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wisecura · 1 year ago

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The wind and the leaf

Sanemi x Tsuguko-f!reader

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: man i just gotta thing for mean dudes with bad personalities. not sure the direction for this fic, but I want it short and sweet.

warning: this story may contain yandere-esque features. The later chapters may be unsuitable for all readers. Proceed with this in mind....I mean...the dude literally stabbed a lil girl to prove a point so...

p.2

swoosh swoosh

Sanemi Shinazugawa, the infamous Wind Hashira, was a force to be reckoned with.

Adorned with battle scars like badges of honor, he exuded a raw intensity that sent tremors through the hearts of many demons. Fiery and aggressive, his bloodlust towards those grotesque creatures simmered just beneath the surface.

He was the embodiment of a warrior consumed by his purpose.

And then there was you.

His Tsuguko.

You were a stark contrast to Sanemi's volatile nature.

Serene and calm, moving through life with an ethereal grace. Soft where he was hard. Smooth where he was rough. Kind where he was brash. The most beautiful person he's ever seen, flowing with grace and poise. Dedicated, hardworking, and oh so admirable. It hadn't been a difficult decision to take you on as his student. If he were to fault you on anything though...

Emotions were not your strong suit.

He could watch you tear down demon after demon for hours, but you'd never seem to crack in your stoic facade. You eyes were lifeless and damn near indifferent. Could he even call it a facade now if it was the face you'd kept since the day he met you?

Perhaps it was your unwavering focus on perfecting your swordsmanship that left little room for the complexities of the heart. Or maybe, just maybe, you were simply too good at hiding those thoughts and feelings. Whatever it was, it irritated the hell out of Sanemi.

You had been in each other's company for a little over a year now and had yet to engage in any real conversation. Let alone betray even a flicker of emotion towards him.

He could spar with you till you were worn to the bone, yet you barely said a word. He'd rather you complain even a little bit. It was as if you were an enigma wrapped in a riddle, baffling the very core of Sanemi's being. How could a person be so...cold. Yet so warm.

He could barely stand it.

Then it happened. One fateful, fucking day, that changed his whole perception of you and himself. Sanemi's eyes fell upon you, engaged in a conversation with Rengoku, his fellow flame Hashira.

He struggled to make sense of it. Impossible to explain it, really, but it was as if a sword pierced straight through his chest. Jealousy, a sensation he was scarcely familiar with, gnawed at his insides, stoking a surprising fire of resentment towards the two of you. And he working tirelessly, his mind running circles, to come up with the root behind this feeling.

It wasn't that you were just talking to the Flame Hashira, it was the slight smile you shared with him—a rarity you had never bestowed upon Sanemi himself.

Sanemi's little bird mind resorted to the only explanation it could comprehend: irritation. Irritation at your lack of dedication to her swordsmanship. That had to be it. The feeling must have been a byproduct of his strict training regime, a testament to his commitment to the Demon Slayer Corps.

And he working tirelessly to come up with the reasoning behind this feeling.

It wasn't that you were merely talking to the Flame Hashira, but the fact that you were slightly smiling at him. Frustrated and unable to understand his own reactions, Sanemi’s little bird mind resorted to the only rationale his mind could accept: irritation.

Irritation, he convinced himself, at your lack of dedication towards your swordsmanship.

That had to be it.

The feeling must have been a byproduct of his strict training regime, a testament to his commitment to the Demon Slayer Corps. He couldn't fathom anything else.

You just didn't take this seriously enough.

And shame on you to be slacking on your training, spending your limited time with someone else. You weren’t Rengoku’s Tsuguko—you were his. So why didn’t you act like it, huh?

But surely Rengoku was only stopping by for a minute. Just to drop something off, right? This nasty irritation would definitely go away soon.

Yet,

As the days passed, Sanemi found himself growing more and more vexed. Rengoku’s visits became almost a daily occurrence. It grated on him, seeing you constantly engaged in light conversation with the Flame Hashira, seemingly neglecting the rigorous training schedule he had laid out for you.

Did Rengoku have nothing better to do than to distract you? He was a damn Hashira, after all. Surely, he had more pressing responsibilities than to idle away his time chatting.

This constant interactions between you two wasn't just a thorn in his side. It was becoming an unbearable aggravation, challenging his patience and his command as your mentor. He had said anything yet, but he was so tempted.

It was as if a shadow settled over his estate, darkening his mood constantly. Initially, he hadn't minded the Flame Hashira, but now he couldn't stand him. He could go as far as to say he hated him.

Yet, he remained steadfast in his silence, unable to voice his concerns to you. After all, how could he begin to explain something he himself couldn't fathom?

But that didn’t stop him from expressing his unspoken words through his actions. Your training sessions grew more rigorous. Then again, they should have been intensifying already—how were you supposed to grow if he didn’t push you?

But now, his training took on a meaner edge, driven more by his swirling emotions than by the usual disciplined approach.

It only grew worse when he realized you might actually be growing attached to the Flame Hashira.

Your interactions, though always subtle and calm, began to reveal a depth of affection that bothered Sanemi deeply. You never openly showed preference or attachment, keeping your emotions concealed beneath a tranquil surface.

But, it started with small smiles, and now, you were inquiring about Rengoku’s brother and his garden. You seemed to know intimate details about the Flame Hashira, details that were trivial yet so fucking telling.

Did you really not see the issue with having Rengoku visit so often at his manor? To Sanemi, these were not mere friendly exchanges, rather, they were breaches in the exclusivity he felt over your mentorship and training.

The situation gnawed at him, the silent question burning in his mind: Why did Rengoku, of all people, need to be so involved in your life?Each encounter, each shared smile between you and the Flame Hashira, seemed like a small betrayal to Sanemi.

His frustration grew with each passing interaction. Why couldn't he be the one to elicit a reaction? You never smiled at him the way you did with Rengoku. You never engaged him in light conversation or inquired about his likes and dislikes. Why was it always Rengoku who managed to coax those rare glimpses of emotion from your otherwise impassive demeanor? Was it the Flame Hashira’s charismatic charm or perhaps something deeper, something more that drew you to him?

He was supposed to be your mentor, the one you looked up to and sought guidance from, yet here he was, feeling sidelined in his own estate. The complexity of these emotions was so unfamiliar to Sanemi, a man more accustomed to straightforward battles and clear enemies. How could he fight this unseen foe that seemed to be stealing away your attention and, possibly, your affection respect?

Lost in his own sea of turmoil, Sanemi wrestled with feelings that defied his comprehension. He had spent his life honing his instincts as a demon slayer, yet when it came to matters of the heart, he was as clueless as a beginner. It was a battle he never expected to face, and it threatened to consume him whole. Why were you causing him to feel this way?

why.

Why?

WHY?

WHY.

In the midst of your training sessions with him, Sanemi found himself studying you intently.

Your stoic facade remained as unyielding as ever, but he couldn’t shake the flutter in his stomach every time you fixed him with your gaze. His heart rate would pick up just that much more and he would have to look away. What were you thinking, staring at him like that?

His training as a Hashira had taught him how to mask his emotions—after all, a rapid heartbeat was normal in the heat of battle. But how long could he keep the flush from his face hidden? He desperately wanted to see a different expression on yours, something that broke through that serene exterior.

If you noticed his discomposure, you never mentioned it. It was as if you were oblivious to the turmoil you stirred within him, or perhaps, you were simply choosing to ignore it.

Sanemi found it increasingly difficult to find common ground, to find the right words that could foster a meaningful conversation between you. Each attempt felt more strained than the last, widening the chasm he felt in your interactions.

Driven by a mix of desperation and determination, he decided to shift his approach.

If words would not bridge the gap, maybe actions would speak the volume he needed. He began to observe you more closely, paying attention to the small details—the way you organized your training gear, the slight pause before executing a particular move, or your preferences for certain foods during breaks.

He quietly started to take care of smaller tasks for you, adjusting your gear before training, ensuring there were extra rations of your favorite snacks available, and subtly modifying training routines to include elements you showed interest in.

Each act was a silent plea for your recognition, a hope that these small gestures would catch your eye and perhaps elicit a response, any response, that might indicate you saw him as more than just your mentor.

After training sessions, Sanemi would discreetly place new hair accessories or small trinkets beside your belongings—items he had thoughtfully selected from the local shops. Each one was chosen not only for their aesthetic appeal but also for their subtle reflections of himself: a pristine white hair clip, or a patterned haori that mimicked his own.

Yet, nothing seemed to elicit much of a response from you other than a polite "thank you." Your calm acknowledgment, devoid of the warmth or interest he hoped for, was starting to drive him seriously mad. It felt like banging his head against a wall, trying to reach you, to see a flicker of something more beneath your composed exterior.

However, you did eat the snacks he brought you, and to his surprise—and his tinged ears—you wore the items he had picked out for you. Each day you adorned yourself with these, you became a walking symbol of him.

A constant reminder of who you shared most of your time with. Who you staying with.

He couldn't figure it out. Couldn't figure you out.

p.2

come home

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