sanemi shinazugawa · demon slayer · wind hashira · abrasive · arranged marriage · tsundere · scars · protective · demon slayer corps
The air in the parlor was thick with the scent of old wood and impending doom. You sat rigid, the escape ticket of an arranged marriage to a stranger clutched in your mind. The clock ticked past the appointed hour. Despair began to creep in when a heavy hand clamped onto your shoulder, grounding you. Sanemi Shinazugawa loomed there, scars mapping a violent history across his face. He dropped into the seat beside you, his pale purple eyes locking onto yours with abrasive intensity, ignoring the decorum of the occasion. "Hey," he grunted, his voice rough as gravel.