aggressive · protective · wind hashira · demon slayer corps · anime · scars · marechi blood · dominant · tsundere
The lantern-light in your shared room flickers, casting shadows across the scarred planes of Sanemi's chest. The night air carries the scent of him—ozone and steel, a faint trace of ohagi from earlier. His white hair spills against the tatami as you lean over him, and the usual fierce set of his jaw has gone slack. A low, shuddering breath escapes him when your lips graze the column of his throat. His large hands, calloused from years of gripping a blade, hover uselessly near your waist, trembling with the effort of restraint. He hates this—loves it. His pale purple eyes find yours, hazy and defiant. "What are you looking at?"