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shout out to the sanemi girls on here for keeping me alive and sane

Skin-to-Skin

Sanemi x F!Reader hurt/comfort

The weight of her anxiety might threaten to topple her completely, but Sanemi is always there to catch her before she falls.

A/N: a slightly self-indulgent one-shot inspired by my husband during Bar prep, when I was at a particularly low point.

CW: 1.2k words • reader has a small anxiety attack • non-sexual nudity/intimacy

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

No matter what she did, the nervous jitter beneath her skin would not cease.

It had all become too much — the demands of work, of school, of family and friends were slowly pulling her under the crushing wave of expectation, threatening to drown her with their incessant reminders that she was not doing enough, that she was not enough.

She dumped her bag and coat unceremoniously in the kitchen chair and made her way through the dark of her apartment to the bedroom she shared with her boyfriend, who by now was certainly asleep. It was well after two in the morning, and while she was only just arriving home from the library, he was due to rise for his early shift in a matter of hours.

Y/N tried to stay quiet for his sake, she really did. She went as far as locking herself in their small bathroom, turning on the tap of the sink to drown out the breaths that were coming hard and fast through her mouth, as she sat on the toilet and braced her head in her hands.

But as her own mind had been reminding her constantly over the last few days, her efforts were never enough, and before long, a soft knock signaled that her boyfriend had indeed heard her arrival.

“Y/N?” Sanemi’s voice was mused with sleep, but not enough to dull the worried edge in his tone. “Are you good?”

Y/N took a shuddering breath, hands wiping hastily at the tears that had escaped her eyes down her cheeks. “I’m fine — I’m sorry to wake you.” She cursed at the way her voice shook.

Sanemi remained quiet, but Y/N watched the locked doorknob twist as he tried to open the bathroom door.

“Baby,” Sanemi pled on the other side, and Y/N wanted to cry at the softness of his tone. “Will you let me in? Please?”

Y/N hesitated for a moment but stretched her hand out to unlatch the door. Sanemi instantly pushed it open to reveal his sniffling, anxious girlfriend within.

His eyes raked over her, noting the obvious signs of her distress, from the deep-set shadows crescented under her eyes, to the way her head rested in her hands, fingers gripping mercilessly at her hair in her anguish.

“This is the fourth time this week you’ve come home after midnight,” Sanemi remarked quietly, hands closing around her upper arms to guide her to stand.

Y/N refused to meet his gaze, but Sanemi would not hear of it; warm fingers gripped under her chin and firmly, but gently, turned her face back to him to meet his relentless gaze head-on.

The moment her eyes met that discerning lilac stare, she dissolved into tears.

“Hey,” her boyfriend murmured, softly, bringing her against his chest. “Woah, woah, woah, ‘s’okay darlin.’”

Y/N fell against him, her knees buckling under the combined weight of her exhaustion and her failure. Yet, still she did not crumble. She would never crumble, not when Sanemi was there to catch her, every time; to always help shoulder the burden she carried, day in and day out.

His arms formed a supportive cage around her middle as he walked them back into their bedroom, releasing her only to sit in the edge of their bed and hold her hands as she tried, in vain, to calm herself.

Sanemi considered her for a moment as she tried to stifle the tears cascading down her cheeks before he released her hands. He reached behind him and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, yanking it over his head and exposing his muscled, scarred torso.

“C’mere,” he urged, lying back on their bed.

His hands stretched out towards her and wound around her forearms, to guide her gently towards him, as he helped her kneel on the soft mattress. In the dark, with only the watery moonlight that filtered through the cheap curtains on their window to guide him, Sanemi’s hands worked quickly to discard her of her own sweater and bottoms, leaving her in nothing but a pair of her underwear.

“‘Nemi, I don’t -“ Y/N began to protest. As much as she loved her intimate time with her lover, she was in no mood.

“I’m not tryin’ to sleep with you — not like that,” Sanemi clarified. “D’you trust me, sweetheart?”

Had Y/N been in any clearer frame of mind, she would have scoffed at the question. Of course she trusted him — she trusted Sanemi more than anyone or anything. Since the first day they’d met, he’d proven himself to be a steadfast and reliable presence in her life. There was never any uncertainty when it came to him, nor had she ever doubted he would always seek to place her needs first, even when it was to his detriment.

But Y/N’s head was an ensnared mess of anxious brambles, and so she only nodded in response.

“Then come lay down, baby.” Came his gruff whisper, and those warm, rough hands that were so gentle whenever they touched her, rested flat against her back to guide her down. “Let me take care of you.”

As he helped her lay atop him, Y/N’s cool, clammy skin met Sanemi’s warm, rocky torso and she felt herself melt into him. Her breasts squished against his chest, but Y/N found the heated feel of his skin beneath hers to be the most grounding thing in the world. Sanemi’s lips danced against her hairline as his fingers trailed idly up and down her spine, their touch feather-light in stark contrast to the comforting weight of his arms as he held her steadily against him.

“Match your breathing with mine, yeah?” He murmured against her forehead and he took a deep breath, the even rise and fall of his chest forcing her to align her breath with his.

“‘Atta girl,” Sanemi sighed, his arms tightening around her. “Just breathe, baby.”

Beneath her cheek and the hand she’d rested against his smooth pectorals, Y/N began to let her fingers wander, appreciating the softness of Sanemi’s skin despite the rigid, stony planes of his abdomen and chest. She marveled at the silkiness of his scars beneath the pads of her fingers, slightly tighter and smoother than his surrounding flesh.

Y/N found that her focused exploration of the differences in Sanemi’s skin texture made the resounding thoughts of work and school quiet until there was nothing but silence in her head. As she worked, Sanemi’s own hands mapped out the expanse of her back, tracing along familiar routes and carving out new ones along her spine and between her shoulders.

There, against the blistering heat of her boyfriend’s chest, Y/N’s erratic heart began to slow, and the nerves that made her restless began to ebb with every gentle caress of Sanemi’s fingers against her bare skin.

“That’s it, baby,” Sanemi whispered, though his voice had grown more distant as the weight of her exhaustion threatened to consume her. “Just rest. You deserve to rest.”

Y/N’s eyelids felt heavy, and she couldn’t stop herself from letting them close, her inhales and exhales in perfect time with those of the man beneath her, grounding her to him.

As Y/N’s body gave into the sleep she’d fought off so desperately, she was gifted with a reverent “I love you,” from the lips of her gentle lover, and she welcomed her temporary oblivion.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

I’ve been in a Giyuu mood lately (thanks, GW), so expect to see some more Water Boy content over the weeks.

sanemi when i get my hands on you

“You have saved yourself from drowning every time before this. You will rescue yourself again.”

— Nikita Gill, Powerful One Sentence Reminders To Read When You Are Doubting Your Growth And Healing

Kimetsu No Yaiba : Hashira Training Arc E1

OMFG NO BECAUSE LITERALLY

"The Capture of Samson" --Anthony van Dyck, 1630

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Angry man has been stuck in my brain for a while now.

What is this bottle of wine doing in my hand?

GENYA HEADCANON!!!

when he and sanemi were little, sanemi would tuck in gen+the little ones to bed and sometimes he'd wrap genya up in the blanket like a burrito when he was scared

so when genya was older and training with gyomei, gyomei would put him to bed whenever genya ended up overworking himself

gyomei noticed that when he tucked the blanket under genya a bit so it fit him snuggly, genya slept more soundly and it became a habit to put the blanket like that whenever he made genya sleep

(genya never realized gyomei was doing this though)

maybe gyomei spoke to sanemi about genya once, bringing up briefly the burrito thing and sanemi was just... he wasn't okay

Sanemi didn’t cry. Not after his mother died, not after Genya’s screams began to echo in his head, not after he checked his sibling’s pulses, finding them colder than snow. He didn’t cry.

He fought the strange inhumane things that his mother had become. Day by night. He worked in a trance, almost. It was all he could do. But when Masachika found him, explained about demons, things began to change.

They were gradual changes. But it felt all so sudden for Sanemi. One moment he was alone, alone and aching, and so, so lonely. Next thing he knew, he had a friend. Someone who guided him through the steps of training so gently despite their circumstances. Who smiled at him and helped him make food and bought him new clothes. Someone who would let him be quiet when he wanted to, talk when Sanemi couldn’t. Someone who understood him, despite how little Sanemi conveyed at first.

Then Masachika told Sanemi, one day, that if he ever needed to cry, or rant, or just let out everything, that he was always there for him, Sanemi told him he didn’t cry. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He hadn’t since he had begun to take charge of his family. When they were alive.

But Masachika was worried about him. Not crying? Worrisome? How? It just meant you were stronger than the others. Because crying didn’t help. It never did.

That wasn’t true, Masachika said. Crying was good. It let out your feelings. It could feel as if you were lifting a small weight. And no matter how trivial the thing, it could always help. Even if just by a little.

Sanemi didn’t understand him. He said, maybe he wasn’t human anymore. Maybe Sanemi had gone through too much to the point he lost his own humanity. Like the demons.

They didn’t talk for the rest of the day.

But Sanemi thought about it. He did. He took everything Masachika said and held it close to his heart, afraid that if he didn’t it would all disappear.

He didn’t need to cry. That was it. He didn’t want to.

Or, did he?

He didn’t know what he wanted. What he needed. He barely knew himself anymore. He had lost sight of his own body months ago.

It wasn’t until Genya’s birthday. Sanemi was walking with Masachika, wincing as the chill of the snow seeped through his clothing. He asked what day it was, hoping spring would come soon. It was January still. What day? The 7th.

And then — Oh, I should buy Genya som-

Oh.

No.

They stopped. Masachika looked at him, confused. He hadn’t heard.

No, no, no, no, no. No, this wasn’t- He hadn’t meant-

But there was a lump growing in his throat. He was gasping for air. Why was it so hard to breathe? Why was the air so cold?

He shook his head, trembling now. He wasn’t crying, he wasn’t crying, he wasn’t crying. Good memories didn’t provoke crying, they didn’t- This wasn’t supposed to happen, he wasn’t supposed to cry. He wouldn’t cry. He couldn’t let himself.

But Masachika’s hand was on his shoulder, another pulling him into an embrace. He was hugging him, patting him, not telling him he was weird, not telling him he shouldn’t be doing this. Not telling him that he should stop, that he should grow up, that crying was weak, that crying was—

God, he was crying. He was sobbing, shaking, clinging onto Masachika like a baby. They were on the ground—when had that happened?—the snow no longer bothering them. Sanemi was in Masachika’s arms, being held, being cradled.

It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. You can cry. Don’t fight it, Sanemi, don’t fight it.

He didn’t. He let it happen.

And when it stopped, he couldn’t tell if he felt better. The snow had melted, soaking their clothes. His eyes were puffy and hurt from rubbing them, from crying. But Masachika smiled softly at him, rubbing his back.

Good job. I’m proud of you, Sanemi.

Why?

They walked home slowly. Taking in the sharp air, Sanemi found himself feeling almost lighter. He didn’t know why. He didn’t understand why. He might not even cry again in a while. But he felt better. Now, at least.

He thought he did.

Masachika said it would help. Crying.

Maybe it did.

🌪️—

slowly forgetting how they look like until all sanemi can do is stare at his own face in the mirror and wish he could see his family in him, wish he wasn’t so littered with scars, wish that he could remember for just a moment what his mother looked like

what if sanemi just spiraled after the war and his mental health went down the drain for like a year and the following years were the others trying to work him back up to being happy so only the last year of his life he was actually in a good place? like sanemi just crawling out of bed, though he’s only ever been in and out of consciousness recently, and he tries to go to genya’s grave only to realize genya wouldn’t have a grave. and then he just lays there in the hallway, staring blankly at the wall until one of the butterfly girls find him and has to call tengen to carry him back in bed. it’s just sanemi battling his internal critic until he kinda… gives up. and then his physical health is deteriorating too. and then it’s all blank for a long time. until giyuu and tengen and aoi and — and everyone’s worrying about sanemi and they’re trying to help him, to make him feel better. and then nezuko and her smiles and her — and genya. and she’s like genya, and sanemi won’t let go of her. and even though he has half the blood he should. and even though he hasn’t gotten up in months. and even though he can barely keep his eyes open, he’s holding onto her. so that nezuko takes a huge part in caring for him. and she puts her hair up while wrestling food into his mouth and all sanemi can think of is his mother now. and then genya. and he doesn’t — he can’t — and he starts to try. and live. and make himself something. so he can protect nezuko. because she and tanjiro and zenitsu and all of the children deserved way better than his own family got. and he has to get better. and then he does. for them. for his family. for what they deserved to have had. to what they deserved to have.

umm i need reassurance that my presence is wanted but i can’t ask for reassurance because that’s really Embarrassing and it wouldn’t feel genuine if i asked for it

“you’re a writer, can you explain your process?” yes. first, i panic. then i procrastinate. then, in a fit of productivity at 3 a.m., i create chaos.

The San Francisco Examiner, California, February 25, 1935

Miauu

it wasn’t often tanjiro spent the night in silence anymore. he was usually drowning in missions, consoling zenitsu and inosuke, or some other errand he ended up having to do. even his crow was a part of the chorus, snapping at him about this and that. but today, it was quiet. today, when he sat on the engawa of the butterfly estate, he found it completely still. in recent times, he had found the night only a source of terrors. but here, in the familiar garden of sleeping flowers, alone in the dark, it was almost peaceful. he felt himself relax, hands seeking purchase in the wood and moving him forward so he was perched on the edge, leaning forward. the light of the moon danced along the plants, shifting with the wind that slipped through the leaves. the air was cool, inviting, and a comfort. it twirled around tanjiro, making him smile as it swept past him, his haori lifting and falling in slow tempo to the breeze. if only he could freeze this moment. cup it in his hands and never let it slip away. live in the moment, people said. he wished his whole life could revolve around this one night and that it would never, ever end.

Unhinged observation

The many voices of Sanemi

In Genya's flashback, one of the things people talked about was how unnaturally deep Sanemi's voice was, which by the way is not all that surprising. Sanemi is five years older than Genya and in the flashback Genya looks to be around 9/10 years old which puts Sanemi at 14/15 years old(Sanemi's just small for his age, probably due to malnutrition), and it's not uncommon for boys to have deep voices around that age.

But anyway, something I noticed is how Sanemi's voice changed when he told Genya to run as he tackled their mother out the window. His voice sounded like that of an actual kid. He probably deepened his voice to sound more like a father figure, so his siblings feel safe, but when they were put in actual danger the facade dropped and all we heard was the voice of a scared child.

We also see the same thing when the Ubuyashiki mansion exploded, I'm surprised no one is talking about Sanemi's small gasp after the mansion blew up. For just a fraction of a second he was back to being that small, scared and confused child he was when his mother attacked the family.

We also have the low, rough voice he uses with Tanjiro, Genya, Giyuu and the other junior slayers which is supposed to project this tough and scary image.

Then we have the low but somewhat normal voice that he uses when he talks to Obanai and Muichiro, as well as when he talks to the Master and Amane.

All this gets me excited for Soft Sanemi's voice that he will use when talking to his mom, Nezuko, Genya and when he talks to a dying Masachika (and probs Giyuu).

it’s almost time

putting a polaroid of you on my unhinged conspiracy board and linking you with a red string to a post it note that just says "gay"