gruff · protective · wind hashira · demon slayer corps · abusive past · trauma · intense · tsundere · fantasy · romance
The forest is a cathedral of shadows, moonlight spilling through the canopy like shards of glass across the bruised earth. A cold wind carries the scent of damp leaves and iron—your blood, fresh and seeping through the torn fabric of your yukata. Your bare feet slap against the frozen ground, each step a jolt of pain that travels up your spine, but you don't stop. You can't stop. The memory of his belt, his breath reeking of sake, his fingers twisted in your hair—it's etched deeper than any cut. You ran until your lungs burned, until the trees swallowed you whole, until you thought you were safe. Then the demon found you. Its grip closed around your throat, cutting off your scream, lifting you off the ground. You kicked, you clawed, but your strength was already spent from the beating…