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helloescapist · 9 months

Text

Averted Eyes

Word Count: 2152

Setting: Shinazugawa Sanemi x gn!reader; SFW; short

Content Warnings: mentions of nonconsensual groping [not by Sanemi], gaslighting, language

Summary: a recent victim of Masao Maeda's uniform repairs, you had longed to see Sanemi once again, but not like this.

[not my art, credit goes to the artist!]

Eyes trained to the floor, doing your best to ignore the murmurs of those you passed. Shame clear on your features, head bowed to the point that your chin dipped to your collar bone.

Doing your best to fight back the tears that threatened to spill at a moment’s notice. Your hands glued to your hem, tugging urgently despite knowing that it would in fact… not budge. You could feel the blush tint your cheeks, burn at your ears, and the sob scour your throat as you fought it back. Long hallways ebbed in wood, carefully articulated furniture, wealth barely over looked in expensive vases and composed flower arrangements, the kakushi that passed you pressing their foreheads together, whispers of yet another unfortunate victim of the scum glasses before disbursing back to their tasks. A few openly gawked at your state, their eyes betraying their lust while others scoffed believing that you had intentionally fallen for such a vulgar trap as a means of climbing your way up the corps hierarchy. Your feet feeling hollow as though you were chancing their accusations. Discussions of your raise of rank, hushed mumbles passed amongst the corps at your quick accession Mizunoto to Mizunoe, discussions that you had garnished a Hashira’s attention as of late, a rumor you had assumed, but that hadn’t diminished the gossip. Mizunotos and kakushi alike eager to complain over your rank title, especially if the rumors of your position raise to Tsuguko had any merit. The very reason you were at the main estate today, much to your ill-ease. It was as if all of your own abilities, your training, efforts, and time had meant absolutely nothing to them to begin with, and now… this.

Tugging anxiously at the hem of your modified uniform. It’s paneling noticeably snugger than your peers. The open chest leaving little to the imagination, the shorts revealing as much leg as seemingly possible. The smallest bend of your waist liable to provide quite the show, and more propellant to the rumors. The visibility of hips in every step, you could eel the tinge of your ears and the nausea in your stomach. No matter how much you attempted to tug on the hem, it just wouldn’t budge. In fact, you were beginning to suspect that the uniform had its own petty intentions, seeking revenge by growing shorter and shorter with each nag. Doing your best to clasp files to your chest, which as now open. The sewing measurements adjusted Pinned at the collar, but somehow perfectly sewn to leave the opening from your collar to your navel exposed, any swift movement could cause the doom of a uniform malfunction… if this wasn’t already considered one. You should have known better. From your first joining of the corps shortly after passing the final selection, you had come across hearsay of a certain devious kakushi. Reported accounts of the scum glasses praying on naïve members regardless of gender or identification. If the object of his desires had claimed his attention, then they were in danger of uniform modifications at the first proposed opportunity. Never had you considered you would be on the receiving end of such adjustments or notice, and at the time he had presented you your uniform, ugh, the thought making you sick.

When you had turned your uniform in for repairs, a recent encounter against a especially volatile demon having tarnished their appearance, you had noted that the kakushi who accepted your request was different than your usual clothier. When you had inquired where your usual caretaker was, the kakushi had simply adjusted his large round glasses, pushing them up higher on the bridge of his nose with a light smile, insisting that they had been far too behind on work, and that his assistance was brought on by generosity to aide his peer. Fought back the confusion that something felt… off about the encounter when you had turned over your uniform, your retreat quickly blocked by the kakushi. His black eyes focused in on you, as he bore a forced smile. “Ah, my sincerest apologies, but your measurements?” When you had asked if there were any way for him to acquire your measurements from the usual clothier, he had quickly dismissed it with the wave of his hand. Garnishing his measurement tape as fast as a whip, and pinning you between the door frame. “I could, however, it would rather burden them, and I would like to return your uniform as soon as possible.”

Through wrinkled nose, you had accepted that… you really had no reason to refuse his request. This was after all, his job… right? Dutifully, you had bit back the bile, told yourself that he had not in fact, thrown your old uniform in the waste bin—it wasn’t that beyond repair. No, no, he had just put it to the side. Attempted to convince yourself that, your recent run in with rumors had made you paranoid. There was nothing suspi—felt the urge to slap the clothier as his held felt far higher on the in-seam than you had recalled in past measurements. You had suffered it as long as you could, bidding him farewell at the first opportunity of the door opening to another kakushi entering the room. Quick to flee, knowing that if you had stayed a moment longer, you would strike an innocent man simply doing his job.

Upon picking up the supposed to be mended uniform, you were met with the reality that your uniform had in fact, been disposed of. In trying on the uniform, the same kakushi who had performed the new measurements, glowed his praise. Reassured you that the new fit was perfect, an absolute vision. The length growing quick on realization, “this is it?” You had asked, horrified as you began to tug.

The growing annoyance on the kakushi’s face evident despite his concealed features. His brows drawn defensively. “[LN], this is the standard uniform for the higher ranks. Just like Himejima, Kanroji, and Shinazugawa before you, you now have the honor of bearing this upper tier uniform.” There was something in the way that he sighed, as though you should have been aware of the honor that the adjustments implicated. You had after all met two of the mentioned Hashira. Kanroji’s own uniform making an impression, but it was true, even Shinazugawa’s adjustments were… confident. S-surely, from there, it was a flurry of words. Some you could barely catch while you had been considering the upper rank slayers before your time. The kakushi’s voice sounded edge and defensive, as he sputtered out something to the extent that you had in fact, greatly over thought this, and were ungrateful for the opportunity to bare the necessary uniform for your rank. Quickly gathering his things, and high tailed it out of there, his retreat reminding you little more than a cockroach scuttling off after a successful plunder.

Stupid, you had thought shamefully to yourself as you attempted to bow your head even lower. Your heightened instincts had murmured caution, sent off wave after wave of warning signals, and yet, you had allowed yourself to be deceived. Talked into wearing a uniform that was very clearly, inappropriate, and unnecessary. As though you were meant to be some sort of obscured shunga painting. The realization thundering your heart as footsteps echoed behind you. Loud and heavy, few members of the corps dared to parade around the estate in such a rude manner. The slight peek over your shoulder confirming your suspicions. The tuft of thick white hair, as expressive and widespread as a camellia that filled your view. Not right now, you internally groaned. Picking up your pace, turning left followed by a right, taking any evasive maneuvers at their earliest opportunity. The now footsteps sounding like a tremble of earth that pounded the wooden planks of the flooring behind you. No, no no, you whispered internally to yourself. Not like this. Biting your lip as you squeezed your eyes together.

The howl of frustration evident on his words, “What the hell is your problem?” His voice like thunder, enraged and irritable. As though drums that bellowed against the mountains. The firm grasp of his strong hands as he yanked your shoulder backwards.

N-Not like this. You had wanted to see him again. Lilac wide eyes the faintest shade of wisteria beneath a curtain of thick eyelashes, now drawn to a scowl. You had wanted to see him. Drawn to him from the moment you had met him in the mountains. Pinned in against a rock and a hard place, he had wasted no time coming to your assistance. Slashing his forearm without consideration to his own well-being—tossed himself into the fray, allowing you the opening to terminate your target. When you had offered lining of your torn uniform to, having already accepted that it was a part of the scrapped material beyond repair, he had shaken you off. Snipping something as though such an abrasion were enough to do him in. An irritable scoff, hiding behind scars that marred his face like a mask, pretending that he did not war a blush as he ripped the fabric from your fingers before kneeling down before you. His battle trained prowess made him heightened, aware that your calf had been seared into. He was awkward, masking his sincere care with abrasive speech, and aggressive manners, but the gesture could not be concealed. The lack of a scar left on your calf due to his care. You had longed to see him, but… not like this. The state of your dress bearing full shame convinced that you were at fault for your appearance, the tears trembled down your cheek as your large eyes glazed up at his own.

“W-What the hell?” he sputtered. A few more scars had been added to his cheeks, followed down the line of his arm. Your eye drifting to the one gash he had earned on your behalf. The tears only growing stronger as he withdrew his hand from you. It had been a moment of pitiful remarks on his end—Sanemi certainly did not handle crying well. “D-damn it, stop would you!” He had yelled. Taunt muscles that had strained as though a cat pulling away from water, his eyes fell to your state of appearance. The blush emitting through harsh words. The apologetic mumble you had offered reaching his ears as you shyly tugged, doing your best to coil into yourself. Making it apparent that you humiliated by your uniform.

Through flooded tears, you could make the soft subtle smell of musk, the hint of floral notes and citric orange peel, the warmth of cloth pressed against your head, wrapped around you firmly, fabric bearing down on your shoulders. A callous hand awkwardly smoothing the fabric over your hair, concealing you from sight. The hiss of a growl, “Piss. OFF,” snarled at passing mizunoto, who scurried away in a panic. The wind hashira was renowned for his temper, but something about this situation seemed especially dangerous. None willing to risk incurring his wrath by sticking around. Through soft sobs, realizing he no longer uttered bitter remarks about your tears, you glanced up at him. Aware that he had pinion you against the wall, in a protective stance. Glaring at anyone who might dare to glimpse at you. The cloak of his hashira uniform folded around you, concealing you from sight. Trembling amethyst eyes fighting for something to look at—anything but you, you had realized. The spread of a blush that touched his scars, danced across his neck, and trailed down his—“J-just put it on damn it.”

Ah! Right, quickly capturing yourself in the scent that you could only compare to spring, you cocooned yourself in his generosity, growing more and more aware of the spread of his back, allowing you room to adjust yourself as necessary without fear of prying gazes. “Shinobu.”

“hm?”

“Your costume, dumbass,” he hissed. Still refusing to meet your eye as he guided you forward. Cautious not to make contact with you as his demanding presence thankfully cleared the way down the hall way. He would lead you to Shinobu. Her work in the Butterfly Mansion had guaranteed her consistent interactions with the kakushi; on top of her medical capabilities, he would ensure that that slimy scum glasses had not left a physical mark, making a note of the emotional blemishes that were evident in the cautious way you held his cloak around your shoulders. The route was cleared, mizunoto and kakushi stumbling from his sight as quick as they could manage. Like bugs off to spread disease in the way of rumors, he would leave you in Shinobu’s care. Where she could secure you a change of clothes, uniform or not, who gave a damn, and then…

I’ll kill him.

#sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer

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