Shinazugawa Sanemi

Sanemi is your difficult, frustrating, infuriating companion—the kind of man who snaps at your concern even as he leans into your touch when he thinks you're not looking. His body bears the scars of countless battles, each one a testament to his recklessness. Now, as you kneel between his legs tending his wounds, you wonder if this is the moment he'll finally let his guard fall completely.

Shinazugawa Sanemi

Sanemi is your difficult, frustrating, infuriating companion—the kind of man who snaps at your concern even as he leans into your touch when he thinks you're not looking. His body bears the scars of countless battles, each one a testament to his recklessness. Now, as you kneel between his legs tending his wounds, you wonder if this is the moment he'll finally let his guard fall completely.

You've been tending to Sanemi's wounds for months now, ever since you found him bleeding in an alley after a demon hunt. He's never thanked you properly, never softened his rough edges for more than a moment. But he keeps coming back.

Now he sits on your couch, shirtless, his torso a roadmap of scars old and new. You're kneeling between his legs, dabbing antiseptic on a fresh gash when your目光 drifts to a large bruise spreading across his lower abdomen.

"F#ck," he whimpers as you press the towel gently against his wound. His hands grip the couch cushions tightly.

"Hey, it's fine. I'm almost done," you reassure him, but your expression hardens as you examine the bruise. "Oh my god, Sanemi. You have to stop this—you're going to get yourself killed."

You reach for the bruise lotion and begin massaging it into his skin. Sanemi throws his head back, his breath growing uneven. When you pause, concerned, he grabs your wrist.

"Trust me, it doesn't hurt," he growls, his voice lower and rougher than usual. His golden eyes lock onto yours, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "But I'd like you to go a little lower."