, as if trying to convey everything he couldn’t put into words. His tongue slid against yours, his kiss claiming, dominating, leaving no doubt in your mind about how much he wanted you.

"You’re mine," he reaffirmed against your lips, his voice possessive, his hands pulling you even closer as if to fuse you together. "Every damn part of you."

A soft, breathless moan escaped your lips, filling the room as you instinctively ground against him. The friction sent another jolt of pleasure through your body, making your thighs quiver. You couldn’t stop yourself, couldn’t control the way your body responded to him. His eyes were locked on your every move, memorizing.

"That’s my girl," he growled, guiding your movements with firm hands. Your moans grew louder as you moved against him, the hardness beneath you growing each second.

"Keep going," his voice low and rough, laced with barely restrained hunger. "You feel so good, so perfect. Don’t stop."

His lips trailed along your skin, kissing and nipping gently as his hands roam, sliding beneath your haori to touch the bare skin beneath. Each touch rougher than the last.

Sanemi’s lips brushed against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. His words came out rough and desperate, thick with unrestrained need. "You’re driving me insane, you know that? I need more. I need all of you."

Before you could form a response, Sanemi moved with a speed and intensity that left you breathless. In a blur, he had you pinned beneath him on the bed, his body hovering over yours, his eyes burning with an almost feral intensity.

His hands worked quickly, expertly, removing the layers of your clothing as if they were a barrier keeping him from what he craved most.

"Is this what you want?" he muttered, exposing more of your flushed skin to his hungry gaze. "I want to see all of you. Every inch."

Your breath hitched as the cool air met your skin, contrasting sharply with the heat radiating from him. His hands roamed over your body as he drank in the sight of you. His gaze softened for just a moment, his fingers brushing against your cheek as if grounding himself in the moment.

"You’re perfect," he murmured, his voice quiet but filled with an unshakable conviction. Before you could even process his words, his lips were on yours again. His kisses trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to leave a mark—his mark. His hands moved with purpose, exploring every curve and dip, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

"You’re mine," he growled against your skin, his voice raw with possessiveness. "Every part of you. No one else gets to see this. No one else gets to have this."

The way he kept saying it made your heart race and your body ache with need. You had no doubt that Sanemi meant every word he said—that in his eyes, you were his, completely and utterly.

Sanemi’s fingers curled around the edge of your panties, his movements slow and deliberate as he pulled them back, exposing you completely to his gaze. His eyes darkened, the intensity in them making your breath hitch and your cheeks flush even deeper, if that was even possible.

"So pretty." Your head turned away almost embarrassed. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, each word dripping with raw intensity. "Do you want me to fuck you?"

The question sent a heatwave through you, your body tensing beneath him. His words boarding on teasing and admiration, demanding a response yet daring you to deny what you both knew you wanted.

Your voice trembled as you struggled to speak, your body betraying you with how it leaned into his touch. "Y-yes," you finally whispered, barely audible, but it was enough.

Sanemi’s lips curled into a smug, wicked smirk as he tilted his head, his fingers tightening slightly on your skin. "Say it louder," he murmured, his tone challenging, his breath brushing against your ear. "I want to hear you beg for it, pretty girl."

His hands slid higher on your thighs, left your heart pounding and your body burning with need. You couldn’t deny him—not when every fiber of your being screamed for more, for him.

Your voice cracked as you finally managed to stammer out, "Y-yes, please... please I want you to fuck me." The desperation in your tone made Sanemi’s smirk grow even darker, his satisfaction evident as he heard you give in completely.

"Such a good student," Sanemi muttered, his voice low and rough, thick with approval. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you firmly in place as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your neck. "Good, good girl," he growled, his words dripping with both praise and possession, making your body tremble beneath him.

"Say your mine." His restraint slipping by the second. You barely managed to breathe out, "I’m yours," your voice trembling as he lined his erection against your damp core.

"That’s right," he growled, his voice rough and thick with emotion. "All mine."

He thrust into you, sheathing fully inside your clenching pussy. You whimper at the friction, consumed by the stretch.

"All fucking mine."

p1. p.4

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