Sin

Ayaka couldn’t recall exactly when she had adopted this perception, yet her life was no less pathetic. Even now, as she made her way to the throne room to welcome Hayato back from his political tour in the South, her mind constantly drifted back to the Eastern Campsite.

Lady Geto.

You were like a vengeful apparition that haunted her every thought. At times she would even see your face in the vanity’s corner as a lady-in-waiting tended to her hair and adorned her in jewels. Were you truly so formidable a woman—that you could have turned the tides of the marriage in your favor?

She had refused to believe it at first, but there was no doubt after how the events unfolded: Suguru had changed.

More insufferably, he had changed because of you.

---

When Sato had asked her to go to the Eastern Campsite, it had puzzled her at first. Ayaka was not ignorant of the political tensions from the East, but negotiations were never her strong suit. Hayato or the older princesses had always handled the more consequential matters. Surely, it was no place for a docile woman like herself to be.

“House Geto is there—I have sent word. Suguru will receive you. You need only follow his command,” Sato said.

Ayaka paused at the mention of his name, anticipation quickly eclipsing the uneasiness. Before she knew it, she had happily complied—not that there was really a choice. But knowing that Suguru would be there turned a nettlesome obligation into something she would have gladly volunteered for.

She could see the mirth in her father’s eyes, a particular amusement that only surfaced when he was watching his scheme unfold. Yet despite knowing that her father had something calculated in motion, she held onto the fact that she could see her lover once more. 

A chance graced by the universe.

---

“Hachi, does Father truly think I would be an adequate negotiator?” Ayaka asked her lady-in-waiting, Hachiko, the night before they were set to leave for the campsite. 

“Worry not, Ayaka-sama,” she replied, while expertly brushing Ayaka’s hair and conditioning it with the finest hibiscus oils. “His Majesty is wise—he will ensure the outcome is a favorable one. Besides, what is there to fear if General Geto is there?”

Hachiko’s words were true and wise as ever.

Since they were children, he had always been steady, an anchor amid a world that had always demanded ideal beauty and perfection from her. And after the tragedy ten years ago, though there had been a long period they did not meet, there were still facets of him that remained unchanged. She wholeheartedly believed that the boy beneath the King’s General still existed.

Ayaka’s shoulders relaxed as she let out a contented hum, leaning into Hachiko’s touch. At least within the palace, she could always rely on her first lady-in-waiting to be a constant source of comfort.

---

Ayaka had always loathed long travels. Days were spent in a stuffy carriage, and the unstable rattling often made her motion sick. Alas, it was undignified to express even a morsel of negativity. An ideal princess—an ideal woman—was to be agreeable.

Obedient.

Thoughtless.

Yet how does one rid themselves of all thoughts…

Unless they were dead.

The last time she had to travel such a great distance was to meet with the Eastern Empire, to see her betrothed, Prince Kotoyuki, face to face. He was pleasant. Gentle, with a dimpled smile. Tall, with a lean frame. He was not demanding like Father or Hayato.

But he was not Suguru.

Prince Kotoyuki, though he may have been kind, would eventually reveal his conditions. After all, the marriage was only transactional. The Eastern Empire required the backing of a powerful nation so as not to be brutalized by the barbarians that lived beyond their opposite border. Still, Kotoyuki would expect a dignified woman—a woman worthy to be the Empress of the Eastern Empire. 

And Suguru did not.

Suguru saw Ayaka. He had cherished and loved her, and had always allowed her to simply be.

Although it was cruel to watch him marry another woman, Ayaka could see it in his eyes then—that he felt nothing for his new bride.

He did not love you, and he never would.

---

Her heart dropped the moment the campsite came into view, nothing like the excitement she'd imagined. From a distance, she could see House Geto and an entourage of soldiers behind them. All standing on guard to welcome her. It was not Suguru her eyes could not stray from; it was you.

It had always been you.

Since the night of the wedding ceremony.

No matter how much she had tried to convince herself that your marriage was nothing but a farce, seeing you made it hard to believe that the farce would prevail.

It was undeniable, even more so in daylight—the two of you looked like a picturesque match. Like two indomitable forces forged by the gods, and preordained by the universe to be equal counterparts. 

She bit the inside of her lip until a small metallic taste pricked the tip of her tongue.

She must assert herself in Suguru’s heart. 

She must believe that their shared history and their love were the enduring truth.

---

The initial reunion was short-lived, and there was little time for settling down before the council briefing. Much to her disappointment, it was you who showed her to her quarters, but she supposed it was by virtue of you being the General’s wife—though she vehemently refused to address you as such.

The more she observed you, the more she loathed the cold and impassive face you donned, as though you thought all to be beneath your station.

If you had resented your position so, then you ought to give it up.

How dare you not value the title of Lady Geto?

Suguru had given you all that a lowly-judge’s daughter could only dream of. But now that you had claimed it—you dare besmirch it with your arrogance?

Yet, as much as every fiber in her body wanted to reject your being, a perverse part of jealousy compelled her to pull you closer.

“Wait, Lady Geto.”

She gently waved away the royal servants and gestured to the empty seat beside her. “Would you stay and keep me company for a while?”

Most would have pounced on the chance to rub shoulders with a princess, but you remained indifferent—almost as though you had no interest in keeping her company.

Were you jealous?

Were you aware that you may have been Lady Geto in title, but not in Suguru’s heart?

Judging by how you only spoke when spoken to, perhaps there was one thing she could commend you for: you understood your place.

Ayaka’s eyes carefully traced you, as you made your way across the tent and sat as polite a distance as one could manage on a small bench.

“How is marriage with Su— I mean, General Geto?”

It had been unintentional. His name had always come naturally to her, but the sound of Suguru’s name coming from her lips—in front of you, no less—sent an unexpected exhilaration through her.

Better yet, this familiarity ought to rattle you. A reminder that you stood no chance when it came to his heart.

“Our marriage is more than I could have asked for,” you said, almost wistfully.

It was not the answer she had anticipated. But perhaps you had only said it out of diplomatic courtesy. After all, it was not possible that Suguru would have had a change of heart.

“I don’t expect any less. He is a good man after all.” The corners of her mouth twitched. “We’ve known each other since we were children... so he is very important to me.”

“He is an honorable and competent man,” you replied.

“Indeed, he’s always been like that since we were young,” she replied, ignoring the annoyance that needled at her. “We both cherish each other deeply, so I just want to make sure he’s treating you well.”

You paused for a moment.

Had it finally sunk in that you could never measure up to the history they shared?

“Thank you for your concern, Ayaka-sama. As his wife, I take comfort knowing Suguru is surrounded by loyal allies like yourself.”

She couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

It was maddening how you stubbornly clung to the performance of a civil marriage. 

Why couldn’t you break into tears? Reveal the truth that your marriage was failing? 

Tell her that Suguru was repulsed by the mere thought of you?

Perhaps she ought to try to appeal to your humanity instead. After all, you should understand—between two dignified women—the gravity of what you had stolen from her.

“To be honest… I’m a little worried about this meeting.” Her voice was demure. “My father shouldn’t have sent me here. I doubt I’ll be of any help.”

You looked at her.

“Forgive my directness, Ayaka-sama. But are you not to wed their prince? I cannot see anyone else more suitable for this negotiation than you.”

She was certain you had not a single drop of sympathy in your blood.

“I-I am…” She slightly slumped, her composure threatening to break. “But… I have never done this before. And in truth, I do not want to marry him.”

Was it not enough to take her lover, that you must also rob her confidence?

“I am afraid that is beyond my understanding, Ayaka-sama.”

“Then… how did you and General Geto make it work?”

It was only for a fraction of a second, but she saw it in your eyes—how you were taken aback by the directness of the question.

“I believe the foundation of any relationship—not just marriage—is respect, Ayaka-sama. Knowing which lines should not be crossed, while affording each other the space to remain their own person.”

“I-I see…”

Perhaps she had credited you too soon with understanding your place.

---

The war council was nothing short of confusing. Ayaka had tried to grasp the political situation, but even the finest negotiator would not be able to persuade themselves out of this.

From all accounts, the Eastern Empire had the right to view this as an act of betrayal and hostility. The only way to resolve this tension would be if her father withdrew the troops. But knowing Sato, he would rather start a war before backing down. 

Indignation simmered beneath her skin.

How could her own father put her in this impossible situation? How could he subject her to such humiliation?

But even more irritating, why had an invitation been extended to you?

Had Suguru truly deemed you capable enough to have a seat at the table?

Should you not be tending to other menial affairs at the campsite, as a proper, dignified noblewoman would?

Ayaka glanced at the parchment before her; her handwriting was immaculate but also reflected her tenuous understanding of the situation. She had hoped to be more diligent with the note-taking, but her current grievances outweighed her attention to the meeting.

Then again, you remained silent the entire time. Perhaps you were just as lost as she was—or even more so. Maybe Suguru would reconsider bringing you to such a high-stakes meeting the next time, so as not to embarrass him and House Geto.

“I will step in if necessary, Ayaka-sama,” Suguru reassured her. “Please, just try your best.”

For a moment, she looked at you, only to be met with an empty stare. You had not spared one look at her in the entirety of this meeting, yet when Suguru had professed his unyielding support—you looked.

Every council member had followed suit and offered their support. It was evident that you could not stand it.

You may force your way to a seat, but there were always consequences for those who covet more than they deserve. 

“I will do my best,” Ayaka said softly, her eyes moving to Suguru. “With General Geto and everyone by my side, I am sure it will go well.”

As the grueling meeting concluded, Ayaka was more than eager to leave. She could not stand another moment with the war council, all of whom added little value to a solution and only expressed their anxieties. Being in proximity to such fretful men only compounded on her own unease. After all, there was nothing that could be done. It was true what Hachi had said: as long as Suguru was there—victory was assured. She had nothing to fear even if the negotiations were unsuccessful, because Suguru always had a plan.

“A penny for your thoughts, Lady Geto?” Haibara’s voice caught her attention as she was leaving, but she did not want to waste another second inside that stuffy tent.

It was perplexing. Why did Haibara seem fixated on you? She had crossed paths with Haibara more times than she could remember during their childhood, but he had never once asked anything to the effect of her thoughts or opinions. Then again, Haibara had always been quiet, like Suguru’s silent watcher.

Perhaps… there was something scandalous brewing under the roof of House Geto. Why else would a man be so keen on another woman—and a married one, no less?

She could ask Hachi to investigate another time. But this moment with Suguru was precious, and she did not wish to sully it with the thoughts of you.

---

Ayaka walked alongside Suguru through the campsite. She couldn’t recall the last time they had walked so closely. Every second with him felt like compensation for stolen time. Their last encounter at his wedding was not their kindest. It was tense, a charade filled with false blessings and venom-laced compliments.

But with Suguru, when was she ever at ease?

Especially not after what her father did to House Geto.

The hypocrisy of cherishing a man whose ruin was all because of a tyrannical father. The shame to continue loving such a man, while still clinging to the monster that orchestrated his demise.

Yet despite knowing such shame and hypocrisy, it was selfishness guised in devotion that prevailed.

Because she could not stop loving him.

And she was certain she never would.

“I hope marriage has been treating you well.” She tried to make conversation, yet there was an undercurrent of unfamiliarity she could not quite shake—as though they had become estranged. 

“Yes,” Suguru smiled. “It is more than I could have asked for.”

It had only been a few months since Suguru had wedded, but it seemed that the two of you had begun to share a similar resonance.

“Both you and Lady Geto said the same thing. You two must understand each other very well.”

He hummed, a small contented smile graced his lips.

“Everyone is so enthusiastic about my marriage—enough about me. How was the journey? Are you tired?”

“Oh, well. It was quite alright…”

Though he walked beside her, so close that she could smell the scent of fresh linens and the warmth that radiated off his body—his mind was far away.

He was preoccupied.

She wished she had not been so astute when it came to him, because it did not escape her—how her words did not seem to quite reach him.

How his usual smile did not quite radiate its usual warmth.

How his eyes, for a fleeting moment, flickered back towards the tent. 

---

The week leading up to the Eastern envoy’s arrival was uneventful and disappointing. Despite Suguru being on the same campgrounds, Ayaka barely crossed paths with him, let alone spent time by his side. It was as though the universe was playing a cruel joke.

Much to her dismay, she had crossed paths with you daily. At one point, in a momentary lapse of judgment, she let her agitation slip.

“It seems fate always brings us together, Lady Geto,” Ayaka remarked as she caught you walking alone from the opposite direction.

She couldn’t put her finger on when, but she had noticed your lady-in-waiting had been absent from your side for some time. Perhaps you were difficult to please. Given your aloof nature, Ayaka could only surmise you were unpleasant company.

“The grounds are only so small, Ayaka-sama,” you politely bowed. “I am certain the fates have more important things to oversee—such as ensuring your success at the negotiations.”

Were you mocking her?

Did you think that she was so inadequate—that the fates had to help her?

You were more vicious and conniving than she had originally thought.

As if it had not been miserable enough, the constant chatter and whispers around the campsite about how Lady Geto was an extraordinary woman, and a match made in heaven for the General, made her blood boil.

It was impossible that you were as brilliant as they say. Surely, they were superficial compliments to get on Suguru’s good graces. Especially a woman like you, who kept close to herself, must have a vile secret—a vice.

---

After the insulting exchange, she had secretly sent Hachi to spy on you and Haibara for the rest of the week.

“Ayaka-sama,” Hachi reported without fail every night. “I have not seen Haibara or Lady Geto do anything disgraceful.”

“Are you certain, Hachi?” Ayaka pressed. She had resigned herself to calligraphy to pass the time, writing mantras and prayers for peace and success. “Not even a glance that lingered for too long?” 

“I assure you, Ayaka-sama. My eyes remain ever keen to serve you.”

Ayaka let out a small huff, dropping her brush—the ink splattered across the scroll of beautifully written prose. She wanted to scream. Nothing had gone the way she had imagined thus far. Hot tears of frustration welled up in her eyes, but she had refused to let them fall because it was undignified to cry and throw a tantrum.

For once, even Hachi’s words were far from comforting. 

---

Tomorrow was the decisive day, yet Ayaka found it difficult to sleep, even with Hachi’s coaxing. Quietly slipping out of the tent undetected, she found herself wandering aimlessly around the outer skirts of the campsite. It would be a lie to say she was not nervous, despite knowing that even if she were to fail on her end, Suguru would pick up the pieces. 

A part of her wished she had been more capable, more useful. Being treated delicately had its advantages—it was not always terrible. But at times, there was also a sense of embarrassment and shame that came with it. Yet, she understood that everyone around her had been conditioned to treat her as such: naive, helpless, and fragile.

An ornament wrapped in silk.

A silk that bound like steel.

The sound of streaming water pulled her from her thoughts. Her mind had not even registered that she had been subconsciously seeking something, or rather, someone—until she finally found him by the riverbank. 

“Suguru, there you are,” she called out.

He, too, appeared lost in thought. Perhaps he had been thinking about the negotiations.

“Ayaka-sama,” he smiled. 

Whenever he addressed her so formally, it felt as though the chasm between them had grown. A chasm that her father had wedged between them ever since he decided to do the unspeakable. If only she could turn back time and gain the courage to stand by Suguru’s side.

If only she had been braver back then, Suguru would be calling her something entirely different now. 

“It’s just you and me, Suguru, there’s no need to be so formal.” Ayaka chuckled, trying to ignore the way her chest ached.

He let out a quiet hum. 

Without an invitation, she took a seat beside him. It was untoward for a woman to be alone with a man at night, and in such a remote area no less. But in this moment, Ayaka could not care less about optics or noble etiquette—she only wanted to close the ever-growing gap between her and the man she loves.

“Are you nervous for tomorrow?” She asked.

“It will be fine,” he let out a soft chuckle. “I believe you can do it.”

What if… she did not want to do it?

What if she wanted it all to crumble and fall?

What if her father could declare war on the Eastern Empire instead?

Surely, that would mean that the marriage between her and Prince Kotoyuki would be annulled.

Her and Suguru could be together. 

She would be braver, more useful, smarter this time—

“I’m not so sure to be honest. Perhaps Lady Geto would make a better negotiator than me.”

Why…

Why was it that even in this moment with Suguru, it was her tongue that spoke of you from her own volition?

“And what makes you think that?” 

“She’s just so… capable and intelligent”

“It is true,” he admitted.

It was almost reflexive; the way he had agreed so swiftly did not escape her. Whenever someone spoke positively of you, his eyes would soften, and a wistful smile would play on his lips. At first, it was easy to convince herself that it was all performance.

Now, her belief was wavering.

“You know—she reminds me of Hayato. The two of them probably would’ve gotten along.”

She had not entirely meant it. She had only said it because she could not stand the thought of you occupying space in Suguru’s heart and mind. Knowing Hayato, he would not have spared a glance at you—a nameless family who held the title of nobility but had no actual political standings.

“Perhaps,” he remarked, but it lacked warmth.

Had the thought of you being close to another man irritated him?

“Would it be selfish of me to say that I don’t want this negotiation to succeed?” She asked.

“I will pretend I did not hear that.”

How much more rejection must she bear?

He may have been honorable and duty-bound to a fault, but was it really so important that he would sacrifice the love they once shared?

Does he not realize that his blind loyalty to her father was futile?!

“I don’t want to marry their prince—I don’t want to marry anyone. If it’s not—” 

Suguru’s face hardened, his entire body went still. Ayaka was not sure if she had pushed him too far. She had voiced more than she should have. But now that she had found a sliver of courage, she could not hold back. Nothing else mattered as long as she could stay in his orbit.

“I want to be with you, Suguru,” she quietly confessed, her hand resting on his arm in a desperate attempt to keep him. “I don’t care that I’m not Lady Geto, and if I must be second—” 

“Ayaka…” The waver in his voice was unmistakable, which meant he only needed gentle coaxing.

She leaned in, closer.

“If we love each other, I can convince my father. I’ll do everything I can.”

He did not resist her advances.

Finally, it seemed for all the time apart this week, her prayers were finally answered. 

It had all been in her own head. 

Suguru still loved her.

Emboldened by the moment, Ayaka leaned in for a kiss. Her heart beating violently against her chest, as the blood rushed to her ears. She had never done this before—for it had always been a man’s duty to pursue. But in this moment she could not care for societal norms and expectations, she could not imagine sharing such intimacy with anyone else, except Suguru.

What is dignity without love?

What is love if it is not the very man before her?

His gaze drifted to her lips. And then he paused. For a split second, his gaze seemed adrift. 

Was he nervous?

Their faces now mere inches apart, so close that she could feel the charged warmth between their bodies—

Snap.

---

In her mind, she thought she had won. Especially now that it was all laid bare, in front of your very eyes, where you truly stood.

“I… apologize,” you shakily stammered.

She should have celebrated this moment. She should have rejoiced in how she had finally crumbled your walls. But her instinct was to defend her own reputation as a princess, and not as a woman who had reclaimed her lover.

“L-Lady Geto! It’s not what it looks like.”

At this moment, watching you falter while holding fast onto your dignity, was not exactly the triumphant moment she had imagined. 

“It’s alright, Ayaka-sama.” Your usual aloofness broke into something indiscernible. “I saw nothing shameful.”

Before she had another chance to speak, you turned and walked away.

Silence stretched in the aftermath; each passing second felt like an eternity. The Suguru she had known as a child would have comforted her without hesitation, but the man before her remained still.

Not once did he look at her. 

“S-Suguru, I—”

“I’m sorry.” His voice was curt. “This cannot happen again.”

And to her horror, he chased after you without another thought.

She helplessly watched as his figure disappeared into the night, leaving a cold hollowness in its wake.

---

It’s alright, Ayaka-sama. I saw nothing shameful.

Your voice echoed into the depths and crevices of her consciousness. She had tried to convince herself countless times that it was, indeed, nothing shameful. After all, it was you who stole a role that was never meant for you to fulfill.

Even so, her heart knew otherwise.

What she had done was not only indecorous, but it was disgraceful. Had someone else caught the two of them by the riverbank, it would have ended in a fatal outcome. Sato would have easily overlooked his own daughter’s shortcomings, but his general would not be pardoned—it would have been deemed an act of treason, something her father would have been more than willing to decree.

Forget about you.

She was careless—she should have thought of Suguru more.

Yet, this entire journey had put her at a crossroads: to let go of him, or to relinquish all decorum and pursue him with her full might.

Had she been wiser and more rational, she would have let go of him. But matters of the heart do not answer to logic.

---

The Eastern delegation arrived with their horses and lavish costumes. Their loud displays of opulence were misguided and highly improper, given the nature of the meeting. It was as though they had already declared themselves the victors.

Inside the council room tensions remained high, but the animosity between the two parties wasn’t the only storm brewing. Ayaka knew that the two countries’ goodwill rested on her, yet even as she regurgitated what she had endlessly rehearsed the past week, her mind was elsewhere. 

Every chance there was for assertion, that vulgar Takeda would cut in.

She had begun to run out of words; the talks were only going in endless circles. Now, she had hoped Suguru could save her—

“If I may,” you interjected, raising a hand slightly. 

All eyes turned to you, including Suguru’s. You had crossed the line yet again, and overstepped his authority, but instead of condemning you for your presumptuous lack of decorum… he acknowledged you.

How infuriatingly meddlesome.

Even after all that had transpired, you were still tenaciously clinging to him—trying to make yourself seen.

But Ayaka understood at this very moment that there was nothing she could do. Because as much as she loathed to admit it, she benefitted from your interference. 

It was evident…

She was inadequate after all. 

---

As the unexpected truth came to light in the midst of this negotiation, a shiver ran down her spine. It was not the Eastern Empire’s betrayal that had terrified her, though that in itself was shocking.

It was you.

How was it possible that you had discovered such a damning secret?

How much more were you hiding under the facade of Lady Geto?

As commotion erupted into chaos, Ayaka’s attention remained fixed on you. It was as though the more she tried to reject you, the more gravity compelled her into your orbit. Even amidst the current disaster of bickering, prideful men, you sat there in poised silence.

Your restrained composure, calculated movements, and articulation…

There was no doubt you could be on par with the likes of her father and Hayato.

“Your wretched nation deserves to be taken down,” Takeda snapped. “It should be your lands ravaged and burned—your innocent civilians slaughtered!”

The room went deathly silent.

“Our King is a coward!” Takeda yelled, eyes wild as he turned to Ayaka and pointed at her with a disdain so deep, as though he had promised blood and death.

Ayaka’s body went cold, frozen in dreadful fear. Something dangerous was unraveling before her very eyes, though she could not prepare for what was to come.

“He thinks marrying his son off to a tyrant’s daughter will bring about peace?!”

Her father may have blood on his hands, but she had nothing to do with it. She did not choose this life, nor could she escape its vile clutches either. She may have been born into the abyss, and even if the blood of a tyrant flows through her—she was no monster.

Why must she carry this shame?

All she yearned for was to be free, and to be loved—

Suddenly, Takeda launched himself from his seat, drawing his sword. 

Everything that followed happened too fast.

It should have been her.

In that fleeting moment before he moved, his eyes locked with hers—she knew he had intended to sentence her fate. 

But instead…

She was now on the floor, Suguru’s body hovering over hers, protecting her from danger.

Her eyes locked with his frenzied stare, his breath erratic.

He had saved her.

Perhaps he still loved her—

“My lady!” Yumi’s scream pierced through the noise.

“What are you doing?! Have you lost your mind, Takeda?!” 

Her gaze finally snapped beyond Suguru’s shoulder, and in that moment, the blood drained from her body. You were pinned onto the floor, Takeda’s blade inches from your throat, death barely postponed with your hand on the steel’s edge. One more breath and it would cut through your fingers.

The revelation that she was about to witness your gruesome death tore a guttural scream from her throat.

Her scream snapped Suguru to his senses, the realization finally dawning on him that you were in mortal danger. He immediately lunged at Takeda with all his might, tackling him onto the floor. The blade clunked to the floor.

Amid the frenzy, she couldn’t see what had transpired next, as the soldiers escorted her out with urgency. Haibara continued to reason with Suguru, though she couldn’t make sense of what he was saying—adrenaline still rushing through her veins.

Yet from all the violent chaos and near-death experience came a silver lining, a realization that no one could deny: 

Suguru had chosen her over you.

---

Soldiers remained on high alert, ten of them exactly, encircling Ayaka’s tent. Now that the adrenaline had settled, it became suffocating. So much so that she had dismissed the rest of the royal servants and only allowed Hachi to stay.

“General Geto had rushed Lady Geto back into their quarters,” Hachi informed. 

“How grave are her injuries, Hachi?” 

“It is much too grotesque, Ayaka-sama. Spare your heart of such matters.”

“Do you think she will survive? It is all because of me—” 

“Nonsense. General Geto had done the most honorable thing. He is truly your father’s most trusted general.” 

Initially, she had thought that Suguru jumped to her defense because his heart still held feelings towards her, but now that Hachi had said it… she loathed to confront the possibility that Suguru only protected her out of duty.

It couldn’t be.

The way he had not hesitated even for a fraction of a moment must have proven where his heart truly lay.

“I must see her.”

“You need not blame yourself, Ayaka-sama—” 

“I wish to see her, Hachi,” Ayaka repeated more assertively.

A dissonant ache coiled in her chest. Guilt laced with a flicker of concern, yet she understood the concern was not entirely pure.

---

Ayaka barged her way out of the tent, immediately decreeing all soldiers to remain on guard around her tent. As she made her way through the campsite alone, her eyes found a physician moving with urgency.

“Are you tending to Lady Geto?” she called out. 

The physician stopped in his tracks, abandoning his haste to greet Ayaka. Everyone knew it mattered not—even in the face of death—royal blood always came first if you valued your own life.

“Ayaka-sama. General Geto has summoned me, I fear death’s grip tightens on Lady Geto each passing moment.” The physician attempted to cut the conversation short.

The words struck her unexpectedly. She knew not whether to feel relief or horror at the prospect.

“I shall accompany you. We must go—quickly.”

Ayaka’s arrival inside the quarters was not at all what she expected. Instead of the usual reverence or delight she was greeted with, a hint of confusion cast down on the entire party.

“I’m sorry,” she said, out of breath. “I wanted to be sure Lady Geto was all right, so I stopped the physician on the way…”

Suguru’s expression immediately darkened, annoyance flickering across his face. He had never shown her such hostility before. She had only come here out of concern, and yet her goodwill was seen as nothing but an intrusion. 

It was jarring. 

Even if it was only a momentary lapse in his usual character.

“May I, Lady Geto?” The physician extended his hand as he sat at the bedside.

It was true, what the physician had said earlier. She had never seen so much blood in her life. The possibility of you succumbing to your wound seemed likely. 

“I only want Yumi here,” your voice cracked.

Even in the face of death, you were a prideful woman.

“Let’s respect Lady Geto’s wishes,” Haibara acquiesced. 

Perhaps it was for the better. After all, this gruesome sight was nauseating. But Suguru lingered, reluctant to go. And if Suguru would not leave, she must stay as well.

Before either could further protest, Haibara forced both of them out.

---

Suguru stared off into the distance outside the tent. His hands balled into tight fists, knuckles whitening.

“Yumi, please—help stabilize our lady!” The physician’s voice cut through the fabrics of the tent.

He spun around, wanting to charge in. But Haibara held him back. Despite the small resistance he had put up he eventually gave in and calmed.

Ayaka had never seen Suguru unravel like this before. Even as he stood at his family’s funeral—the sole survivor of the Geto massacre—he had never once displayed this kind of volatility.

Her eyes drifted to Haibara. For the first time since the arrival at the Eastern Campsite, she had truly looked at him. Suguru had grown into a formidable man—that much was obvious, but Haibara, too, was formidable in his own right. Perhaps he had proven to be even more rational than Suguru at times. He had grown much taller, shoulders much broader. Judging by the sword fastened on his hip, it appeared he had also taken up the sword rather than keeping his nose between books. 

It was inappropriate, given the direness of the situation, but standing alone with Haibara and Suguru elicited a sense of nostalgia. She could almost smell the sweet cherry blossoms as the memory resurfaced. Carefree summer days when the trio used to spend a lot of time together at the Geto Estate. Haibara often kept to himself with a book, while Suguru brandished a sword on the training field. Ayaka would sit with Sayuri, mesmerized by the way the sword seemed to dance with Suguru as one. 

Yet despite growing up closely together, there had always been a quiet distance between them.

By no means was Haibara’s character offensive; in fact, Ayaka had always found his loyalty and gentleness admirable. If anything, she had wished to be closer to Haibara. Every time they spoke, he was cordial, but he wasn’t open—not like he would be with Suguru.

Not like he was with you.

If she must admit, the distance had been a bit of a sore spot for her.

---

The heavy silence stretched on for what felt like a long time, until finally the physician peeked out of the tent’s entrance, gesturing the group to come inside.

“How’s my wife?” Suguru asked.

Wife. 

What a peculiar thing to call you now. Ayaka had not heard him once address you as his wife.

Did he feel responsible for your injury? Or perhaps it was all for the sake of performance. Regardless, it stirred an uncomfortable ache inside her chest.

“It’s a stroke of luck she didn’t lose her hand, General. The wound was deep—it cut through the tendons.” 

Suguru remained composed, but it was clear he was bracing for what was to come.

“And how long will recovery take?”

“Weeks, at the earliest—assuming there’s no infection. But…” The physician hesitated. “I’m afraid, even once it heals, her hand will likely never regain full function.”

“N-No!” Yumi cried.

Silence fell over the tent.

No matter how much she had resented you, she had not wished this cruel fate upon you. It did not matter how you turned the tides of war, how many lives you had just saved, or how brilliant you were. Because you were now a diminished woman.

A wife with a maimed hand was an embarrassment, let alone the wife of the decorated King’s General—the Lady of the beloved House Geto. None would fault a man of Suguru’s standing for casting you aside; in fact, most would encourage it.

Honor would have demanded that he stay by your side, through better or worse, in sickness and in health. But the stigma of an incapacitated wife was a slow and eroding burden. Even the most devoted of men could not carry that weight forever.

If she were in your position, she would have wished death had claimed her instead. To survive was a far crueler fate.

To survive would have meant that you must face the world alone.

---

“The soldiers are all waiting at the dining hall,” Ayaka tried to dispel the uncomfortable heaviness. “Perhaps we should go first and let Lady Geto rest—” 

“I will go,” you declared.

No one would have expected you to show up. After all, you had only narrowly escaped death.

“But Lady Geto, you must recover from your injury.” She tried to dissuade you.

“As you said, Ayaka-sama,” you smiled with a chilling edge. “Everyone is waiting. I do not wish for them to worry for my sake.”

Even now, you were stubborn, desperately clinging to the role of Lady Geto. For a woman of your intelligence, it was impossible that you had not already realized your dire fate, and perhaps you were trying to manipulate his guilt and wring every drop of sympathy he had remaining.

---

In the dining hall, the chatter and warmth of the space resumed. Your injury was an image Ayaka did not think she could ever rid herself of. She had never seen anything so gruesome in her life before, and coupled with the solemnity in the quarters earlier, it was utterly suffocating.

But that was all behind her now.

This was a welcomed distraction that everyone could benefit from. After the long day, she was beginning to feel lightheaded and famished, and she was certain everyone else was too.

“I heard that bastard targeted both Ayaka-sama and Lady Geto.” One of the soldiers seethed.

A crass remark in front of royalty no less, but she supposed at the end of the day soldiers were soldiers.

“He has no honor! Attacking two women like that.” Another rebuked. 

You remained quiet the duration of the meal. It was evident that you struggled to work with your spoon with your non-dominant hand. Alas, it was only going to become more difficult. 

“My father will hear of this and Takeda will be dealt with accordingly,” Ayaka reassured the crowd.

From her peripheral vision, she noticed Suguru’s hand move. He placed a piece of fish into your bowl. You had accepted it without protest; it seemed that you had finally gotten over your upset and begun making moves to maintain your position.

“Yes, you must let King Sato know; only he can bring swift justice for Lady Geto!” one of the captains advocated for you.

“You have my word,” Ayaka nodded. “After all, it was thanks to General Geto that I was out of harm’s way. I must make it up to Lady Geto.” She looked at Suguru with a reassuring smile.

“Please, Ayaka-sama, there is no need for you to do anything for your general’s wife,” you said with a smugness. “General Geto is an honorable soldier first. Despite his devotion to his wife, he cast his personal feelings aside to fulfill his royal duties by protecting your Highness. I am sure that any of our loyal soldiers here would have done the same.”

The soldiers nodded and hummed in agreement, which only added to her indignation.

“Geto-sama is a good man,” you added. “A man that I take pride in calling my husband.”

“Such high praises, Lady Geto!” 

“They are simply truths.” You shook your head and smiled. “After all that my husband has sacrificed, I have little to offer in return—save for my unwavering devotion.”

Ayaka’s hands balled into her clothing under the table, trying to temper the embarrassment that had warped into rage. The thought of you reducing Suguru’s actions as mere duty was galling. 

In that moment, she wanted to throttle you. Knock that irritating smile off your face. You were infuriatingly audacious—a vexatious and cunning woman indeed. An insolent woman who continued to ignore her place and sink her claws into more than she deserved.

You may have survived once, but you would soon learn that if you did not temper your arrogance, it would be your inevitable demise.

---

Much to her dismay, Suguru didn’t stay long in the dining hall. Haibara had interrupted soon after, whispering something into Suguru’s ear.

“There are some matters I need to attend to.” Suguru cleared his throat, giving his captains a knowing nod. He had looked to you once before leaving, but you had been oblivious to his gaze—distracted by the infantry commander’s drunken ramblings of his wife and children.

Shortly after Suguru had left, Ayaka had fallen uninterested in the dinner. She took a few slow bites—pacing her exit—so as not to be blatant that her interest only lay with Suguru. 

“It has been a long day. Unfortunately, I am feeling rather exhausted and must excuse myself,” she said with practiced grace.

As she stood to leave, you followed suit to escort her back to her quarters.

Until the very end, you played your role as Lady Geto with perfection.

It was daunting, how impenetrable you were. 

She had wished you’d ignored her. Given in to your anger and grievances. Lashed out at someone. Because then all could see how you were a vicious wolf in sheep’s skin. That it wasn’t a disguise that only she could see.

Your perfect performance only heightened her frustration. She couldn’t forfeit the night without telling you, for once, how she truly felt. 

“You are indeed most fortunate, Lady Geto… to have someone like Suguru.”

With that, she retreated into her tent, without sparing you another glance.

---

Ayaka stared into the dark emptiness of the tent roof. Flashbacks of better days played relentlessly in her mind, the imagery so vivid, as though time had rewound itself and she was still the little girl all those years ago.

She fidgeted with a gold bangle that was hidden under her sleeve this entire journey. Before she had left the palace, under Hachi’s stern suggestion, she avoided wearing any lavish jewelry and fabrics—as it would have been highly indecorous given the nature of the negotiations. She had hidden it well to avoid being scolded.

It felt fitting to bring the gold bangle. After all, it was her most prized possession—a lucky talisman.

It had been a gift from Suguru when she came of age. She could still see the way he smiled at her under the starry skies, much like tonight’s, as he shyly presented her the gift and put it on her wrist with shaking hands. 

“Congratulations, Ayaka-sama. I hope that one day I can be worthy of standing by your side,” the young Suguru said.

Back then, she had wishfully thought it was his quiet vow of taking her hand in marriage when the time was right.

But the right time never came.

Now, he was married to another woman—a woman he supposedly held no feelings for.

Yet, if that had been true, why did touching the bangle not give her the same comfort as it did before?

Instead, why did it feel like touching a cold relic of the past?

She had refused to believe it.

She had refused to believe that Suguru no longer loved her.

After tossing and turning, she knew it was all in vain. She couldn’t rid herself of the heaviness inside her chest, so she slipped out into the campsite for clarity. 

A part of her wished she could cross paths with Suguru once more before she was set to return to the palace tomorrow morning.

---

“A-Ayaka-sama!” One of the infantry soldiers exclaimed.

She donned her usual warm smile. “Have you seen General Geto?”

The soldier briefly paused.

“General Geto is seeing through a private matter at the moment,” he replied, eyes constantly flickering behind her. “Shall I send word that you are looking for him?”

“If it is a private matter, I shall not interfere. I had only meant to bid him farewell and give him my sincere gratitude before I depart at sunrise.”

“Of course, Ayaka-sama. You are most gracious as ever.”

She gracefully turned around and began walking toward the opposite direction of the campsite. Her senses remained sharp and peeled for any signs of Suguru.

Just as she was about to abandon hope of finding him, a secluded tent on the edge of the campsite perimeter caught her eye. An eerie darkness surrounded it, but it was also the only place she had not yet searched. Ayaka’s heart began to beat violently against her chest—as though her instincts had cautioned her against advancing further.

But she ignored it.

As she encroached closer and closer, it became apparent someone was inside. It had taken her a moment to register it, but a low, disgruntled moan came from within.

“Answer me—”

It was Suguru’s voice.

“I… know… nothing you speak of,” Takeda’s voice responded, but it had lost all its original authority.

She snuck towards the tent, finding a small slit to peer inside. And what she witnessed shattered her understanding of the boy that once was, and the man he had become now.

Takeda was bloodied and battered, tied against a wooden stake. Two guards stood in stoic witness, one on each side of a large iron cage—which held the rest of the Eastern delegation. Chief Secretary Kawada watched helplessly while the rest of the delegation was silenced by fear.

Suguru had stripped himself of his military robes, clad only in a thin white linen. A sheen of sweat coated his face, the fabric stained with crimson splatters, which Ayaka could only surmise was Takeda’s blood.

In this moment, Ayaka understood the man before her was no King’s General, was not even the scion of House Geto.

It was far simpler, yet its simplicity revealed a glaring truth she refused to accept.

A man stripped of all titles and pretenses.

A man who was exacting revenge for the cruelty placed upon his wife.

“I ask again. Who supplied you with the inventory? And who else from the Eastern Regime is conspiring against us?”

“Why don’t you ask your wife, General? She had dug up my secret, surely she could dig up some more, but it won’t be just a hand she loses next time—”

Suguru’s fist connected to the traitor’s cheekbone with a deafening crack.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

And again.

She couldn’t recognize the man before her, like a frenzied animal that had only one unadulterated instinct to kill.

“Do not speak of her with your vile tongue.”

Takeda retched out blood, spitting out a tooth onto the ground. Ayaka covered her mouth, holding back the way her stomach lurched. Her eyes caught the white specks mixed with the blood on the floor.

They were teeth.

Not just one, but many of them littered the floor.

It had been over an hour since Suguru had left the dining hall; she didn’t want to imagine what else he had done to Takeda during this time.

“G-General Geto, i-if I may—” Kawada quivered.

“You will not.”

The chief secretary let out a small whimper as Suguru landed another blow, but eventually he mustered his courage again. “I am not advocating for this traitor, his demise will be inevitable. But please see reason—”

“And who afforded my wife reason?” He seethed.

Everyone fell silent. Even the guards seemed to have tensed at the sight of their general’s wrath. 

Suguru calmly walked towards the table, hand hovering over a dagger. His fingertips grazed over the hilt, as though internally battling a dark urge.

Was he really going to do it?

Was he going to end Takeda right here?

She wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.

But his hand moved over to the copper basin instead, wringing out the cut linen. He began to scrub the blood off his hands, and then his face.

“Need I remind you, Chief Secretary,” he said. “If I had been unreasonable, it would not only be this cur tied at the stake. It would be all of you.”

“O-of course, General Geto. You are most gracious.”

“Do not be mistaken,” he corrected. “I have only chosen to conclude tonight as is, because I must make amends with my wife.”

At this point, it wasn’t clear if he could wash off the blood, given that the water had been completely saturated.

“Y-Yes… we do sincerely apologize about what happened to Lady Geto. Had we known what Takeda was conspiring, we would never—”

Suguru let out a low sigh.

“It is not your place to apologize.” He dropped the linen into the basin. “Only mine.”

At his words, her world of infinite starry skies crumbled to stardust. Yet in this moment, she was not afforded the time to process what had just transpired. 

Sensing that Suguru was about to leave, Ayaka gathered herself up and quickly sprinted back to her quarters.

She had come for clarity, but only realized that now some clarities are gifts, and others are wounds.

---

Going to the Eastern Campsite had been a curse, because nothing had gone right since she returned. After hearing news of your great exploits and how you had turned the tides of war in the nation’s favor, instead of commending you, Sato had grown anxious.

So much so that all he could speak of in the weeks leading up to your appointment was you and House Geto.

Lady Geto.

Suguru’s wife. Lady Geto.

House Geto. Lady Geto. Suguru’s wife.

Ayaka had grown tired of hearing your name on everyone’s tongue.

Was it not enough that you antagonized her in the Campsite?

Must you also torment her within the confines of her own palace?

She couldn’t understand it, nor did she want to. Perhaps Sato did not wish to resolve the tension with the East through diplomacy, but was it so grave a mistake that he had to banish you to Izuma?

Then again, she had learned not to question it anymore. Her father was hypervigilant at best, and paranoid at worst. 

Which was why she was relieved that Hayato was returning, because only he could temper the King’s erratic emotions.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood in the throne room in silence. Sato had a few ledgers sprawled across the table, though the quick successive flipping of pages revealed he was not actually focused on the material.

He was fidgeting.

Nervous.

Ayaka inwardly sighed. Hayato’s tardiness was always something that irked her. Some days it was more bearable, but tonight she had been in a particularly sour mood.

“He’s late,” Sato grumbled.

“You should be more concerned if he was on time, Father.” Ayaka couldn’t help but take a light jab at her brother.

“Hah. Have sons, they say,” Sato clicked his tongue and rested his head on a palm. “They only do as they please, and take what they please.”

It wasn’t new; she had heard the same complaint countless times from her father. He’d only ever said it out of annoyance, not that he actually meant it. 

“Was it not you who taught us that the world was in the palm of one’s hands, Father?” A voice called out from behind.

A voice that brimmed with suave confidence, and was as charming as it was venomous.

“Hayato,” Sato said flatly.

Ignoring the King’s displeasure, he strode to Ayaka’s side.

“Sister,” Hayato nodded.

“Nii-sama, welcome home.” Ayaka lightly bowed. 

“At least one of us is happy about my return.”

“Father is delighted as well; he’s just being cold because he missed you.”

“Ever the peacemaker you are,” he drawled. “Yet I am to understand that it was not you who brokered peace between the East, but… Lady Geto?”

Ayaka shot the Crown Prince a warning glare, which only further amused him.

“Enough,” Sato snapped. “You shall cease tormenting your sister.”

Hayato acquiesced without protest, but the smug smile on his lips remained. “Surely, Father—you did not summon me after my toilsome journey simply because you missed me. So… what vexes you?”

In truth, Ayaka was not sure why her father had been so eager to meet with Hayato as well. It was not the first nor the last time he would go on embassy. There was nothing particularly remarkable about this return.

Sato finally peeled his eyes from the ledger.

“Matters concerning the kingdom and your only sister are always of utmost importance, are they not?”

“Why certainly, Father,” he replied with hollow courtesy. “Such matters are as much your concern as they are mine.”

Even though the nature of the meeting supposedly had to do with her, she had not the faintest idea of what it was about. Throughout her life, she had believed it to be an act of love and protection. It had felt natural—that her father and brother had been involved in every decision and facet of her life. Almost everyone had a say and a right to voice their opinions.

All except her.

The tide of feelings she had learned to drown was slowly resurfacing.

Had she not gone to the campsite, she would have continued to live life as she always would.

Had it not been for you, she wouldn’t have felt so small. So inadequate. So full of doubt.

“As you know, the Eastern Empire carried out a despicable deed… we must not ignore such betrayal.”

“Then what do you suggest, Father?”

“Had it not been for Lady Geto’s interference, I would have declared war. After all, military retaliation would have rectified such an insult. It would serve as a reminder that they have yet to be ravaged only because we are merciful.”

“Her Grace is most intriguing.” 

“Her Grace ought to know her place. It appears Suguru has grown soft where his wife is concerned.”

If only they had seen what she had witnessed in the interrogation tent that night.

“Suguru, soft? You and I both know he is most tenacious.”

“Then perhaps Her Grace is even more so,” Sato mirthlessly chuckled. “I should like to see how far tenacity takes one in Izuma.”

“Would Suguru truly go with her?” Ayaka blurted.

The two men looked at her as if it were a trivial question, fit only for a lovesick girl.

But it was not. 

Suguru’s choice was simple on the surface. But it was often the simplest choices that were the most revealing.

To remain would mean he had aligned himself with the Crown, but you would be a social outcast. To go with you would mean that he would risk forfeiting his status within the royal court—a dangerous and harmful declaration that he had chosen you above the King. 

Society would perceive Suguru a lesser man. A fool who had willingly gone into exile with a diminished wife. A foolish man who had allowed such a woman to dictate his fate.

“Is it not an honorable husband’s duty to be with his wife?” Sato replied. “My general is a man of honor, is he not?”

It was not an answer she expected, and from her father, no less. Under normal circumstances, her father would have demanded that his subjects remain by his side.

“He is.” Hesitation bled through her voice.

“Then he would know what he must do.”

Ayaka bit her lip, the pain grounding her to reality.

She loathed the possibility that he would relinquish his reputation, House Geto’s legacy, his pride, just for you.

Had Suguru truly become a fool for you?

“We are distracted,” Hayato interjected. “All this talk about House Geto is becoming tiresome. Let us not forget the crux of this meeting.” 

Sato nodded.

“Our next step with the East is to annul the betrothal between Ayaka and Kotoyuki.”

Ayaka froze at the announcement, stunned with elation. She had prayed countless nights that somehow the marriage would not come to fruition. For all the trials and tribulations she had endured, the universe had finally rewarded her with this annulment. 

“Bold move, Father.” Hayato’s interest returned. “And you are sure this would not tarnish sister’s standing in court?”

“You would see to it that it doesn’t, would you not?”

“Why, of course. I would never allow such humiliation to befall my dear sister,” he assured with absolute confidence. “But what of the East… has your ambition grown cold?” 

“Of course not.” Sato clicked his tongue. “The East will be ours with or without a union. Better yet, Ayaka shall make an Empress elsewhere.”

It was clear she could not be spared even a moment of celebration or happiness.

But Ayaka supposed that this was only natural.

She stood in the throne room, a mere spectator of her own life, as two men dictated her fate while she could only respond with words of gratitude and a smile.

A smile that caged her resentment and disdain.

---

Ayaka walked silently beside Hayato after the meeting. It had been quiet—too quiet. Not even a rustle of the leaves, the chirping of cicadas, or footsteps of servants.

There had always been a children’s cautionary tale that when the world stills, it was because the gates of hell had opened. And that all must fall silent, lest they be plucked by demons. Ayaka never believed in such tales, but in recent days, she had become more inclined to believe that supernatural forces exist. Perhaps it was spurred by the overwhelming powerlessness she felt.

Fate.

Divinity.

Preordination. 

Was her fate truly sealed?

Was this the life she was truly meant to live?

“Come, sister, you must tell me more of Her Grace,“ Hayato broke the silence.

Ayaka rolled her eyes.

Even though you were not here, your presence occupied every space and every tongue. Like vermin that refused to be extinguished.

“There is nothing worth noting about the woman,” she dismissed coldly. 

Hayato hummed, holding onto a piece of parchment. 

“Is that why I hear your dear Suguru had assumed the lowly role of an escort soldier?”

“It is only honorable that he sees her to Izuma.” 

“And who is to say he will not stay? After all, you speak of him as honorable, but I hardly find him as such. I have known it since we were children. He may have his father’s looks, but he has his mother’s core. A man who often keeps to himself is no virtuous one—” 

“Enough, nii-sama. I wish to hear no further of your baseless slander.”

“Your naivety—dear sister—may have been endearing when we were children, but now it is rather… disappointing.”

“You—!” 

“Do not be quick to jump to conclusions,” he said sternly. “I do not say this to insult you. But take this as your older brother imparting wisdom to you. You must understand the heart of men.” 

“You do not understand Suguru. Nor did you ever wish to.”

“Hah.” Hayato turned to Ayaka with galling confidence. “If that’s what you insist upon, then there is nothing I could say or do to persuade you. But do you truly think that Suguru is any different?” A twisted amusement flickered in his eyes. “Do you think he would have left his wife untouched?”

Ayaka’s face grew hot with anger and embarrassment at the prospect. Anger, because she loathed the thought of her lover being intimate with someone else. Embarrassment, because she had imagined countless times that it would have been her entwining with Suguru. But now, she couldn’t get that sickening image out of her head. How Suguru would have taken you on the night of your marriage. How he would have whispered sweet words into your ear while making love to you. How he would have vowed to love, honor, and cherish you. 

She hated it.

She hated what she had become because of you. 

Your marriage was loveless.

Yet, if that was the truth, then why?

Why was it that his gaze always searched for you?

Why was it that his lips smiled with pride at the briefest mention of you?

Why was it that his hands had become a weapon of violence for you?

Suguru had always been gentle despite his capability to fight. Controlled. Dignified. He had never once lost his temper, yet for you—he became a villain. 

You forced him into something monstrous, someone she no longer recognized.

You buried her gentle Suguru.

“Tell me, sister, now that Father has annulled your betrothal—what is it you truly desire to do?”

“You know what I must do.” Her answer came out barely above a whisper.

“You fear Father, yet you do not see that he has grown senile and foolish. A madman that is always chasing shadows.”

“Must you speak of him so crassly?”

“Is he not?”

“Father has grown old, yes—but as we all do.”

He scoffed. “Such filial piety. Yet he sees you not as a daughter first, but as an ornamental pawn. Tell me, sister. Does it ever become tiresome affording him so much grace?”

She had resented her father. At times she had even resented Hayato for not defending her.

But above all, she had resented her fate—this life.

Yet she had been sitting in such resentment and disdain for so long that she no longer recalled the feeling because it had grown numb. Because there were things far more terrifying than relinquishing her own feelings, and that was confronting them.

To give in to her resentment would mean to acknowledge that her life had been nothing but a manipulation.

“What say you, if Her Grace and Suguru survive the harsh Izuma winter, we take it as the gods’ providence to pay them a visit? It will be your chance to seize your own fate.”

“You are most privileged, Hayato—to speak so callously of seizing one’s own fate.” 

“You are mistaken, sister. I am not oblivious to the burdens placed upon you. But what is there to fear when I am by your side?” 

Ayaka paused.

Hayato was not one to so readily extend a conciliatory gesture.

“Whatever do you mean, nii-sama?”

He leaned closer. The proximity left no room for doubt. Like father, like son—Hayato had always shared one identical trait with Sato—and that was their shared inability to mask delight when their schemes unfolded exactly as planned.

“The courts grow tired of father’s mental ailment. He is no longer fit to remain on the throne. It is time I claimed my birthright.”

Ayaka’s eyes widened at his declaration. “Does Father know of this? Has he agreed—”

“Whether he knows of it or not, do you believe he would see reason to relinquish his seat?”

The insinuation in Hayato’s words did not exactly surprise her, yet she found herself unable to speak. His eyes bore no anguish or remorse. She had always known her brother to be ambitious; she had always known that he vied for the throne. But she had not expected that he would be so brazen as to pluck it from their father’s hands.

“When I become Emperor, should you have no desire to become another nation’s empress, I will not impose it upon you. Should you wish a quiet life of unwed comfort, I will ensure it. Or... should you covet another man’s heart—whomever it is—it shall be yours.”

The air fell unnervingly heavy, the corridor walls held their breath.

The birth of another betrayal.

Another price to be paid in blood.

Another sin etched into its walls.

Once again, the palace became a silent accomplice, bearing witness to another tragedy.

An endless cycle of destruction.

“How… do you plan on doing it, nii-sama?” Her voice shook.

“Father fears an elusive shadow—a shadow from within our own borders. He destroys what he does not understand, but it is fear that blinds him. It is fear that has led him to his mental demise. I am not a coward like him. If such a shadow truly exists, I will find it and it will be mine.”

“The Merchant Guild…” 

“You are informed, sister.” 

“I have only heard him speak of it once, in passing.”

“Are you aware he suspects a subject within his own courts of having ties with the guild?”

Ayaka shook her head.

“Pity. I would have requested an audience with such a subject.”

“What if you only wound up chasing shadows, nii-sama? How do you know it exists at all?”

He looked at the parchment in his hand again, his thumb carefully grazing over the words as though it held all the answers to the universe. Ayaka could see the way the calculative maneuvers had begun to shift in his mind. At first, she was not sure why Hayato had been so fascinated by the parchment until she gave it a closer look.

Your Majesty, By the time you receive this letter, I will have already made immediate haste for Izuma. Forgive my impudence for not expressing my gratitude in person, as winter soon approaches, and I wish not to further delay my duties. With this, I pledge to our people: I vow to bring prosperity to the Northern lands.  I vow that my interests shall not be dictated by selfish desires.  I vow to defend Izuma and her people. Her Grace, Lady of Izuma

“Should it prove it were only a figment of imagination,” he muttered. “Then I shall be its maker.”

Ayaka paused, unable to summon a reply, fidgeting with the bangle under her sleeve. It was a subconscious tendency she had adopted every time she felt uneasy, even more so when she had received word that Suguru was to marry.

“I urge you to think carefully, Ayaka. A new dawn approaches, and it will be up to you to decide if you wish to remain trapped in the past, or walk towards the future.”

It was not an outrageous thought that Hayato would eventually ascend the throne. And truer still that her father had been unfit to rule for quite some time. Yet a part of her had become anxious about what the palace would become once Hayato became king. Paranoia may have spurred her father’s cruelty, but her brother’s mind had always been clear. A man who was cruel simply because he could be was a kind of horror she did not want to imagine.

But if she thought more deeply on it…

Who was truly more cruel?

Hayato had promised her something that her father had never thought a moment to spare her. Something that had cost him nothing to give, but had cost her everything.

Freedom.

And now it may very well be within her reach.

She extended her hand. Her tongue had not yet dared to speak the desire in her heart.

“Nee-sama would be displeased to find another woman’s letter in your hands. Allow me to see to it.”

Hayato let his eyes drift to the letter, feigning contemplation. “The Crown Princess may be temperamental, but she is mine to deal with. Do not fret yourself over her, dear sister.”

Instead of surrendering the letter, he tucked it into the breast of his garment. He straightened himself and held Ayaka’s gaze for a moment; as though to assess if she was truly friend or foe.

He let out a small, satisfied hum. “Good night.”

Ayaka watched as he disappeared into the shadows.

Even in your absence, you had somehow intrigued Hayato, a man who hardly acknowledged anyone. She was certain that had she not been his only sister, he would not even spare a glance or waste a single breath on her.

She despised how you had intruded upon every aspect of her life.

Your gaze, your voice, the way you carried yourself.

The way even fate seemed to have yielded to you.

She despised how everything she had coveted had already been yours. And the worst part of it all was that she knew that deep down, such things did not move you.

She despised it.

She despised you—

A sharp, metallic clang pulled her from her thoughts. Something had clattered onto the ground. Her eyes slowly dropped to the floor.

Under the moonlight, two halves of a golden bangle glared back at her.

A frisson ran down her spine, and the world around her spun as an unspeakable thought crossed her mind.

She let out a soft, shaky chuckle. Tears streamed uncontrollably down her face as trembling fingers grazed the broken fragments.

Takeda’s only mistake was that he did not kill you.

Perhaps the flower was as rotten as its soil. 

a/n #2: It's been a long time coming. Firstly, I'd like to thank all of you who stuck around and waited so patiently. It's been incredibly heartwarming to see how so many of you continue to give love and support to this series. And despite my prolonged absence, all of you have been so respectful and understanding. When I say this series has found its way to the best readers one could ever ask for, I truly mean it. I'm slowly recovering from the creative drought and burnout I've been going through, but I intend to see this series through! Even if I am not putting out work, please trust that behind the scenes I'm always thinking about it and waiting for the right inspirations to strike. I also tried to go back and review who wanted to be part of the tag list as of Arc 2. I'm sorry if I missed anyone, but you could always give me a nudge if I did. If you want to drop out of the tag list as well, please let me know (I know it's been quite some time and I don't want to jumpscare anyone). Once again, thank you so much. x

Your breath catches sharply in your throat. Panic explodes in your chest, tight and suffocating. Your hands fly up to press against your sternum, feeling the frantic thud of a heart that isn’t supposed to be yours. Cold sweat prickles along your hairline and down your back. The room feels smaller, the air thicker. If I don’t change this right now, he will kill me. I have to win him over — the man I’ve been completely obsessed with — before he decides I’m still that same woman who deserves to die.

The heavy wooden door creaks open. Two maids slip inside, heads bowed low, shoulders hunched like they’re expecting the worst. They carry a tray between them with a pitcher of steaming water, neatly folded linens, and a small bowl of scented oil. Their footsteps are quick but nearly silent on the cold stone floor, as if they’re trying to disturb you as little as possible.

“My Lady,” the older maid says quietly, almost whispering as she carefully sets the tray down on the side table. “We’re here to help you dress. Your usual silks today?”

You swallow and keep your voice soft. “No, not the silks. Something simpler and warmer, please. I’m going down to have breakfast with the Duke in the dining hall.”

The younger maid’s eyes go wide. She almost drops the pitcher, water sloshing dangerously over the rim and dripping onto the floor. “Breakfast… with His Grace?” she blurts, voice cracking with surprise. “In the dining hall?”

The older maid quickly elbows her and forces a nervous smile, though her hands are visibly shaking. “Are you sure, My Lady? He always eats alone. He might not… like it if you show up.”

You nod, sliding your legs over the side of the bed. The stone floor is icy against your bare feet, sending a shiver up your legs. “I’m sure. Please help me get ready.” You pause, then add gently, “And thank you. Both of you.”

The maids go completely still. The younger one stares at you with her mouth slightly open, pitcher forgotten in her hands. The older one blinks rapidly, her hands freezing mid-air above the tray. They exchange a wide-eyed, startled glance, the kind that speaks volumes without a single word. The silence stretches for a long, awkward moment, thick with confusion and unease.

Finally, the older maid clears her throat. “Of course, My Lady. Right away.”

They hesitate for another heartbeat, still stealing uncertain glances at you, before hurrying into motion. Their hands are a little clumsier than usual as they help you out of the nightgown and into a heavy charcoal gown with long sleeves. The soft wool feels warm and comforting against the chill in the air. While they brush out your hair and pin it up in a simple style, they keep darting quick, nervous looks at your reflection in the mirror. The younger maid’s fingers tremble slightly as she works, and the older one’s breathing is a touch too shallow.

They finish dressing you in tense, heavy silence. Once they step back, you thank them again. They both bow deeply, still visibly unsettled, and you step out into the torch-lit corridor. Servants you pass press themselves flat against the walls, whispering frantically the moment your back is turned. Your heart hammers louder with every step toward the grand dining hall.

The massive double doors swing open with a low creak.

There he is.

Duke Ryomen Sukuna sits alone at the head of the long oak table. Pale morning light filters through the tall windows, casting sharp shadows across his face. Loose strands of pink hair have escaped their tie and fall across his forehead. His dark tunic stretches tight over broad, powerfully muscled shoulders, the collar open just enough to reveal the edges of intricate black tattoos that swirl across his collarbones and down his arms. Crimson eyes are narrowed in concentration as he cuts into a thick slab of meat with slow, deliberate strokes of his knife. Old scars mark the visible skin of his neck and the backs of his large, calloused hands. He radiates raw, quiet danger — the kind that makes the air feel heavier. This is the man you’ve spent months fantasizing about, the one whose every appearance in the manhwa made your pulse race.

You walk straight to the chair on his right — the seat that has stayed empty for the entire six months of your marriage — and sit down.

His knife stops mid-cut.

The silence is immediate and suffocating, broken only by the soft crackle of the hearth fire.

Sukuna’s crimson gaze lifts slowly. It locks onto you with raw disbelief and burning disgust. His jaw clenches, the scar along his cheek tightening. For a long moment he simply stares, like he’s trying to decide whether you’re real or some new form of insult.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice is low and rough, laced with irritation.

You swallow hard, hands trembling under the table. You force a small, nervous smile and say softly, “Good morning, husband. I thought it might be nice to have breakfast together for once.”

The words hang in the air.

Sukuna’s expression darkens. He sets the knife down with a sharp clink that echoes through the hall. Slowly he rises to his full height, towering over you — tall, broad-chested, every inch the warlord who has killed without hesitation. The look he gives you is ice-cold.

“You thought it would be nice?” His voice is low, cold, and dripping with contempt. “Six fucking months you couldn’t even be bothered to speak to me… and now you suddenly decide to play house?”

He pushes the chair back with a harsh scrape and rises to his full height, towering over you. His large hand clenches so tightly around the back of the chair that the wood groans in protest.

“Just looking at you ruins my appetite.”

Without another word, he turns sharply on his heel. His cloak snaps behind him like a whip as he stalks out of the hall. The heavy doors slam shut with a deafening boom that echoes through the room and makes the silverware rattle on the table.

You’re left completely alone at the long table, staring at his abandoned plate as the food rapidly cools. Your heart pounds violently in your chest.

This is going to be so much harder than I thought.

But you don’t run. You pick up your fork with still-shaking fingers, take a small bite of the now-lukewarm food, and force yourself to swallow. A heavy, determined weight settles in your stomach alongside the food.

The rest of the morning dragged by in a haze of nervous energy. You moved carefully through the castle, speaking softly to the servants, thanking them for small things, and trying not to overwhelm anyone with your sudden change in behavior. Every time someone flinched or stared too long, your stomach twisted. You knew they were waiting for the old you to snap back into place.

By mid-afternoon the light outside had shifted to a softer gold, and the castle felt a little less oppressive. You decided it was time to try something more direct.

You found one of the kitchen maids and asked her to prepare a simple tray — strong black tea, warm bread, and a few slices of roasted meat. These were the things you remembered him enjoying in the manhwa, the small details you’d clung to while reading late at night. Nothing too elaborate. When the tray was ready, you took it yourself, ignoring the wide-eyed, startled looks from the staff as you carried it down the long corridor toward Sukuna’s private study. Your heart beat faster with every step.

Your heart was hammering so hard it felt like it was trying to climb out of your throat. Two guards outside the heavy double doors stared at you in open confusion but didn’t stop you. You paused for a second, took a steadying breath, and knocked once.

A gruff “Come in” came from inside.

You pushed the door open and stepped into the study.

The room was exactly the kind of place you’d pictured him in — tall shelves lined with old books and rolled scrolls, a massive oak desk covered in maps and scattered letters, weapons mounted neatly on one wall. A fire burned low in the hearth, filling the air with the faint smell of smoke and polished leather. Sukuna sat behind the desk, quill in hand, pink hair tied back messily with a few loose strands falling forward. He didn’t look up right away, focused on whatever he was writing.

Then his crimson eyes flicked up.

The moment they landed on you holding the tray, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. His expression shifted from irritation to pure suspicion in a heartbeat.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, voice low and flat, like he was already tired of whatever game he thought you were playing.

You stepped further inside and carefully set the tray down on the edge of his desk, trying not to let your hands shake too obviously. “I noticed you didn’t eat anything at breakfast,” you said quietly. “So I brought some tea and a few things. It’s nothing fancy. I just thought… maybe you’d be hungry by now.”

Sukuna leaned back in his chair, studying you like you were a problem he couldn’t quite solve. The silence stretched out, thick and uncomfortable. He glanced at the tray, then back at your face.

“You brought me food,” he said slowly, almost like he was testing the words. “You suddenly show up with tea and bread like we’re… what? Friends now?”

He pushed his chair back and stood, circling around the desk with slow, deliberate steps until he was standing right in front of you. He was so tall you had to tilt your head back to look at him. Up close he was even more overwhelming — the heat radiating from his body, the faint scent of leather and steel and something darker, the way his broad shoulders seemed to fill the space between you.

You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I know I’ve been terrible to you,” you said, voice soft but steady. “I don’t expect you to believe me right away. I just… I want to try and do better. That’s all.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened. He reached out and picked up one of the slices of bread, turning it over in his large hand as if checking it for poison. Then he dropped it back onto the tray with a quiet scoff.

“You want to try,” he repeated, the words laced with disbelief and a sharp edge of mockery. “How convenient. Tell me, wife — what exactly changed overnight? Did someone put you up to this?”

His hand suddenly came up, fingers gripping your chin firmly but not harshly, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look away. His touch was warm, rough from years of fighting, and the closeness made your pulse spike.

“Or are you just scared I’ll finally do what everyone’s been expecting me to do for months?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.

Your breath caught. Being this close to him — feeling the intensity rolling off him in waves — made fear and something far more complicated twist together in your stomach.

“I’m not here to scheme,” you whispered. “I just don’t want things to keep being like this.”

Sukuna stared at you for a long, heavy moment. His thumb brushed once over your jaw, almost absentmindedly, before he let go and stepped back.

“Get out,” he said, the words cold but quieter than you expected. “And take your pity tray with you.”

He didn’t move away any further. He stayed standing there, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with dark, unreadable eyes — like he was waiting to see whether you would actually leave… or do something else.

You didn’t argue.

You simply picked up the tray with both hands, gave him a small nod, and left the study without another word. The heavy doors clicked shut behind you. The hallway felt longer than usual as you walked back toward your chambers, the tray growing heavier with every step.

Once inside your room, you set the tray down on a side table and closed the door. Then you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

That went badly.

You let out a slow breath, rubbing your hands over your thighs. The memory of Sukuna’s cold stare and dismissive words kept replaying in your head. He hadn’t even touched the food. He’d barely listened.

Of course he didn’t. Months of silence doesn’t just disappear because I brought him tea.

You leaned back on your hands, looking up at the canopy above the bed. The situation felt heavier now. Fixing this relationship was going to be a lot harder than you’d hoped. He clearly still saw you as the same person who had ignored and schemed against him for half a year. And why wouldn’t he?

If you couldn’t turn this around, things were only going to get worse. You didn’t want to think about how the original story ended, but the possibility lingered in the back of your mind anyway.

You sat there for a while, the afternoon light slowly shifting across the room. Eventually you stood up, walked over to the window, and looked out at the grounds. Your mind kept turning over what to try next. Another small gesture? Giving him more space? Something else entirely?

It was going to take time. A lot of it. And patience you weren’t sure you had.

You sighed quietly and moved away from the window, already thinking about what you could do tomorrow.

The next morning arrived quietly.

You woke earlier than usual, the soft grey light filtering through the tall windows pulling you from a restless sleep. For a few minutes you lay there, staring at the velvet canopy above the bed, thinking about yesterday. The rejections still stung, but you refused to give up after just one bad day.

You got up, washed, and chose a simple but elegant deep-grey gown. After eating a light breakfast alone in your room, you decided on a different approach today. No trays, no forcing your way into his meals. Just quiet presence.

You made your way to the castle’s main library — a spacious, peaceful room lined with tall shelves of books and scrolls. You picked a thick volume on regional history from the shelves and settled into a comfortable chair near the window where the light was good. Not too close to his usual spot, but not hiding either.

About an hour later, the door opened.

Sukuna walked in, still wearing his cloak from whatever business he’d been handling outside. He stopped short when he saw you already there, book open in your lap.

For a brief second his expression flickered with surprise before settling back into that familiar guarded look.

“You’re here too now,” he said, voice flat as he moved toward the large table in the center of the room. He pulled out a chair and sat down, spreading some documents in front of him. “Is there anywhere in this castle that’s still mine?”

You closed your book slowly and looked up at him.

“I can leave if you want,” you offered calmly. “I just thought it might be nice to read in here. It’s quiet.”

Sukuna didn’t tell you to go. He leaned back in his chair and studied you for a moment, crimson eyes sharp and assessing.

“You’ve been talking quite a bit these past two days,” he said, tone dry. “More than I’m used to.”

You gave a small, honest shrug. “I know. I’m trying to change that.”

He tapped his fingers once against the table, watching you openly now. “Trying,” he echoed, like he was testing the word. “That’s what you keep saying. But I still don’t know why.”

You hesitated, then answered simply, “Because I don’t like how things have been between us. And I think we could be… better. If we tried.”

Sukuna let out a short, humorless breath and leaned back further, still studying you.

“Better,” he repeated. “That’s a bold claim.” He paused, then added quietly, “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not interested in pretending.”

But he didn’t ask you to leave.

You stayed in the library for another hour, reading in silence while he worked across from you. He didn’t speak again, but every so often you caught him glancing in your direction — wary, confused, and just a little unsettled.

It wasn’t much.

But it also wasn’t outright rejection.

You stayed in the library for another hour, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of paper and the soft crackle of the fire. You kept your eyes mostly on your book, though you were barely absorbing the words. Every now and then you felt Sukuna’s gaze on you — heavy, searching, and still full of suspicion.

Eventually, he set his quill down with a quiet tap. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest as he looked at you directly.

“If you’re serious about wanting to fix things,” he said, voice low and even, “then maybe you should start by actually appearing publicly with me.”

You looked up from your book, surprised. He continued before you could respond.

“There’s a ball tomorrow night at the capital. I’m expected to attend.” He paused, studying your reaction. “Rumors have already reached half the empire that my wife hates me. It would be good to change the public perception a little. At least act like a fucking couple for once.”

The invitation — if it could even be called that — hung in the air. It wasn’t warm or romantic. It was a test, plain and simple.

You closed your book slowly and met his eyes. “I’ll go with you,” you said without hesitation. “If that’s what you want.”

Sukuna watched you for a long moment, as if waiting for you to take it back. When you didn’t, something unreadable flickered across his face.

“Good,” he said simply. Then he stood up, gathering some of his documents. “Be ready by evening tomorrow. Don’t make me wait.”

He headed toward the door, cloak shifting over his shoulders. Just before he left, he paused and glanced back at you one last time.

“And try not to embarrass me,” he added, though his tone was less biting than before. Almost… cautious.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet library once again.

You let out a long breath and leaned back in your chair, heart still racing. A public ball. Tomorrow. With Sukuna.

This was a big step — and a dangerous one. You’d have to be careful. Very careful.

But it was also an opportunity. A chance to stand beside him in front of everyone and start showing that you were different.

You stood up, clutching the book to your chest, a mix of nerves and quiet determination settling in your stomach.

Tomorrow it is.

The next day passed in a quiet blur of nerves and preparation.

You spent most of the afternoon trying not to overthink everything, but as evening approached, the anxiety crept in anyway. When the maids finally arrived to help you get ready, they moved around your room with careful, slightly confused energy — still adjusting to this gentler version of their mistress.

You chose a deep crimson gown made of rich, heavy silk that flowed elegantly to the floor. It had long, fitted sleeves and a modestly elegant neckline that showed just enough collarbone to feel refined rather than daring. The maids helped you into it, lacing the back with steady fingers while you stood in front of the large mirror. The fabric felt cool and luxurious against your skin, the color bringing out a quiet intensity you hadn’t expected.

They brushed your hair until it gleamed, working through every tangle with patient strokes. Most of it was pinned up into an elegant style with delicate silver pins, but they left a few soft strands loose to frame your face. One of the maids added a simple but beautiful necklace with a single dark gem that rested just below your collarbone, along with matching earrings. A touch of rose-tinted balm was applied to your lips, and a light dusting of powder to even your complexion.

You stared at your reflection the entire time, heart beating faster. This version of you looked every bit the refined duchess — poised, beautiful, and completely unlike the cold, silent woman the public had come to expect at Sukuna’s side.

“You look beautiful, My Lady,” the older maid said softly as she stepped back, a hint of genuine surprise in her voice.

“Thank you,” you replied quietly, smoothing your hands down the front of the gown. Inside, your stomach was in knots. This would be your first real public appearance with Sukuna. Everyone would be watching. Waiting for the usual tension or outright disdain they’d grown used to seeing between the Duke and his wife.

A firm knock sounded at the door.

“He’s ready for you, My Lady,” a servant called from the hallway.

You took one last steadying breath, thanked the maids again, and stepped out.

Sukuna was waiting in the main hall, dressed in formal black with subtle gold embroidery along the collar and cuffs. His pink hair was neatly tied back, and the sight of him in full formal attire made your chest tighten. He looked every bit the powerful duke — tall, imposing, and dangerously handsome.

His crimson eyes swept over you slowly, from head to toe. For a moment his expression was unreadable.

“You’re actually coming,” he said, voice low. It wasn’t quite a question.

“I said I would,” you replied simply.

He gave a short nod, then offered his arm. The gesture felt stiff, like he was still testing whether you’d take it or pull away at the last second.

You slipped your hand through his arm without hesitation. His muscles were tense beneath your fingers, but he didn’t pull away.

As you walked together toward the waiting carriage, he spoke again, keeping his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“People talk. A lot. If we’re going to do this, at least try to look like you don’t hate being next to me.”

You glanced up at him. “I don’t hate it.”

Sukuna didn’t respond, but his grip on your arm tightened just slightly — not painful, just… firmer. Like he was anchoring himself.

The carriage ride to the capital was quiet, the only sounds being the wheels on the road and the occasional shift of fabric. Sukuna sat across from you, watching the passing scenery with a distant expression. Every so often his gaze would drift back to you, as if he still couldn’t quite believe you were really there.

When the carriage finally slowed to a stop outside the grand hall, music and warm light spilled out into the night. You could already hear the murmur of voices and feel the weight of the eyes that would soon be on both of you.

Sukuna stepped out first, then offered his hand to help you down. His palm was warm and steady against yours.

“Ready?” he asked, voice gruff.

You nodded, slipping your hand back into the crook of his arm.

“Then let’s go act like a fucking couple.”

The grand hall glowed under hundreds of crystal chandeliers, casting warm golden light across marble floors and velvet-draped walls. Music from a full orchestra swelled through the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation, the clink of champagne glasses, and the rustle of silk and satin gowns. The scent of expensive perfumes, fresh flowers, and roasted meats from the banquet tables hung heavy in the room.

The moment you and Sukuna stepped through the tall arched entrance together, the entire atmosphere shifted.

Conversations faltered. Heads turned. A ripple of surprised murmurs spread through the crowd like a wave.

You felt every eye on you. Some were curious, some shocked, many openly calculating. The Duke and Duchess of the North rarely appeared together in public — and when they had in the past, it had always been marked by cold distance and icy silence.

Tonight was different.

Sukuna’s arm was solid beneath your fingers as he guided you forward. His posture was straight and commanding, every inch the powerful Duke Sukuna the empire feared and respected. You stayed close, your hand resting lightly but deliberately on his arm, chin lifted with quiet confidence.

A portly lord with a heavy gold chain and an embroidered waistcoat approached first, bowing deeply.

“Your Grace, Duke Sukuna,” he said smoothly, then turned to you with a slightly wider smile. “And Duchess… what an unexpected pleasure to see you both together this evening.”

Sukuna gave a curt nod. “My wife wished to attend. I saw no reason to refuse her.”

The lord’s eyebrows rose, but he recovered quickly. “How wonderful. The two of you make quite the striking pair tonight. The Duke and Duchess of the North, united at last.”

You offered a polite, gentle smile. “Thank you, my lord. It’s a pleasure to be here.”

Sukuna’s arm tensed slightly under your hand, but he didn’t pull away. As the lord moved on, more nobles drifted closer, drawn by the unusual sight. You heard the whispers clearly now.

“...the Duke and Duchess actually look civil…”

“I thought she hated him…”

“Look at them. She’s practically standing with him…”

Sukuna kept you close the entire time, one large hand occasionally resting at the small of your back as you moved through the hall. The touch was possessive, almost protective, even if his face remained cool and composed.

Later, when the orchestra struck up a slower, more intimate melody, Sukuna leaned down, his voice low against your ear.

“Dance with me.”

It wasn’t a question.

You nodded. He led you onto the polished floor, one broad hand settling firmly on your waist while the other held yours. He moved with surprising grace for someone of his size and power — confident, controlled, guiding you effortlessly through the steps. You followed his lead, hyper-aware of every point of contact: the heat of his palm burning through the silk of your gown, the solid wall of his chest so close to yours, the faint scent of leather and smoke that clung to him.

For a few moments the rest of the room seemed to fade.

“You’re doing better than I expected,” he muttered, voice barely audible over the music. His crimson eyes flicked down to meet yours. “People are staring less like they’re waiting for us to start arguing in the middle of the floor.”

You looked up at him, a small genuine smile tugging at your lips. “I told you I wanted to try.”

His grip on your waist tightened just slightly. His thumb brushed once over the fabric of your gown, almost absentmindedly.

“Don’t get comfortable,” he said, though there was less bite in his tone than usual. “This doesn’t mean I trust you yet.”

“I know,” you replied softly. “But thank you for giving me the chance anyway.”

Sukuna didn’t answer. But he also didn’t let go of you when the song ended. Instead, he kept his hand on your lower back as he guided you off the floor, staying closer than strictly necessary.

A short while later, a group of older lords approached Sukuna. One of them — a tall man with silver hair and sharp features — gave a respectful bow.

“Your Grace, if we could steal a moment of your time? There are some matters regarding the northern border that require your input.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened for a brief second. He glanced down at you, then back at the lords.

“Fine,” he said curtly. “I won’t be long.”

Before he stepped away, he leaned in close to your ear, voice low. “Stay here. Don’t wander off.”

You nodded. His hand lingered on your waist for one extra second before he pulled away and followed the group toward a quieter side balcony for their discussion.

Suddenly, you were alone.

You stood near the edge of the dance floor, champagne glass in hand, trying to look more relaxed than you felt. The weight of curious stares hadn’t faded. A few noblewomen still whispered behind their fans, and every so often someone would glance your way with open speculation.

A deep, smooth voice spoke from your left.

“Duchess, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of a proper introduction tonight.”

You turned to find a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and sharp green eyes watching you with a lazy, confident smile. He was dressed in deep emerald and black, a marquess’s insignia pinned neatly to his lapel.

“Marquess Toji Fushiguro,” he introduced himself with a respectful bow of his head. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you over the years. Though I must say, seeing you here with the Duke tonight is… refreshing.”

His tone was warm and easy, without any obvious scheming edge. You felt yourself relax just a little.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marquess,” you replied with a small smile. “I’ve heard your name mentioned before. You handle the eastern trade routes, don’t you?”

Toji’s smile widened, looking genuinely pleased that you knew. “I do. Though I’m surprised you’re familiar with such dull matters. Most duchesses prefer to stay far away from trade talk.”

The conversation flowed surprisingly well. He was charming in a straightforward, slightly roguish way — asking light questions about the northern estates, commenting on the music, and even making a dry joke about how stiff most balls tended to be. You found yourself smiling more naturally, the tension in your shoulders easing as you chatted. For the first time that evening, talking to someone felt… comfortable.

Toji tilted his head slightly, green eyes glinting with curiosity. “If I may be bold, Duchess — you seem different tonight than what the rumors suggested. Happier, perhaps?”

You were about to respond when a large, familiar hand suddenly slid around your waist from behind, fingers gripping your hip with clear possessiveness. A warm, solid body pressed against your back, and you didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Sukuna.

His grip tightened, pulling you back against his chest in one smooth motion. The heat of his body seeped through the silk of your gown, and his thumb brushed slowly over your hip bone — a blatant, territorial claim.

Toji’s easy smile faltered for half a second before he recovered, inclining his head respectfully.

“Duke Sukuna,” he greeted calmly. “I was just keeping your wife company while you were occupied.”

Sukuna’s voice was low and dangerous, rumbling against your back. “I can see that.” His hand stayed firmly on your hip, fingers pressing in just enough to make a point. “Though I don’t recall asking anyone to entertain my duchess.”

You felt the tension rolling off him in waves. His other arm came around your other side, almost caging you against him in front of the entire hall.

Toji raised an eyebrow, still perfectly civil. “No offense meant, Your Grace. It was an honor speaking with the Duchess.”

Sukuna didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke loud enough for Toji to hear.

“We’re leaving this conversation,” he said flatly. Then, louder, “Come, wife.”

Sukuna didn’t stop walking until he had guided you into a quieter corner of the grand hall, partially shielded by a tall marble pillar and heavy crimson velvet drapes. The music and chatter of the ball felt distant now, muffled. His hand never left your hip. If anything, his grip tightened, fingers digging possessively into the silk of your gown as though he needed the contact to ground himself.

He turned you to face him with surprising care, then backed you gently but firmly against the cool marble pillar. One large hand stayed locked on your waist while the other came up to brace beside your head, effectively caging you in. His body heat enveloped you instantly — warm, solid, and overwhelming. The faint scent of smoke, leather, and something darker clung to him, making your pulse stutter.

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” he said, voice low and rough, almost a growl. His crimson eyes burned down into yours with unmistakable intensity. “Laughing with him like the two of you were old friends. Did you forget you’re here with me tonight?”

The jealousy in his tone was unmistakable — sharp, dark, and barely leashed.

You kept your voice calm, though your heart was racing. “We were only talking. He was civil. Nothing more.”

Sukuna’s jaw clenched visibly. His thumb began to trace slow, deliberate circles over the curve of your hip through the thin silk, a possessive caress that sent heat rushing across your skin.

“Civil,” he repeated, the word laced with pure disdain. “I saw the way he looked at you. The way he smiled at you.”

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against the shell of your ear, voice dropping into something dangerously intimate. “And here I thought you were trying to mend our relationship. Yet the second I turn my back, you’re chatting and smiling with another man like it means nothing.”

His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against the hard wall of his chest. You could feel the tension coiled in every muscle, the barely restrained frustration rolling off him in waves. One of his fingers slipped just beneath the edge of your gown, brushing bare skin at your hip — a deliberate, claiming touch.

“I don’t like sharing what’s mine,” he growled softly, lips brushing your ear. “Especially not with bastards like Toji Fushiguro.”

You swallowed hard, breath shallow. “I wasn’t trying to make you jealous. I was just being polite while you were busy.”

Sukuna let out a low, dangerous sound in the back of his throat — half a scoff, half a laugh. His free hand moved to your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his burning crimson gaze.

“Polite,” he murmured, thumb stroking slowly along your jawline. “You’re lucky I didn’t drag you out of here the moment I saw his hand move toward you.”

His eyes dropped to your lips for a long, heavy second. The air between you felt charged, electric, like the tension might snap at any moment. For a heartbeat you thought he might kiss you right there — hard, claiming, in full view of everyone still watching from across the hall.

Instead, he leaned in until his lips ghosted against your ear again.

“Next time someone approaches you while I’m gone,” he said, voice dark and velvet-rough, “you tell them you belong to me. Clearly. Because if I have to remind them myself… I won’t be nearly as polite.”

His fingers flexed on your hip in one final, possessive squeeze — a silent promise — before he slowly stepped back. His hand remained at the small of your back, heavy and unrelenting.

The music swelled again around you.

Sukuna’s expression smoothed into something cooler and more composed for the public eye, but the heat in his eyes stayed locked on you.

“Come,” he said, voice still low. “We’re dancing again. And this time, you’re not leaving my side for the rest of the night.”

Sukuna led you back onto the dance floor without another word, his hand firm on your waist, pulling you closer than strictly proper for a public setting. The orchestra had shifted into a slower, more intimate melody — strings and soft piano weaving through the air. Couples swirled around you, but you barely noticed them. All you could focus on was the heat of Sukuna’s body pressed against yours, the way his fingers splayed possessively across your lower back, and the unmistakable tension radiating from him.

He moved with controlled grace, guiding you effortlessly through the steps. Your bodies were flush together, chest to chest, his thigh occasionally brushing yours as you turned. Every point of contact felt electric.

“You’re quiet now,” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear. His crimson eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense. “What happened to all that polite conversation you were having with the marquess?”

You tilted your head slightly to meet his gaze. “You told me not to leave your side. I’m listening.”

A low sound rumbled in his chest — not quite a laugh. His hand slid lower on your back, fingers pressing in just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Good girl,” he said softly, almost mockingly, though the heat in his eyes was anything but. “Keep listening. I don’t want to see you smiling at anyone else like that tonight.”

The jealousy was still there, simmering just beneath the surface. You could feel it in the way he held you — tighter than necessary, almost like he was daring anyone to try approaching you again.

As you turned under his arm and came back into his embrace, he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“He thought he had a chance,” he continued, voice rough. “Like he didn’t know exactly who you belong to.” His fingers flexed against your waist. “Maybe I need to make it clearer.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs. Being this close to him — surrounded by the swirl of music and watching eyes — made everything feel heightened. The scent of him, the solid strength of his body, the barely restrained possessiveness in every touch.

“Sukuna…” you started softly.

He cut you off by pulling you even closer, until there was almost no space left between you. His breath was warm against your temple.

“You wanted to mend things,” he reminded you, tone dark. “Then stop giving other men reasons to think they can talk to my wife like that. Smile at me. Stay close to me.”

The song began to slow, but Sukuna didn’t release you. He kept you locked in his arms even as other couples started drifting apart. His hand slid up your back, fingers tracing your spine through the silk, a silent claim in front of the entire hall.

When the music finally faded, he didn’t let go right away. He stared down at you, crimson eyes heavy with something dangerous and hungry.

“We’re leaving,” he said abruptly, voice low. “I’ve had enough of these people watching us.”

He didn’t wait for your agreement. His hand stayed firmly at the small of your back as he guided you through the crowd toward the exit. Nobles parted for him instinctively, eyes wide at the sight of the Duke and Duchess leaving together so early — and so obviously entangled.

The cool night air hit you the moment you stepped outside. Sukuna kept you close as you waited for the carriage, his arm wrapped around your waist like he still wasn’t ready to stop touching you.

Once inside the carriage, he sat beside you instead of across from you. The door had barely closed before his hand was back on your thigh, gripping possessively through the fabric of your gown.

The carriage started moving, carrying you both back toward the estate through the dark roads. Sukuna’s hand remained on your thigh the entire ride, heavy and warm — a silent reminder of exactly who you belonged to.

By the time it finally rolled to a stop in front of the castle, the moon hung high in the sky. The journey had been quiet, thick with lingering tension. Sukuna hadn’t spoken a word, but his grip on your thigh never loosened.

When the footman opened the door, Sukuna stepped out first and offered you his hand. You took it, letting him help you down onto the stone steps. The cool night air felt refreshing after the stuffy ballroom, but it did little to calm the nerves fluttering in your stomach.

He walked you inside, his hand resting possessively at the small of your back the whole way through the dimly lit halls. Servants bowed and quickly disappeared when they saw you both. The castle felt unusually still.

When you reached the point where the corridors split — one leading to his private wing, the other to yours — Sukuna stopped. He turned to face you, his expression unreadable in the low torchlight.

“You did well tonight,” he admitted grudgingly, staring at you for a long moment before glancing away. “But if I see him — or anyone else — near you again like that…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

Sukuna gave a short nod, almost like he was dismissing you. “Goodnight.”

He turned to leave, heading toward his own chambers.

You stood there for a second, heart pounding, before the words slipped out — soft, shy, and a little nervous.

“Wait…”

Sukuna paused, looking back at you over his shoulder.

You swallowed, cheeks warming as you forced yourself to speak. “You know… we can’t really fix things as a couple if we keep sleeping separately"

The words hung in the air between you. They sounded bolder than you felt.

Sukuna went completely still. For several long seconds he simply stared at you, crimson eyes narrowing slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. The silence stretched, thick and heavy.

Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but something darker, more dangerous.

“Is that so?” he said, voice low and rough. He took one step back toward you, then another, until he was standing close again. “You’re asking to sleep in my bed now?”

He tilted his head, studying your face like he was trying to find the trick in your words. His hand came up, fingers lightly brushing your jaw as he looked down at you.

“Careful, wife,” he murmured, thumb tracing your lower lip. “You keep pushing like this… I might start thinking you actually mean it.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth for a long second before returning to your eyes. The tension between you crackled again, even stronger than it had been at the ball.

Sukuna didn’t move away. He waited, watching you closely, as if daring you to take it back… or push further.

The silence stretched, heavy and charged. His thumb was still resting against your lower lip, warm and rough, while his crimson eyes searched your face for any sign of deception. You could practically feel the suspicion rolling off him in waves.

Finally, he let out a slow breath, almost a scoff.

“…Fine,” he said, voice low and guarded. “If that’s what you want.”

He stepped back slightly, but his hand stayed on your waist, fingers still gripping you with quiet possessiveness. His expression remained cold, cautious, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Don’t expect this to mean anything,” he added, tone flat. “I’m still not convinced you’ve changed. But if you’re so determined to play the part of a real wife… then come.”

He turned and started walking down the corridor toward his private wing, keeping his hand on the small of your back to guide you along with him. The touch was firm — not gentle, but not forceful either. It felt like both an invitation and a test.

The halls were quiet at this hour, lit only by flickering torches. Every step echoed softly. Sukuna didn’t speak again until you reached the heavy wooden doors to his chambers. He pushed them open without hesitation and stepped inside, holding the door for you.

His rooms were large and unmistakably his — dark wood furniture, a massive bed with black silk sheets, a low fire burning in the hearth, weapons and scrolls neatly arranged on shelves. It smelled faintly of smoke and leather.

Sukuna closed the door behind you with a heavy click. He leaned against it for a moment, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with that same calculating stare.

“You wanted this,” he said quietly, almost like he was reminding both of you. “So here we are.”

He pushed off the door and walked further into the room, loosening the ties on his formal tunic as he went. The movement was casual, but you could feel the tension still radiating from him.

“Get comfortable,” he told you, glancing back at you over his shoulder. His voice was low, almost seductive, but the suspicion never fully left his eyes.

He didn’t say anything else. He simply waited, watching to see what you would do now that you were truly alone with him in his space.

You stood there for a moment, suddenly very aware of how large his chambers felt and how small you felt inside them. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting warm light across the dark wood and black silk sheets. The air smelled like him — smoke, leather, and something faintly metallic.

You swallowed and moved toward the side of the room where a large wardrobe stood. One of the maids had already brought a few of your things here earlier, as if the servants had anticipated this. You picked out a simple black silk nightgown and hesitated.

Sukuna had turned away slightly, pulling off his formal tunic and tossing it over the back of a chair. The movement revealed the strong lines of his back and the black tattoos swirling across his skin. He didn’t look at you, but you could tell he was still aware of every move you made.

You changed quickly behind the privacy screen in the corner, the silk cool against your skin. When you stepped out, Sukuna was already sitting on the edge of the massive bed, wearing only loose black pants. His pink hair was untied now, falling messily around his face. He looked up when you approached.

For a long second he just stared.

Then he let out a slow breath and patted the space beside him.

“Come here,” he said, voice low.

You walked over and climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped under your weight. Sukuna watched you the entire time, suspicion still clear in his crimson eyes even as he pulled the covers back for you.

You slipped under the sheets, lying on your back. The silk felt cool and smooth. Sukuna stayed sitting for another moment, then finally lay down beside you. The bed was large, but he took up so much space that you could feel the heat radiating from his body.

He turned onto his side, facing you. One arm rested above his head while the other lay between you, close enough that his fingers almost brushed your arm.

The silence was heavy.

“You’re really here,” he muttered, almost to himself. His gaze traced your face, still guarded. “In my bed.”

He reached out slowly and brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek. The touch was surprisingly gentle, but his eyes remained cold and watchful.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he said quietly. “If this is another game… I won’t be kind about it.”

Then he shifted closer. Not enough to touch fully, but close enough that you could feel his breath against your skin. He didn’t pull you into his arms. He simply laid there, watching you like he was waiting for you to prove something — or reveal your true intentions.

The fire crackled softly in the background. The weight of his presence beside you made it hard to relax, but you stayed there, heart beating steadily.

Sukuna’s voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke again.

“Sleep, wife. We’ll see how long this little performance of yours lasts.”

He didn’t close his eyes right away. He kept watching you in the dim firelight, guarded, suspicious… and just a little intrigued.

Morning light filtered softly through the heavy curtains, pale and hazy, casting long golden stripes across the dark wooden floor. You woke slowly, cocooned in warmth that felt both foreign and strangely comforting. Sukuna’s arm was draped heavily over your waist, his broad chest pressed against your back, one leg loosely tangled with yours beneath the black silk sheets. His breathing was deep and steady, the faint rise and fall of his chest brushing against you with every inhale.

For a long moment you didn’t move. This was the first time you’d ever woken up beside him — sharing the same bed, the same space, the same air. Your heart beat a little too fast as the reality settled in. The Duke of the North was holding you in his sleep, even if it was only out of habit or unconscious possession.

Sukuna stirred a few minutes later. His arm tightened around your waist for a brief second, pulling you closer on instinct, before his body went still. You felt the exact moment consciousness returned to him — the subtle shift in his breathing, the way his muscles tensed ever so slightly against your back.

He didn’t pull away immediately.

“You’re still here,” he said quietly, voice low and rough with sleep. There was a hint of genuine surprise beneath the words. “Figured you’d sneak back to your own room before I woke up.”

You turned your head slightly on the pillow to look at him. His crimson eyes were half-lidded, messy pink hair falling across his forehead. Up close like this, without the usual cold mask, he looked almost human — though the sharp suspicion in his gaze reminded you he was anything but.

“I told you I wanted this,” you replied softly.

Sukuna let out a slow breath, almost a huff. He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you properly. His hand stayed on your waist, thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles over the silk of your nightgown. The touch was light, but you could feel the weight of his attention — guarded, calculating, searching for any crack in your resolve.

He watched you for a long, heavy moment, suspicion still clear in his expression. The silence between you felt intimate and fragile at the same time. His fingers flexed once against your waist before relaxing again.

“Don’t get too used to this,” he said eventually, tone flat but not cruel. “One night doesn’t fix anything. One night doesn’t make me trust you.”

Then, almost like he couldn’t help himself, he added more quietly, “But… you can stay for breakfast if you want.”

Sukuna rolled away and got out of bed, stretching his powerful arms above his head. The morning light traced every line of muscle and the intricate black tattoos that covered his shoulders, chest, and back. He moved with the casual confidence of someone completely at ease in his own space, yet you could still feel the tension humming beneath his skin.

God, he’s even hotter in person… no wonder I was obsessed.

He grabbed a fresh tunic but didn’t put it on. Instead, he leaned against the wardrobe, watching you in his sheets with that dark, cautious gaze. The fire had burned low, leaving the room quiet and heavy with unspoken tension.

Sukuna tilted his head slightly. “Well?” he asked, voice still rough from sleep. “Are you going to lie there all morning?”

You didn’t make him wait long.

You slipped out of bed, the black silk nightgown clinging lightly to your skin as you moved. The morning air in the chamber felt cooler than the warmth of the sheets you’d just left. Sukuna watched you the entire time from where he leaned against the wardrobe, arms crossed over his broad chest, expression unreadable but intense.

“Breakfast will be brought here,” he said simply, voice still rough from sleep. “No need to go to the main hall today.”

A short while later, servants arrived with silver trays. They moved quickly and quietly, setting the table near the tall windows with practiced care — a pot of strong black tea, warm crusty bread, thick slices of roasted meat, fresh berries, and a small dish of honey. The scent of the food filled the room, warm and savory. They kept their eyes lowered, clearly unsettled by the sight of you in the Duke’s private chambers wearing only a nightgown and robe, but they left without a single word.

Sukuna sat down first. You took the seat across from him.

The morning light streamed in through the tall windows, casting a soft golden glow across the table and highlighting the sharp angles of his face. It traced the black tattoos visible at the open collar of his tunic and the faint scars on his hands as he picked up his knife. For several long minutes, the only sounds were the quiet clink of silverware and the distant crackle from the hearth.

Finally, Sukuna set his knife down with a quiet click and leaned back in his chair, crimson eyes locking onto you with that familiar guarded intensity.

“So,” he said, voice low and guarded, “what made you change?”

You looked up from your plate, heart skipping a beat. Just died and woke up in the body of the woman you’re supposed to kill. No big deal.

There was no point in holding back anymore. 

“I like you,” you said simply, meeting his gaze. “I’ve liked you for a long time.”

Sukuna stared at you for a long, heavy beat. Then he let out a short, bitter laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Bullshit.”

The word landed blunt and cold. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, watching you with sharp suspicion.

“You expect me to believe that? After months of silence, after treating me like I was beneath you, after making sure everyone knew how much you despised this marriage… you suddenly like me?” His voice dripped with disbelief. “Try again.”

You didn’t look away. Your voice stayed quiet but steady.

“No, really,” you said. “I do. I like you. That’s why I’m trying so hard.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. He studied your face like he was searching for the lie, the manipulation, the trick. The silence stretched between you, thick and tense. His fingers tapped once against the edge of the table before he leaned back again, the corner of his mouth curving into a slow, dangerous smirk.

“Okay, little liar,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Then prove it to me.”

You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Prove it to you…?” you repeated softly, the words coming out a little breathless.

Sukuna’s smirk deepened, but his eyes stayed sharp and watchful. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, closing some of the distance between you.

“Yes,” he said, voice dropping lower, almost velvet-smooth. “Prove it. You say you like me. You say you want to fix this marriage. So show me.”

His gaze drifted slowly down to your mouth, then back up to your eyes. The air between you felt heavier now, warmer. He reached across the table and brushed his fingers lightly against the back of your hand, the touch deceptively gentle.

“You’re in my chambers. In my bed,” he continued, thumb tracing a slow line over your knuckles. “If you’re actually serious… then stop hiding behind pretty words and prove it.”

His touch lingered, possessive but controlled, sending a slow shiver up your arm. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he watched your reaction closely, crimson eyes dark with suspicion and something much hotter underneath.

“Prove it, wife,” he said again, voice low and seductive. “I’m right here. Show me how much you like me.”

The breakfast table suddenly felt far too small. The tension had shifted — still laced with his suspicion, but now crackling with slow, deliberate heat as he waited for you to make the next move.

Your pulse thundered under his thumb. You could feel the weight of his stare, the way his crimson eyes darkened as they traced your face, your lips, the line of your throat. He wasn’t touching you anywhere else, but it still felt like he had you pinned.

You swallowed, heat blooming across your cheeks and down your neck.

“…How?” you asked, voice quieter than you intended. “How do you want me to prove it?”

Sukuna’s smirk deepened, slow and dangerous. He leaned in a little closer across the table, his thumb still stroking lazy circles over your knuckles.

“That’s the fun part,” he murmured. “You figure it out. You’re the one claiming you like me. So show me what that looks like.”

His free hand moved, reaching across to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was almost gentle, but his fingers lingered at the side of your neck, tracing lightly down the column of your throat before pulling away.

“You can start by coming here,” he said, voice low and commanding. He pushed his chair back slightly and patted his thigh once. “Don’t make me ask twice.”

Your breath caught. Heart racing, you stood up slowly and rounded the table. The moment you were close enough, Sukuna’s hand caught your wrist and pulled you down onto his lap. He settled you sideways across his thighs, one arm wrapping securely around your waist while the other rested on your leg, fingers splayed possessively over your thigh.

Up close like this, you could feel the heat of his body, the solid strength of his chest against your side, the way his breath brushed your temple.

“Better,” he said, voice rough. His hand slid slowly up your thigh, stopping just below the hem of your nightgown. “Now… show me.”

He tilted his head, lips hovering near your jaw.

“Kiss me,” he ordered softly. “Like you mean it. Like you actually want your husband.”

His crimson eyes were locked on yours, still guarded, still waiting for the lie to slip through. But beneath the suspicion, there was clear hunger — dark and patient, daring you to close the distance.

Sukuna’s fingers flexed on your thigh, a silent reminder of his patience running thin.

“Well, wife?” he murmured, voice velvet-rough against your skin. “I’m waiting.”

You didn’t hesitate any longer.

Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his. The kiss started soft — tentative on your end, testing. Sukuna stayed still for half a second, as if surprised you’d actually done it.

Then he took control.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you harder against his mouth. The kiss deepened instantly, turning hungry and demanding. His tongue swept past your lips, claiming your mouth with a low growl that vibrated against you. He tasted like black tea and heat, and the way he kissed you was nothing short of possessive — like he was trying to erase every other man who had ever looked at you.

You gasped into his mouth. Sukuna used the opening to tilt your head and kiss you deeper, tongue stroking yours with slow, filthy intent. His other hand gripped your thigh tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled you more firmly onto his lap until you were straddling him.

“Better,” he rasped against your lips when he finally pulled back just enough to breathe. His crimson eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. “But not enough.”

He kissed you again, harder this time. One hand slipped under the hem of your nightgown, palm sliding up your bare thigh, pushing the silk higher and higher until his fingers brushed the edge of your underwear. He didn’t go further yet — just teased, stroking the sensitive skin there while his mouth moved to your jaw, then down to your neck.

“You say you like me,” he growled against your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point. “Then prove how much.”

He sucked on your skin, hard enough to leave a mark, and you couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped you. Sukuna’s grip on your thigh tightened in response, and you felt him growing hard beneath you, the thick length pressing against your core through his pants.

Your hands moved on instinct, sliding up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. He made a low, approving sound and rocked his hips up once, grinding against you deliberately.

“Touch me,” he ordered, voice rough. “If you’re serious, then fucking touch me.”

You obeyed, sliding your hands under his tunic, palms running over the hard planes of his stomach and the tattoos that covered his skin. His muscles tensed under your touch. Sukuna rewarded you by biting down on your neck again, then soothing the spot with his tongue.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing heavy, eyes burning.

“Keep going,” he said, voice dark and commanding. His hands gripping your ass firmly as he pulled you down harder against his growing erection. “Show me exactly how much you want your husband.”

His hips rolled up deliberately, grinding the thick ridge of his cock against your clit in slow, filthy circles. The friction was maddening, heat building fast between you.

You moaned into his mouth. The sound seemed to snap something in him.

He growled low in his throat and rocked you harder against him. “Fuck,” he rasped against your lips, breath hot. “You’re already so wet for me.”

One large hand slipped further under your nightgown, calloused palm dragging up your bare thigh until his fingers found the soaked fabric of your panties. He groaned at the feeling, pressing two thick fingers against your clothed slit and rubbing firmly, spreading your wetness.

“So fucking wet,” he muttered, voice dark and rough. “All this from just sitting on my lap?”

He pushed your panties aside with impatient fingers and dragged two thick digits slowly through your slick folds. The first direct touch made your hips jerk sharply. Pleasure shot through you like lightning — hot, electric, and overwhelming. You were already soaked, embarrassingly wet, and Sukuna could feel it.

He chuckled darkly against your throat, the low vibration sending shivers racing down your spine as he kissed and bit along your neck, marking you with teeth and tongue.

“You’re dripping down my fingers, wife,” he growled, voice rough and filthy. “This greedy little cunt is making such a mess already.”

He pushed one thick finger inside you slowly, stretching your tight walls. Your inner muscles clenched hard around the intrusion, hot and silky. The feeling of being filled by him — even just one finger — made your breath hitch. He added a second finger almost immediately, scissoring them lazily while his thumb found your swollen clit and rubbed tight, relentless circles.

The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers pumping into your soaked pussy filled the quiet morning room — lewd squelching noises that would have made you blush if you weren’t already trembling with pleasure. Your arousal coated his hand, dripping down his wrist and onto his lap as he worked you open with practiced, unhurried strokes.

You whimpered, hands fisting tightly in the front of his tunic. Sukuna’s free hand yanked the neckline of your nightgown down roughly, exposing your breasts to the cool air. He leaned in and sucked one sensitive nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking roughly over the peak before his teeth grazed it. The sharp sting mixed with pleasure made your back arch, pushing your chest closer to his hungry mouth.

“So fucking sensitive,” he murmured against your skin, voice muffled as he switched to the other nipple, sucking harder. “Look at you. Falling apart just from my fingers like a desperate little whore.”

He curled his fingers inside you, stroking that perfect spot with devastating accuracy while his thumb pressed firmer circles on your clit. Your hips rocked desperately against his hand, chasing every thrust, every stroke. The wet sounds grew louder, filthier, echoing obscenely in the quiet chamber.

Sukuna pulled back just enough to watch your face, his crimson eyes dark with lust and that ever-present edge of suspicion.

“Cum for me,” he ordered, voice low and rough. “Let me feel how much this supposed ‘liking me’ makes this tight little pussy squeeze around my fingers.”

His fingers curled harder, stroking that sensitive spot relentlessly while his thumb worked your clit faster. The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core, burning hotter with every thrust, every filthy word.

It snapped.

You came hard with a broken moan, walls clenching violently around his thick fingers. Your thighs shook uncontrollably as slick gushed over his hand, soaking his palm and dripping down his wrist. Pleasure crashed through you in waves, leaving you gasping and trembling.

Sukuna groaned deeply at the feeling, still pumping his fingers slowly through your spasms, drawing out every last pulse until you were shaking and oversensitive, whimpering softly.

He finally pulled his fingers free, glistening with your release. Without breaking eye contact, he brought them to his mouth and licked them clean, tongue dragging slowly and deliberately over his skin, savoring your taste.

“Sweet,” he murmured, voice husky and dark. His eyes never left yours.

He lifted you effortlessly and stood, carrying you toward the massive bed. He laid you down on the black silk sheets, hovering over you with that same dark, hungry look.

“Take the nightgown off,” he commanded, already pulling his own tunic over his head, revealing the full expanse of his tattooed, muscled torso. “I want to see all of you.”

His hands moved to his pants, loosening them as he watched you, eyes burning with lust and that ever-present edge of suspicion.

“Prove how much you actually want me, wife.”

You sat up on the bed, heart hammering against your ribs. Under his burning gaze, you reached for the hem of your nightgown and pulled it up and over your head, letting the silk fall to the floor. The cool air of the chamber brushed over your bare skin, making your nipples tighten instantly.

Sukuna’s eyes raked slowly over your naked body — from your flushed face, down the curve of your breasts, your stomach, and the glistening wetness already coating your inner thighs. He let out a low, rough sound deep in his chest, almost a growl.

“Fuck… look at you,” he muttered, voice thick. “So small. So fucking pretty.”

He shoved his pants the rest of the way down his hips and kicked them aside. His cock sprang free, heavy and thick, the veined shaft curving slightly upward. It was meaty — obscenely so — the girth making your mouth go dry. The flushed head was already leaking, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. Even fully hard, it looked almost too big, too heavy, the weight of it making it hang thick and full between his powerful thighs.

You couldn’t help the soft, shaky breath that escaped you.

Sukuna noticed. His smirk was dark and satisfied as he crawled onto the bed, the mattress dipping deeply under his much larger frame. He settled between your spread thighs, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider apart. The size difference hit you all over again — he was so much bigger than you, his body completely eclipsing yours as he hovered above you.

He gripped his thick cock in one large hand and dragged the heavy head through your soaked folds, coating himself in your wetness. The blunt, meaty tip nudged against your entrance, pressing just enough to tease the stretch.

“You’re tiny compared to me,” he rasped, voice low and rough. “Gonna feel every inch when I split you open.”

He pushed forward slowly.

The thick head of his cock breached you, stretching your entrance with a slow, burning pressure. You gasped sharply at the sheer girth — he was so thick that your walls had to part around him, fluttering and clenching as he sank deeper. The heavy, meaty weight of his cock filled you inch by inch, dragging against every sensitive ridge inside you until you were full, so full, your back arching off the bed with a broken moan.

Sukuna groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through his chest as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. His balls rested heavy and warm against you.

“Shit,” he breathed against your neck, voice strained. “So fucking tight… this little pussy is sucking me in like it was made for me.”

He stayed buried deep for a moment, letting you adjust to the overwhelming stretch, the way his thick cock throbbed inside you, hot and heavy. Then he started moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged his meaty length along your walls with every thrust. The wet, obscene sound of him sliding in and out of your soaked cunt filled the room, slick and filthy.

You whimpered, nails digging into his broad shoulders. “Sukuna… you’re so big—”

He growled at your words, hips snapping harder, driving his thick cock deeper. The drag was exquisite, every vein and ridge rubbing against your most sensitive spots. His size made you feel impossibly full, stretched wide around his girth, the pressure bordering on too much but so, so good.

“Take it,” he rasped, voice dark and possessive. “Take every fucking inch like the good little wife you’re trying to be.”

He leaned down and captured your mouth in a messy, hungry kiss, tongue fucking your mouth in time with his deep thrusts. His heavy balls slapped against you with every powerful stroke, the wet sounds growing louder as your arousal dripped down his shaft and soaked the sheets beneath you.

You moaned into his mouth, legs wrapping tighter around his waist, heels digging into his back. The size difference made everything more intense — his broad chest crushing your breasts, his muscular thighs spreading you wide, his massive frame completely dominating yours as he fucked you into the mattress.

Sukuna pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing hard, eyes dark with lust and that lingering edge of suspicion.

“Tell me again,” he growled, hips grinding deep, the thick head of his cock pressing against that perfect spot inside you. “Tell me how much you like your husband’s cock while I’m ruining this tight little pussy.”

You could barely think through the overwhelming fullness. His cock was so thick it felt like he was splitting you open with every slow, deliberate thrust. The heavy drag of his veined shaft against your walls made your toes curl, pleasure bordering on too much.

“I like it,” you gasped, voice breaking on a moan as he rolled his hips again, grinding the fat head against your g-spot. “I like your cock so much— fuck, Sukuna, you’re so deep…”

A low, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest. He hooked one of your legs over his arm, spreading you wider, and drove into you harder. The new angle made his thick cock hit even deeper, the heavy weight of his balls slapping wetly against your ass with every powerful thrust. Your juices coated his shaft, dripping down to soak the sheets beneath you, the lewd squelching sounds echoing obscenely in the quiet room.

“So fucking tight,” he groaned, voice rough and strained. “This greedy little cunt is sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”

He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, dominating kiss. His tongue fucked into your mouth in time with his cock, deep and filthy, while his hips snapped forward harder. The sheer size difference made everything more intense — his broad, muscled body completely covering yours, his weight pressing you down into the mattress as he fucked you with long, punishing strokes.

You whimpered into his mouth, nails raking down his back, leaving red lines across his tattooed skin. Sukuna hissed at the sting and rewarded you by pounding into you even harder, the thick head of his cock bullying that sensitive spot inside you over and over.

“Again,” he demanded against your lips, breath hot and ragged. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

“You,” you moaned, legs shaking as another wave of pleasure crashed through you. “It belongs to you— only you—”

“Good girl.”

He sat back on his heels, pulling your hips up with him so your lower back was off the bed. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his thick cock stretching you wide with every brutal thrust. His thumb found your swollen clit again, rubbing tight, firm circles while he fucked you senseless.

The wet slap of skin against skin mixed with your broken moans and his low grunts. Your breasts bounced with every powerful snap of his hips, nipples tight and aching. Sukuna’s gaze was locked between your legs, watching hungrily as his thick cock disappeared into your soaked pussy again and again, stretching you obscenely around his girth.

“Look at that,” he growled, voice dark. “Taking every inch like you were made for me. So fucking pretty when you’re stuffed full of my cock.”

The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core, burning hotter with every deep thrust, every swipe of his thumb on your clit. Your thighs trembled violently in his grip.

“Sukuna— I’m gonna—!”

“Cum,” he ordered, hips slamming into you harder. “Cum on your husband’s cock like the desperate little wife you are.”

It hit you like a wave. You came hard with a broken cry, walls clenching violently around his thick length, pulsing and fluttering as slick gushed around him. Your whole body shook, back arching sharply as pleasure tore through you.

Sukuna groaned deeply at the feeling, hips stuttering. “Fuck— that’s it. Milk my cock.”

He fucked you through your orgasm, prolonging it until you were whimpering and oversensitive. Then, with a low, guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, thick ropes of hot cum flooding deep inside you. He kept grinding his hips in slow circles, pushing his release even deeper as he emptied himself completely.

“We’re not done,” he said quietly, a dangerous promise in his tone. “Not even close.”

Sukuna pulled out of you with a wet, filthy sound, your combined release dripping down your thighs. Before you could catch your breath, he flipped you onto your back and manhandled you like you weighed nothing. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulled you into his lap facing away from him, and hooked his powerful arms under your knees, folding you in a full nelson.

Your back pressed flush against his broad, tattooed chest. Your legs were spread obscenely wide, knees pushed up toward your shoulders by his strong arms. The position left you completely helpless — folded in half, pussy exposed and dripping, his thick cock sliding hot and heavy between your slick folds.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growled right against your ear, voice feral. “So small and folded up for me. Perfect little fucktoy.”

He thrust up hard, burying his massive cock back inside you in one brutal stroke. The new angle made him feel even thicker, even deeper. You cried out, the sound raw and broken as his meaty length stretched you wide open again, the fat head bullying against your cervix with every thrust.

Sukuna went feral.

He fucked you like an animal — hard, fast, and relentless. His hips snapped up with powerful force, slamming his thick cock into your soaked pussy over and over. The wet, obscene slap of skin against skin filled the room, mixed with the lewd squelching of your dripping cunt taking every inch. His heavy balls slapped against your ass with every brutal thrust, the impact jolting through your body.

You were cockdrunk almost immediately.

Your mind went hazy, eyes rolling back as pleasure overloaded your senses. All you could do was moan helplessly, body limp in his hold as he used you. His thick cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, the sheer girth stretching you so wide it bordered on pain, but the pleasure was so intense you couldn’t think straight.

“S-Sukuna— ahh— too deep—” you slurred, voice broken and whiny.

He only fucked you harder, arms locked tight under your knees, keeping you folded and helpless as he pounded into you. His chest was slick with sweat against your back, his hot breath panting against your ear.

“Take it,” he snarled, voice feral and animalistic. “Take every fucking inch. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? My cock ruining this tight little pussy.”

You could only moan incoherently, head lolling back against his shoulder. Drool slipped from the corner of your mouth as he fucked you senseless, his thick cock bullying your insides with every savage thrust. The wet sounds were filthy — your juices coating his shaft and dripping down his balls, soaking the sheets beneath you.

Sukuna suddenly pulled out, flipped you onto your stomach, and yanked your hips up so your ass was high in the air. He slammed back into you in one brutal thrust, fucking you in deep, punishing doggy style.

“Fuck— yes,” he groaned, voice wrecked. One large hand came down hard on your ass with a loud smack, the sting blooming hot across your skin. He did it again, harder, the sharp crack echoing as he pounded into you from behind.

Your face was pressed into the sheets, ass up, completely at his mercy as he railed you. His thick cock drove so deep you felt it in your stomach, the heavy drag of his veined shaft making your eyes roll back. He smacked your ass again, gripping the soft flesh hard as he used you.

“You’re mine,” he growled, hips snapping forward relentlessly. “This pussy is mine. Say it.”

You could barely speak, mind blank and cockdrunk, but you whimpered obediently between moans, “Yours… it’s yours—”

Sukuna snarled in satisfaction and fucked you even harder, the bed creaking violently under the force of his thrusts. His heavy balls slapped against your clit with every brutal stroke, pushing you closer and closer to the edge again.

He was relentless now — grunting low and animalistic, cursing under his breath as his hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. He claimed you with deep, punishing strokes, each one driving his thick cock so deep you felt it in your stomach.

“Fuck— this pussy is sucking me in so greedily,” he growled, voice wrecked and animalistic. One hand left your hip and came down hard on your ass again with a loud smack, the sharp sting blooming hot across your skin. He did it again, harder, gripping the soft, reddened flesh and spreading you wider as he railed you.

Your mind was completely melted. All you could do was moan and whimper into the sheets, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth as he pounded into you. His thick, meaty cock stretched you so wide it felt like he was reshaping you from the inside. Every deep, punishing thrust made the fat head kiss your cervix, sending sparks of overwhelming pleasure-pain shooting through your body.

“S-Sukuna— too much— ahh—!” you slurred, voice broken and whiny, barely coherent anymore.

He laughed darkly, low and breathless, and smacked your ass once more before gripping both cheeks and spreading you obscenely. He watched hungrily as his thick cock disappeared into your soaked, fluttering pussy again and again, your juices coating his shaft and dripping down his heavy balls.

“Look at this greedy little hole,” he rasped, hips snapping forward brutally. “Taking my fat cock so well. You’re dripping everywhere, wife. Making such a fucking mess on my sheets.”

He leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you in place while the other braced beside your head. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his heavy cock bullying that perfect spot inside you with every savage thrust. The wet, filthy plap plap plap of his hips slamming into your ass filled the room, mixed with your broken moans and his guttural grunts.

You were shaking, thighs trembling violently, another orgasm building fast. Your mind was blank — nothing but the overwhelming stretch, the heat, the relentless drag of his thick veined cock inside you.

Sukuna’s breath was hot against your ear. “You’re mine,” he growled, teeth grazing your shoulder. “This tight little cunt is mine. Say it while you cum on my cock again.”

You could barely form words, but you whimpered obediently between moans, voice slurred and cockdrunk. “Yours— it’s yours— Sukuna— please—!”

He fucked you harder, hips pistoning relentlessly, the heavy slap of his balls against your clit pushing you over the edge. You came with a shattered cry, walls clamping down around his thick length like a vice, pulsing and fluttering as another intense orgasm ripped through you. Slick gushed around his cock, soaking his thighs and the sheets beneath you.

Sukuna groaned loudly, the sound raw and feral. “Good fucking girl—”

He didn’t stop. He fucked you through your orgasm with deep, stuttering thrusts, hips snapping erratically as he chased his own release. With a final, powerful drive, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded deep inside you, pulse after heavy pulse filling you until you felt impossibly full, the warmth spreading through your core. He kept grinding slowly, rolling his hips in lazy circles to push every drop deeper, making sure you took all of him.

You could feel it leaking out around his thick cock — warm, sticky, and messy — dripping down your thighs and soaking the sheets beneath you.

Sukuna stayed buried deep inside you for a long moment, his massive body pressing you firmly into the mattress. His chest heaved against your back, hot, ragged breaths fanning across the side of your neck. The scent of sweat, sex, and his skin filled the air with every shaky inhale. One of his hands stroked slowly up and down your side, almost possessively, while the other stayed gripping your hip, fingers digging in like he still wasn’t ready to let go.

“…Not bad,” he muttered, voice hoarse and low against your ear. “For a little liar.”

He finally pulled out slowly, inch by thick inch. A heavy trickle of his cum immediately leaked from your abused, fluttering pussy, warm and obscene as it ran down your inner thighs. Sukuna let out a low, satisfied hum at the sight before he rolled you onto your back and collapsed beside you.

Without a word, he pulled you against his chest, one strong arm wrapping around you possessively. His skin was hot and slightly damp with sweat, his heartbeat still racing steadily under your cheek as he held you close.

His fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin as he caught his breath.

But he didn’t let go.

a\n: honestly didn't know how to end this but hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs appreciated!!

Apollo, no, wait, Gojo, his name was, played softly on his lyre in the background, and muses hummed softly. He smirked once, and a moment later, white locks were touched by an ocean breeze and golden rays of the setting sun. His hand went towards one of the nymphs, cupping her reddened cheeks gently, already drunk on sweet wine. Such a womaniser he was, and although most of the Gods slept with one another as they wished, Gojo was truly one and only, a troublemaker and a genuine gentleman at the same time, even fumbling through your bed more than once.

You looked behind, seeing gentle waves glistening under a golden sky, with darkness slowly setting in, before the only thing you could see was a white foam lightened by the pale moonlight. God of the Sea sat happily and relaxed, talking Zeus's ear off. It was a good dinner, indeed, while most of the Gods and demigods feasted in the embrace of the warm summer evening.

You turned back, seeing Gojo looking at you, smile sly and gaze slightly dimmed, as if drunk on constantly flowing wine. You heard Zeus bickering with the God of Wine over his attempts to alcoholise everyone, but his voice alone wasn't quite clear either, with golden hair already slightly messy and white robes sliding down muscular shoulders.

"Aren't you just a womaniser?" You hummed, already seeing the glimmering bottom of your cup and Gojo pacing towards you. "Leave my nymphs alone, or I'll be the one listening to their cries about your mischievous promises."

He scoffed, sitting down next to you and clinking your cups together. "I've never promised them anything aside from having fun. None of them ever complained." He settled comfortably, a hand behind your back and a lone finger caressing your bare shoulders slowly, slowly. "Who are you taking home today, hm? You know I'm free if–"

This time, you scoffed. "Forget it," you took a sip, never asking him to keep his hands off you. It was nice. He was nice, but there indeed wasn't much chemistry between you two when it came to sex life. "We're not good lovers. Besides, a little dove whispered to my ear that you've been having an affair with a mortal," You stopped, glancing at him with a smile dancing in the corner of your lips. "A male mortal. Prince of Sparta Geto Suguru, from what I've heard. Such a beauty, isn't he?"

Gojo laughed quietly, his eyes following your cunning smile. "Isn't your birdie quite well-informed, hm?"

He seemed taken aback, almost wanting to hide his secret affair from the prying eyes of the Gods. But he didn't know that nothing could have been hidden from you, and little, white doves flying above the skies of the mortal world, maybe following him here and there if you were bored and amused enough to watch his secret romance with a Spartan prince bloom like a pristine flower.

"What? Getting jealous? I thought God was above it."

He snorted, eyes glued to something, someone, over your shoulder.

A dark figure, sitting quietly among the most powerful Gods, one of the three brothers ruling the three dimensions of this world. The "Unseen One", a grim and ghastly figure, as if mute and solemn, always in the dark corners or ones barely flustered by candles' gentle tongues. Everyone knew he was there, but barely glanced towards him, as if ignorance was the only way to handle one of the three most powerful Gods in all of Greece. The one having power over the domain so dark and eerie, mortals prayed to never meet him directly, as if bathing in Tartarus was more pleasant than standing face to face with him.

Hades.

"You also have an admirer, I see," Gojo murmured, while you looked back.

Your eyes met with panic.

Not yours, his.

He looked absolutely terrified, with a glance so flustered and lost, as if your attention alone was the absurdest and scariest thing he could experience. His stare escaped quickly towards his two younger brothers, before, just for a second, it slipped back to you again – your lips and breasts, wrapped tightly in pinkish robes and soft hair caressing your cheeks, reddened like a wine and flushed in a smile.

You indeed had an admirer. For a long time now.

"The oldest one, but also the most peculiar, don't you think? He looks a bit miserable." Gojo hummed to your ear, sitting so close you could feel his sweet breath on your ear. The man in the corner moved slightly, looking between you and the other God with a little frown and eyes so anxious, a small chuckle escaped your lips. "And so jealous!"

"You know, that you've just insulted one of the strongest Gods, right? Also, he has quite good relations with three sisters." Gojo shrugged his shoulders, as if a vision of his thread of life being cut didn't scare him in the slightest. But you, he, and every other God in this feast knew that if there’s anyone Gods and mortals should be the most polite and thankful to, it should be Hades.

Because what could be better than being on good terms with God of the Underworld himself?

"So that's why you haven't slept with anyone recently?"

You hummed softly but didn't answer.

And it was true that as a Goddess of Love, Beauty and Fertility, quite... a few lovers have stumbled through your sheets. All of them just for one night, with both mortals, heroes and demigods always wanting more, but never having a chance with a Goddess herself.

You also never wanted anything more from either of them. Never needed, but just a few gentle touches and charming words whispered to your ear, maybe a thrust one or two and a spasmic tremble of their body, while you were left quite satisfied but never fully.

Gojo was a fine lover, good even, but he was too, well, overpowering, you would say. Too confident, always in control, such a tease, with nymphs hanging off his shoulders and sheets dirtier than you could imagine. He was a fun person to be around and sleep from time to time if you were extremely bored, but… well. 

He didn't know how to handle you as a Goddess. Worship, like a plain mortal, so pathetically and desperately down on his knees, creaming all over his pants just from your one glance.

But you knew a man who could do it.

Because he was always there, in the night sky and quiet wind, within a soft flickering of the candle and moonlight coming to your chamber through a window. In the seeds of the pomegranates that were left in your temple – your attribute, a symbol of desire and fertility, almost as if he wanted to be noticed, let you know that he’s here and has been for a long time.

Hades, no, Choso, a God of the Underworld, barely showed himself up here in Olympus, almost always down in his realm of death. He wasn’t very social, if it was the correct way to describe his rare appearance during all the Gods' gatherings, be it a feast or holiday celebrations. 

He avoided every meeting as much as he could, but somehow appeared every time he knew you also would be there. And during the feasts, he would sit at the table for the highest and mightiest, but always keep himself in the dark, even if the sun shining upon Olympus couldn’t be any brighter.

You glanced at him once again, noticing little nods he gave Zeus and lips curling in a barely visible, timid smile, before he chuckled. And you could swear that softness of his voice was the reason your throat tightened around the swallowed wine.

You coughed, bringing his attention, a worried gaze, and a hand, almost, slightly reaching out to you, before he hid it once again in the wide sleeve of his dark robes.

“Isn't our beauty already drunk?” Gojo cooed, patting your back. 

Wine spilt all over your robes, leaving a dark stain on your half-bare breasts. Gojo chortled, his hand too touchy and too close to your lower back, while Zeus sighed deeply, almost disappointingly. It was hard to see him not disappointed in Gojo and all the troubles, orgies and affairs he was always getting himself into. 

Gojo was still patting your back before something stopped him. 

Someone. 

Choso stood up at some point and came closer so quietly, you didn’t even notice him leaving the table. Just a hint of greaminess filled the atmosphere, with hushed voices and faint whispers of the demigods and nymphs, glancing upon a looming figure bathed in darkness.

Your coughing stopped, but warm tongues of flames scratching your skin were suddenly dimmed by a tall man with dark hair touching his shoulders and cupping pinkish cheeks softly. Dark eyes, filled with so much concern it made your stomach turn, looked down at you, with surrounding them purplish circles, giving his handsome face even more earrines. Your gaze slipped to his long earrings swinging lightly with every step, one of delicate shell and the other of snake, so opposite to one another but harmonising so beautifully, you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your heart.

But. Wait a second. 

Wasn’t a shell an attribute of–

“Here,” you heard a low voice, and the next second, a black handkerchief was extended towards you. “You can use it to, um, to clean yourself. It’s black, so i-it won’t leave a–“

Oh dear god. 

How pitiful he looked, with eyes running between your face and breasts, cheeks flushed in a cherry, such a contrast with his deadly-pale skin, and long fingers holding on to a handkerchief with a slight tremor.  

You were terrified to even think of the face you did at that moment, but Gojo's elbow brushing yours and his silent cough told you that your eyes may or may not have changed into two small hearts, beating furiously at the sight of the pathetic God standing right in front.

Gojo wanted to take black material himself, but Choso's gaze was so strongly fixated on your trembling figure (not with dreadfulness, but a desire you've never felt before!), he quite literally was afraid to break such a precious moment.

So he coughed again and stuck his elbow even harder, before you finally noticed a fair palm extended to you.

"Oh," you muttered, taking a handkerchief and wiping your dirty clothes immediately. "Thank you so much, my Lord."

He shrugged visibly, nodding his head and looking at your plush breasts, soaked in reddish wine and coated in your pink, almost transparent robes.

And you, as a Goddess of so many beautiful and fertile things, were mostly known for one thing – your sexual appeal. Greeks loved to sculpt your body almost naked, rarely dressed, but even if, always in skimpy robes and translucent garments. Some presented you wrapped in a golden girdle, a myth and a gossip going on around the mortal world, of the belt whose wearer could make anyone fall in love with them.

It was funny at first to even think that the most beautiful Goddess needed a mere accessory to seduce her admirers. But the gossip turned out to be so appealing, you decided to create such a belt and give it to Hera, for... well, seducing the highest and mightiest of all, of course.

But you've never used it yourself, keeping it only for your friends and demigods, maybe sometimes water nymphs, who used your accessories to play with mortals and some heroes. It was fun, safe and without any commitment.

But you?

Choso gulped, a droplet of sweat forming around his temple as his eyes couldn't leave your drenched skin, too bare and too soft under flushed material, to have every other God around see you in such an harmless state.

Maybe he was hallucinating or maybe not, but you stood up, slowly, confidently, with breasts almost falling from your already too skimpy robes. Knowing his eyes followed your body, you glanced at him with such a stunning smile and a hint of foxy craftiness in your glimmering gaze, he almost passed out.

Literally, because his knees gave out, and the long scepter was the only thing that saved him from complete humiliation in front of the whole of Olympus.

"I'll clean it and return, my Lord. Maybe you could give me a hint or two regarding navigating the Underworld, hm?" You said so quietly, he may have been the only person who had heard your honeyed voice.

He could swear it was as sweet as your body, which turned out to be definitely too close to his, spreading a fragrance of fresh roses and an ocean breeze, stuck to your flowing hair and velvety skin.

But how could a Goddess like you even think of going down to his grim and mournful domain, filled with nothing but eeariness and cries of descendent souls, left at his mercy. "No, my G-Goddess, you shouldn't–"

"I insist." Your voice was firm and touch even firmer, almost burning his creamy skin, when your fingers brushed his bicep and gripped it lightly.

Only now you've noticed a delicate, black stripe spread on his nose and rosy cheeks, almost hidden under the muted candle's light, but visible enough the moment you closed the distance, suffocating him with your–ah, too close, too close, too close.

"My Goddess, I'm afraid you're too–"

But how could he push you away when his body betrayed him so clearly? Your hand on his bicep, plump breasts almost grazing his dark robes and flushed cheeks raised to meet his furrowed brows, oh so lost in your sweetness and a soft giggle, which already sounded like the most graceful melody.

Saying he was tall would be an overstatement, but stating he was well–built would be a pure untruth – his muscles trembled under your small hand, but you could feel their sturdiness. You caught how tight the dark robe was around his shoulders and the way it perfectly fit his muscular back and veiny forearms, peeking from wide sleeves.

He clenched snowish fingers on a long scepter, looking anywhere just not at you.

And when you touched your wine-wet breasts with his handkerchief, it was over.

He couldn't handle it anymore, so he did what every other wise and powerful God would do in the presence of a lustful and most beautiful woman walking on this Earth – turned on his heels and ran away.

"I'm sorry, my Goddess, I need to–um, I truly need to g-go–"

And he went indeed.

With such a hurry and a shade of delicious apple you've never seen spread on his face before, the only thing you could do was stand still and stare at his broad back slowly going down from Olympus's peak.

"My, my," you've heard a whistle and a second later, Gojo stood next to you, with a face not much different from yours. Flushed, stupefied, maybe a bit more amused. "He really is a lost cause, hm? Maybe calling him miserable was an overstatement. He's the most pathetic God in this Pantheon."

You inhaled heavily, feeling a warmth coiling in your belly, so familiar but at the same time intense, you've tried to remember the last time it felt as pleasant as now.

Hm, never?

"You're wrong," Gojo glanced at you with a raised eyebrow. And his amusement was even higher when he saw this weird look in your eye. Delight? Lust? No, lo– "He's pathetic for me only."

Days were passing by, filled with responsibilities mostly.

You've spent your time on listetning to worshippers – young girls, future mothers, women praying to bestow them with fertility, couples wishing for productive sexual life – and devoted sunny afternoons to bathing in the warm sun dancing on Olympus.

It was your favourite time of the day, so the moment your feet dipped into the crystal water, a blissful shiver ran through your spine, soothing both mind and body with a delicate touch of the waves. Nymphs surrounded you like ducks, dipping their heads in the pool and chirping among themselves like little birdies.

Your open bathhouse sat at the top of Olympus, built encircled by creamy columns, growing tall as trees, scratching cotton clouds with a serene feeling of quietness.

Small stairs led directly to fresh water, warmed by gentle rays of sunlight and glimmering on the velvety skin of playing nymphs.

Your statue stood right next to the open pool, tall and proud, almost naked too, representing which God this place belonged to.

When your body finally dipped fully, and eyes closed in ease, a faint sight escaped your lips. Sun rubbed your skin as you slumped against the pool’s wall and took a deep breath of the air dripping with an ocean breeze.

One of the nymphs slouched next to your naked body, her eyes looking at you with awe and curiosity, before she asked softly. "My Lady, my Lady, wasn’t Lord Hades quite rude to you last time?"

Another one swam closer, peaking at your body like a gem, something so beautiful and precious, no one deserved to touch— no, maybe even look at it. "That’s right, my Lady, doesn’t Lord Hades lack in manners? He’s never gonna find a wife with such a temper!"

You chuckled first, but the second sentence seemed to pique your curiosity. Your eye opened, glancing at a few nymphs floating peacefully around.

Such silly and adorable creatures they were, quite coquettish if they wanted to, and you understood why Gojo seemed to have a soft spot for them.

"And why would he need a wife?" You murmured, a strange feeling coiling in your belly.

One girl hummed, as if wondering, long hair flowing on the water, golden like wheat.

"My Lady, I’ve heard Lord Zeus talking to him about this. It seems like there’s a woman called Persephone and quite interested in Lord Hades she seems to be."

Your lips immediately fell flat in line.

Persephone? Isn’t she just a small sprat living under her mother's wings? What in the world could she want from Hades himself?

"Zeus said that, hm?" You mumbled, but didn’t listen to the rest of what Nymphs had to say.

Wife. Wife. Wife.

Why the hell he needed a wife?

You juggled this question like a mantra, like a woman obsessed, although there was truly nothing to be obsessed with.

That night was still vivid in your mind when Choso left the feast in a hurry – speechless and with ears burning like fire. The picture of his face was stuck in your memory, so lovely and pathetic, haunting you every night till the first sun rays hit your chamber.

You’ve seemed to lose your mind over him, how touch-starved he seemed to be, wanting, needing your attention desperately.

So why couldn’t you feel him anymore?

You wondered.

Why did any trace of his presence suddenly disappear, slip through the corners of your temples, together with pomegranates and shells scattered around your altars?

Why your chamber seemed to be lighter in the night, and what happened to the ragged, shortened breath you swear could hear during the deepest sleep.

Why has he left you?

Why—

A shriek brought your thoughts back, with a crystal water suddenly flowing in streams over the edge of the swimming pool. Nymphs were running away, as if scared – no, terrified, pointing with their fingers at something behind you.

"M-my Lady, look out! There’s a creature!"

A creature?

You turned head slowly, glancing over your shoulder. And suddenly, shock crossed your face, but only for a moment, before you raised an eyebrow in interest.

"Oh?" A hum escaped your lips, bringing your attention entirely to the so-called creature, being nothing more than a black snake.

For your nymphs' justification, some of them were quite… uneducated, you would say. Maybe a bit stupid, never seeing a world outside Olympus. Although snakes belonged to various Gods living on the Mountain, many usually associated them with the earth.

And the underworld.

"What brought you here, my dear? Are you lost?" You cooed, looking at his long body, slowly moving towards you, with yellowish eyes focused on nothing but your small, white dove, sitting calmly near your dipped body.

The snake was big, truly looking quite monstrous, but the dove didn't seem to mind his presence, as if her curiosity was piqued by the creature. Its black skin glimmered under the scorching sun, pinkish tongue sliding in and out of a closed mouth, checking the surroundings.

Nymphs left the pool, still warning you with faint screams and pleadings to leave it alone.

But how could you leave it alone if it was the first sign the God of the Underworld has sent you since that feast?

How could you ignore his weak and unsatisfying presence, sending your way such a creature instead of himself?

You stretched out your hand, brushing its hard skin. The scales were warm under your touch, but the snake completly ignored you, instead grazing with its big head the snowy feathers of the dove. "Where's your master, hm? Did he send you?"

Your birdie glanced at it, for a second only, before she lowered her head and touched the snake's raven skin with her soft feathers.

And then–

Snap!

Dove cried, one of the white feathers falling from her delicate body. You almost saw a furrow between her small eyes and stare shooting daggers at her bully.

She flew up, sitting on your arm, as you lifted your fingers to gently caress her.

"My poor baby," you whispered, as she cooed softly to your ear. "Isn't he just a mean bully? Quite different from his master, hm?"

Her small head pushed against your fingers, starved for your delicate touch, soothing her snowy feathers with slow brushes.

And when you looked at the snake, with a feather in his mouth, he sent you one last glance, before hiding back in the forest.

It seemed like you needed to fulfil your promise and pay the God of the Underworld a visit.

So a few days later, you finally found the only person who could help you get down to Hades's domain.

"Sorry, what?" Hermes looked at you with a furrow, scanning your body covered in pink, flowy robes, full of beauty and charm, definitely not accustomed to and made for a journey to the underworld. "Are you bored? Why in the world would you like to go down there?"

Your lips pressed in a line, hands clasped on your chest, with gold bracelets hugging your bare arms. It was always weird to hear other Gods – men – question your choices, and aside from Gojo who indeed had this privilege solely because of being your friend, it was always quite irritating to see others not giving you what you asked them for.

And if going to the underworld was that easy, you would do it yourself.

But it wasn't.

In fact, only one God was responsible for taking souls to the gates of hell, and it was he – this charming man, but just a dick to be honest, with wings on his feet and a golden helmet sitting tight on his raven hair.

Toji.

Your once-lover and Gojo's nemesis.

"Lord Hades invited me over," you said, but the only reaction you've got was a soft scoff.

"I doubt it." He murmured, broad back still turned away.

You took a deep breath, placing fingers on your temple. "Okay, what do you want in exchange?"

"Nothing." He stood back to you, focused on repairing something in his winged sandals, ignoring your boiling figure completly.

You really hoped that this pink dress, hugging your hips gently, with skin smelling like rose oil and a golden necklace sitting calmly right on your plump breasts, would convince him to grant you a pass.

You blinked.

"Nothing?" you repeated slowly, not quite believing your ears.

Toji finally turned to face you. The movement was lazy, unhurried, like a lion stretching only because it felt like it. Sunlight caught on the metal of his winged sandals, and the golden helmet resting carelessly on his head tilted as he studied you with dark, amused eyes.

“Did I stutter, doll?”

Your eye twitched.

Men like him were always like this – acting as if they were above bargains, above temptation, above you. As if the Goddess of Love herself standing in front of them asking for help was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

"I don’t believe you," you said flatly.

He smirked. "Smart."

Crossing his arms over his broad chest, he leaned against the marble pillar behind him, muscles shifting beneath his tunic. Even relaxed, he looked built for war – dangerous in a way that made other gods nervous and foolish mortals worshipful. He was cunning, smart, a God of Travellers and thieves, mostly, somehow having responsibility over guiding poor souls to the underworld.

You had fun back in the days, but he, like any other God, was too overpowering. Too pushy, brutal, with his fast and heavy thrusts, indeed giving you pleasure, but never satisfying some deep need coiling in your belly. He wouldn't drop down to his knees. Worship you like a Goddess, a pathetic man eager to lose his Godly status just to have you exclusively.

"You don’t want gold," you continued, ticking possibilities off in your mind. "You don’t care for favors. You’ve never been one for politics. So what is it, Toji? What do you want?"

For a moment he only watched you, gaze dragging slowly over your face as if he were trying to decide something.

Then he laughed.

Low. Rough. Infuriatingly confident.

"What I want," he said, stepping closer, "is to see something interesting."

Your brows knitted together. "Interesting?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "You, of all people, marching into the Underworld for the brooding King of the Dead? That’s entertainment money can’t buy."

So that was it.

Curiosity.

Amusement.

Typical Hermes.

"You’re unbelievable," you muttered.

"So I’ve been told." His grin widened. "Alright, doll. I’ll take you."

Relief loosened the knot in your chest, though you hid it well to not give him satisfaction.

"But," he added, holding up a finger, "you follow my lead. No wandering off. No charming the shades. And absolutely no crying if you get scared."

"I don’t get scared," you said coolly.

"We’ll see."

Without another word, he extended a hand to you. Rough, warm, steady.

Hesitating only a second, you placed your fingers in his.

The world shifted.

Air folded in on itself. The brightness of Olympus faded like a curtain being drawn, colors draining away into something colder, heavier. The scent of flowers and honey dissolved into ash and stone.

When your feet touched solid ground again, it wasn’t marble beneath you.

It was black sand.

The sky above was no longer sky at all – just a vast, endless ceiling of shadow. Rivers of dark water cut through the land like veins, and distant wails echoed from places you couldn’t see.

Toji released your hand.

"Welcome to the Underworld," he said casually, as if he’d just shown you a new café instead of the realm of the dead.

You barely heard him.

Because ahead of you, towering higher than any palace of Olympus, stood the gates.

Massive iron doors carved with ancient symbols, wrapped in chains that seemed to breathe, guarded by looming statues with hollow eyes. Beyond them stretched a kingdom of eternal night.

Hades’s domain.

Your heart fluttered in your chest.

"So," Toji drawled beside you, watching your expression with open amusement, "still sure about this?"

You lifted your chin.

"Open the gates."

The underworld turned out to be... quiet.

The shriek of massive gates filled the stifled air, but when you entered through, there was nothing once again.

No, maybe there was.

Soft whispers coming from the long river stretching in front of you, with a small, wooden pier lightened by a single candle. Its flame whizzed in the darkness, inviting you as if offering a bit of warmth.

Black sand sank beneath your sandals, your pink dress grazing the ground as you followed Toji’s broad, confident back toward the pier.

"My company ends here," he stated, walking slowly. "But Charon will take you straight to Hades’s temple."

You frowned slightly, glancing around the boundless land. No sun. No moon. Only endless twilight, air shifting between cold and warmth, sticky and hollow, sending uneasy shivers down your spine.

"He’ll be there. Don’t worry," Toji added, noticing the tension in your shoulders. “You’ll be fine.”

You noticed shades hovering nearby – dim, almost transparent figures gliding aimlessly, faces pale and empty, hands reaching out as though searching for something they had long forgotten. "Who are they?"

"Dead who weren’t buried with coins," Toji replied, casually swatting away one shade that drifted too close to you with cupped, pleading hands. "Charon can’t take them across the Styx without payment."

"And what happens to them?"

Your feet touched the wooden pier. The boat was already waiting – long and narrow, with a single lamp hanging from its curved prow. A small figure sat at the back, cloaked in black, nothing visible but pale, bony hands protruding from wide sleeves, one extended expectantly, the other gripping a worn paddle.

"They wander," Toji said with a shrug, snapping his fingers towards the boatman. "Hey, grandpa, she's a Goddess, no need for payment. Take her right to Hades. She's a guest."

Charon slowly withdrew his outstretched hand and placed it back on the paddle, waiting in silent invitation.

You inhaled slowly, gathering the folds of your dress, and stepped into the boat.

The wood creaked beneath your weight, and the small vessel rocked gently as Charon pushed away from the pier with a single, practiced motion. The candlelight swayed, throwing trembling reflections across the dark water.

Toji remained on the shore, arms crossed.

"Try not to die down there," he called after you with a lazy grin.

"I’m a Goddess," you glanced back, lifting your chin. "I can't die."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, already turning away. "Tell that Sisyphus."

You wanted to snap back that he, in fact, wasn't a God, but the boat already moved, sliding over the dark waters of the Styx with gentle waves woven by a wooden paddle.

The River Styx stretched endlessly in both directions, black as polished obsidian, its surface smooth and unmoving. No wind touched it. No ripple dared disturb it. The only sound was the slow dip of Charon’s paddle cutting through the water.

Around you, shades hovered in the mist, faint faces pressed together like memories too worn to remember themselves. Some reached toward the boat with hollow eyes, others merely watched, envy etched into their pale, fading forms.

You wrapped your arms around yourself.

For the first time in centuries, you felt small.

“Don’t listen to them,” Toji had warned before you left.

But how could you not?

One shade drifted close to the boat, its hollow eyes meeting yours, and for a heartbeat, you felt a wave of sorrow so deep it nearly stole your breath.

You looked away quickly.

The further you travelled, the heavier the air became, until at last the boat scraped softly against another shore.

And there it was.

The entrance to the Underworld.

You looked over your shoulder at Charon, wishing to hear his voice, but he only stretched his skeletal hand, pointing at something.

You left the boat, feet once again touching soft, black sand.

The closer you got to Hades's temple, the warmer it became, with a gentle wind moving folds of your dress. As Toji said, it wasn't a place for you.

Dark, isolated, gloomy, hugging your shivering body covered in the sweetest, most beautiful shimmering gown worn only on the sunny land of Olympus.

But here? You looked truly like a clown, with gold jewellery looking almost bleak under the darkness looming over your figure.

Another gate appeared in front of you, once again massive in its heaviness, but this time with no chain in sight.

Actually, it looked as if... slightly opened?

Impossible.

You moved closer, step by step, white sandals sinking in sand, black grains moving between your soft fingers. The gate was right there, so close, with a mere few steps and–

Your body froze.

Because there, from the darkness emerged a creature so massive it seemed carved from nightmares themselves.

Enormous, monstrous even, with three heads moving towards you, teeth wet with saliva and eyes burning like coal.

A guard of the underworld, you've heard.

Hades's pet.

But you didn't see any assembly to a pet, rather a monster talked about only in tales, one usually killed bravely by heroes or spreading annihilation over mortals.

Your heart skipped.

"Oh," you breathed. "You must be the Cerberus."

The beast stepped closer, paws heavier than thunder, breath warm and smoky against your skin. Each head watched you with suspicion, nostrils flaring at your unfamiliar scent.

You straightened your shoulders.

"I am Aphrodite," you said softly, holding out a hand. "Goddess of Love and Beauty. I mean no harm."

For a tense moment, nothing happened.

But then, one of the massive heads tilted. In curiosity, playfulness, maybe, with this glint in his eye, you knew animals had every time they saw you.

Another gave a curious sniff, as if your rosy oil scratched his nostrils in pleasure.

The third promptly leaned forward, and before you could fully process it, a rough, warm tongue dragged across your cheek.

"Oh–!" You gasped, stumbling back in surprise.

The second head followed, then the third, each nuzzling you with embarrassing enthusiasm. The fear melted instantly, replaced by startled laughter.

The great hound wagged its monstrous tail, the ground trembling with each happy thump.

"Well, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. You're just like your Master." Faint giggle bubbled in your throat, fingers scratching one of the enormous heads under its chin, the other one behind its ear, while the third licked your skin once again, leaving you with another gasp and its saliva dripping down your robe.

"Such good puppies, aren't you? Can you take me to your Master? We have stuff to discuss."

Cerberus escorted you the rest of the way, walking proudly at your side as if you were already expected.

And beyond the heavy gate and rocky path, rising higher than any structure you had ever seen, stood the temple of Hades. Stone steps rose upward toward a structure carved into the cliffs themselves – dark marble pillars wrapped in shadow, torches burning with pale fire.

Cold.

Majestic.

Eternal.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"So this is where he lives," you whispered, feeling Cerberus' nose pushing you towards the temple. "Yes, yes, thank you, my dear. Such a good dog you are. The best, maybe."

You gave him one last scratch before going towards Hades's domain.

Did he expect you? You thought.

Will he be surprised?

Did Toji tell him you're here?

But if he did, wouldn't the God of the Underworld wait for you already?

And as you stepped closer to the looming entrance, licked by the cold fire of the hanging lanterns, something in your gut told you that he, in fact, didn't know that you were here.

And when you entered, looking around the cold stones, your heart suddenly skipped a beat.

You expected the inside to be quite cold, sheathed in gloom, a feeling of sadness, weird eariness that would send a chill through your bones. No one actually knew what Hades lived like. No one ever cared. And it seemed like he didn't care too – about making an appearance, trying to change the way people see him, particularly about other Gods.

But, oh, how wrong you were.

Because on the tall walls and high ceilings, an altar quietly put in the middle and columns wrapped in paintings – was you.

You, bathing in a pool, painted with a steady hand on one of the walls.

Your body wrapped around the column, one of the flowy dresses slipped on it casually, hair fluttering in the wind, and a smile spread on plump lips.

The sculpture of your body, naked, but covered with a transparent robe, presenting only a part of your full breasts and hips, ending just in the middle of thick thighs, standing just in the middle of the entrance. It looked dampened, with the robe sticking to your skin, barely covering perked nipples and fat gathering around your hips.

Your gaze moved to the altar.

Shells scattered around its flat surface, together with roses, apples, seeds of pomegranate, a white feather, a piece of your– wait a minute-

"M-my Goddess?"

A low voice brought your thoughts back.

Choso suddenly emerged from one of the chambers, his tall figure covered in black robes and face – oh, his face – twisted in emotion closest to pure agony. He looked at you with furrowed brows, biting lower lip and deciding whether he should come to you or, maybe, once again, run away.

"My Goddess, what are you doing here?" He asked, staying in place.

You glanced last time at the piece of clothing lying on the altar and grinned. It was weird to see it here, from all places, but something coiling in your lower belly told you that perhaps it was the only reasonable place to see your undergarments stolen a while ago.

"I promised to give it back," a black handkerchief appeared in your hand, clean and fresh, smelling exactly like your favourite body oil. "Last time you ran away so quickly, my Lord, we didn't have a chance to properly talk."

His throat moved and eyes followed you nervously as you slowly walked towards him.

You didn't fit here, he thought, to this disgusting place.

Because he had seen beauty before.

Choso was old as bone and shadow, older than kingdoms, older than grief. He had watched empires crumble into dust and souls pass through his gates like autumn leaves. Nothing startled him anymore. Nothing truly moved him.

But then, oh, then he saw you.

Aphrodite.

A name whispered among Gods and mortals, and yet no story, no hymn, no jealous prayer had ever done you justice.

He watched you approach with a steady pace, swaying hips, and long robes dragged behind your feet. His mouth was dry, heart beating too fast, pale skin sweating with dread, nervousness, terror. Because every time he saw you, smelled your skin damped in the sweetness of flowery oils, heard a laugh always caused by Gojo or another God he absolutely despised – his body was in flames.

Your gown flowed like liquid dawn – soft folds of pink and gold clinging to a body sculpted by the heavens themselves. Each step you took was unhurried, graceful, unaware of the havoc it caused in his heart.

Your hair caught the dim torchlight and turned it into silk. Skin held a glow that did not belong to this realm, smooth and untouched, as if the moment he would sink his teeth into the curve of your ass, pure ambrosia would drip down his chin.

And your face–

Gods had waged wars over less.

There was something unbearably gentle in your expression, something kind, a beauty truly worthy of the Goddess of Love. And the smirk on your lips, a cunning smile, words slipping so casually, constantly with a drop of lewdness as if you knew the effect you had on him.

Choso knew it was over for him.

He had always wondered, distantly, what it would feel like to have your hand in his. To feel that warmth against his eternally cold skin. To have you say his name the way only lovers did, low and familiar, as if he was something precious instead of something feared by Gods and mortals.

His fist clenched, when you walked closer – body mere centimetres from his, breast almost touching his burning skin, and he prayed, truly prayed, for your gaze not to go down any further, because he couldn't stand your lustrous eyes on his cock leaking through black robes.

"My Lord, won't you invite me to a cup of wine, at least?" You asked carefully, quietly, noticing his dark eyes running around your face. His hand trembled, and throat cleared when he showed you a way inside the temple.

To his inner chambers, you guessed.

You walked past him, fingers slightly brushing the bulging part of his robes, and he, well, he almost fell down to his knees in an utterly embarrassing and completly failed position he found himself at.

The inside of the temple was cosier than you thought it would be, with the next room filled with warmth and red carpets, candles fighting the darkness with their reddish tongues. There was a long table too and a balcony, with a view of – oh.

"That is Tartatus, my Goddess," Choso said, when he saw your shocked gaze looking down at the deep abyss filled with faint moans and shrieks, as if souls were cooked alive there, tortured in the most terrifying ways. A dungeon for the most wicked ones, true monsters and creatures that should never see daylight. "I don't use it unless I have to. Some of them deserve to be there."

A hint of nervousness still lingered in his voice when he stood behind you. Heat radiated from his body as he stood close enough to cage you with his muscular forearms. How lovely it would be!

You moved your head away from the painful screams, turning your body back towards him.

Gentle eyes looked at you from under the purplish circles, black stripes moving together with his knitted eyebrows and tightened lips.

"Aren't you lonely here? It doesn't seem like the happiest place in the world," you asked with actual curiosity, but he frowned even harder, as if thinking about the proper answer.

Some servant in the back put two glasses of wine on the table and melted away in the darkness of the temple.

"I never had a choice," Choso finally whispered, inviting you with a gesture back to the room. He moved away a chair and let you sit first, before taking a seat right next to you. "That's how I was raised and born. That's the only place I know."

You watched him carefully as he spoke.

There was something painfully honest in his voice, something raw and unpolished, as if no one had ever truly asked him such a simple question before.

You lifted a glass to your lips, taking a sip of red wine, melting sweetly on your tongue.

“So no visitors?” you asked lightly. “No celebrations? No festivals in your honour? Is there truly no one who worships the God of the Underworld? There must be some benefits to it.”

He huffed softly at that, something almost like embarrassment flickering across his face.

“The dead do not celebrate,” he replied. “And the living fear me too much to bother.”

“Yet you welcomed me,” you pointed out.

At that, his fingers tightened slightly around his own glass. Face slightly flushed, red like a cherry, with its juice going through his cheeks up to hair-covered ears.

"B-but you're not like them," he mumbled so quietly, you needed to use all of your might to hear those words.

Not like them.

Your head tilted, letting a small smile play at the corner of your mouth.

“And how am I different, my Lord?" you asked, voice gentle and confident, nevertheless pinning him down to his seat in nervousness. "Oh, and the paintings at the entrance? Truly wonderful! I've never thought I'll have devotees among the Gods."

For a moment, he didn’t answer.

Dark eyes traced your face again, as if committing every detail to memory. The plumpness of your lips. The shine of your skin. The soft rise and fall of your chest with each breath. This rosy dress, too tight and too transparent, allowing him to see the curve of your breast and the pinkish aureola of your soft nipples.

He gulped.

"I-if you're bothered by them–"

"I'm not. I love them, truly," Choso shifted in his place, when you slightly loosened on your chair, legs spread a bit wider than they were, fiery gaze stuck at him. "But the altar, dear Lord. How did you even get such stuff? The feather, I believe, is a treasure captured by one of your small servants, although he indeed was a bit brutal with my birdie," His face was burning, air almost knocked out from lungs in embarrassment and desire he felt under your heavy gaze, with his eyes focused on your parted thighs, hugged by a robe, opened for him as if in invitation. "Though the undergarment? Aren't you–" But before you could finish, he dropped down to his knees, head heavy on your thighs, muscular arms wrapped around your legs as you felt something hard and leaking under your foot. "Just a pervert?"

"M-my Goddes, I'm so s-sorry," he murmured, looking at you from below, with dark eyes filled with pathetic pleading, beefy arms tightening their embrace around your legs as he rubbed his cheek against your warm thigh. "I am, I am a pervert, I-I am nothing more than a pervert, j-just please let me–"

Your hand gently caressed his cheek as he nuzzled into it with a heavy breath.

Dear God, he was truly perfect, with those trembling lips and eyes gazing at you so lovingly, so desperately, something warm coiled in your belly.

His hands touched your ankles, slowly, slowly, going up, catching the hem of your dress, rolling it up to your knees, while he still looked at you with begging eyes.

"Let you do what?" you hummed, foot pushing against his throbbing dick with gentleness, "What are you willing to do to have me, my Lord?"

His fingers clenched on your skin before pulling the dress up to the middle of your slick thighs with one swift motion. "Whatever you want, my Goddess. Just ask me, p-please just ask me. I'll give you sun and moon if you'll ask me to."

He put your legs on his shoulders, hands roaming on your bare skin, feeling the heat radiating from your core, bare but not quite visible for his hungry, despairing eye.

Your head tilted, fingers combing his hair. "Anything? Would you die for me, my Lord?"

"Yes."

No hesitation.

"Would you degrade yourself as a God, my Lord?"

"Yes."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Would you kill your brothers, my Lord?"

You knew this one was completly inappropriate, something others could kill you for, but–

"Yes."

And you didn't have time to react, before Choso spread your thighs even wider and took a looong lick of your creamy pussy. Your breath hitched, he moaned, a grumble going straight to your pulsing core, fingers squeezing his hair stronger.

"My Lord!"

But he was completly lost, with his mouth drenched in your leaking pussy, tasting, as he anticipated, like the purest form of ambrosia, the plum wine going sweetly down his throat until he moaned, no, cried right into your spread folds.

You involuntarily bucked your hips towards his open lips as he sucked on your clit.

"S-so good, my Goddess, s-so mmm–"

But the hard chair was brushing your velvety skin, and a quiet groan escaped your throat when he folded you even harder.

"My Lord, please let's move to–"

You didn't have to say it twice, before he slumped you over his shoulder, like a sack of grain, with bare ass and leaking cunt, kept in place by his beefy arm.

"Call me Choso, my Goddess," he mumbled, not able to keep his lips from your skin, kissing, biting, licking the bare curve of your ass, fingers slightly parting your pussylips as he drenched them in your juices.

And although you couldn't see him, a moment later, you heard him licking something, moaning so loudly you felt another wave of warmth flowing in your belly.

Your back hit a soft surface, and soon you found yourself spread on a bed. Lightless sky peeked through the windows, faint flames kissing Choso's fully dressed body, panting heavily as he looked down at your glistening folds. A second later, his black robe landed on the floor, with absolutely nothing on his tall body aside from heavy mountains of muscles, with muscular thighs dropping down to plush carpet and toned arms again parting your legs.

"M-my Goddess, can I?" He glanced at you pleadingly, looking like a child ready to cry if his mama won't give him his favourite sweet.

You bit lower lip, eyes sparkling with excitement at seeing him in such a hopeless state.

"Only if you'll eat me out like a good boy, Cho. Can you do it?"

Oh! And if it didn't fire him up, with a frown on his handsome face, nodding quickly, obediently, truly like a small puppy. Just maybe ten times bigger and much heavier than you, with enough strength to pin you down against his bed and fuck you senseless like an animal.

You've kept your weight on your elbows, seeing Choso going down once again, giving you a looong drag of his tongue against your glistering folds, as he parted them with his two fingers. His hot breath on your clit, as he sucked on it gently, needily, moaning and crying every time a fresh batch of creamy cum went down his throat. When your walls clenched around his tongue, rummaging inside you, and a sharp breath escaped your throat.

His hands roamed around your ass, hips, pulling you even closer, before going up up up to your breasts. Oh, Goddess of Love and Fertility, you truly were, because the thought of milk dripping from your pinkish nipples, of him sucking your tits and pushing his cock deep down your cunt at the same time made him almost cum on the spot.

He thought about whether you would allow him to cum inside.

Whether you would want his babies, to walk heavily pregnant and let him worship you day and night, by keeping your pussy always warm and pleased.

Would you–

"Yes yes yes, to all of them," you moaned with head lulled back and eyes crossed, as Choso, accidentally or not, murmured all his wishes riiiiight into your pussy, squeezing around his two fingers. "You better keep your promise and fuck me pregnant then."

He licked your pussy unhingeldy, like a starved dog, with a frown between his brows and black stripes moving every time the tip of his tongue dragged down your puffy clit, slick folds, not allowing even a single drop of your honey slick dto rip down the sheets.

His face was so beautiful and truly Godly, with pale skin drenched with your juices and contrasting red lips wrapped around your sweet bud. You looked down on him, mouth parted and breath heavy, as he pressed you closer to his open lips and stuck out tongue. "M-my Goddess, I-I promise–ngh–your pussy tastes so delicious, I can't stop ahhh–p-please tell me it feels good."

A giggle escaped your throat, but was soon strangled by a moan, when his fingers curled riiiight into that spongy spot, sending shivers down till your cervix, making your belly clench and head throw back. And seeing your reaction, he curled them again and again again again, pairing it with his tongue licking your soaked pussy and lips sucking on sweet bud, pushing his face even deeper into your folds, almost wishing to get inhaled by them.

"Mhmmm so good Cho, you're eating me s-so fucking good ahhh–"

But gone he was, eyes closed in pleasure, lips puffy, and head nodding faintly when you moved your hips and rubbed them against his tongue.

"S-so good, mhmm feels so good, this pussy," he mumbled, not quite sure whether to you or your cunt, gasping and wailing with a mouth full of your sweet juice. "Feels so mhm so good, m-my Goddess, my baby mhm, so pretty pretty–"

A pressure coiled in your belly – feeling, that with another thrust of his fingers and looong stripe of his tongue against your cunt, you will completly, pathetically break under his muscular arms pinning you down to bed.

"Choso, I'm gonna–" You gasped, fingers clasping his hair, to take him away from your pussy just for a second. "I wanna cum on your cock."

He looked up. Gaze lost, hair messy, chin drenched, a pearl of sweat running down his pale temple.

"Don't underestimate me. I'll make you cum on both my tongue and cock," His fingers stretched every corner of your cunt, thrusting against the tight muscles, drawing even more of your sweet juices from your tight hole as you moaned at the pressure building in your stomach. "What, my Goddess, your lovers never made you cum twice?"

You shook your head, gaze blurred by the heavy feeling in your belly. Choso smiled, curling his fingers against your sweet spot brutally, sucking on your clit with the lovliest cries, looking sooo satisfied and confident, with this precious knowledge of having the honour to make his Goddess go stupid on both his face and his dick.

"Even Gojo?" He continued, looking completly drunk on your slick juices, nevertheless still making sure that he indeed would be your best, the first, the only lover that will ever make you cum countless times, till your clit is sore and womb plump from his seed.

"I never had a good lover," you mewled, feeling him groan against your cunt.

"Mhmm, m-my Goddess allow me to–"

And you indeed allowed him, because not a second later, your back rose in an arch, fingers curled and thighs clenched on his head, cutting off his air supply for a few seconds, with your body trembling under his toned arms, keeping you pinned to bed.

You weren't quite sure who had an orgasm, because while a heavy whine ripped from your throat, and a shock waved through your body, Choso seemed to go through his own pleasure, crying, whining, moaning, muttering under his nose, hiccuping on your gushing slick – completly, utterly lost in the taste of your pussy.

Pretty pretty pretty pussy.

Seconds later, your positions changed, with you straddling his hips and his back slumped against soft pillows. Two hands landed on your ass, pushing it against his throbbing cock, sticking so obediently to his lower abs, with precum dripping down his shaft and smeared all over his happy trail. With hips on top, your folds hugged in wetly, last traces of creamy cum gushing over his aching shaft, with head so reddish you thought no one ever needed you that desperately.

"My Goddess, r-ride me, please?" And for a God of Underworld himself, one of the most powerful creatures in the whole Pantheon, Choso truly couldn’t stand giving you orders.

It was always please and would you, and I’m sorry, with this absurdly massive body and his eyes filled with so much gentleness, you instantly felt your cunt twitch once again.

"Oh, where did you see that position, Cho?" A smile danced in the corners of your eyes, and your hips moved slightly with your warm folds sliding up and down his cock.

It’s veiny shaft, looking so deliciously wet, fat around your pussylips and so so so pretty, you moaned faintly and put palms on Choso’s chest.

This question seemed to strike him dumb, because you saw the answer bubbling somewhere in his throat, too extreme to see the dawn.

"Tell me, baby, where have you seen it? Aren’t you a virgin, after all?" Your syrupy voice and wet pussy, fluttering hole slightly catching on the head of his cock made him whine and shudder under your weight.

He nodded, clenching his palms on your hips. "I-I am, I s-stayed for you."

For you.

And with these words, you slid his cock inside you a bit, truly barely, with the feverish tip hugged warmly by your pinkish walls. But you didn’t go further, waiting for his filthy confession.

"Such a good boy you are, right? I’ve never met better," you leaned over, lips mere millimetres from his, caressing them gently in a soft kiss. Your tongue slipped and licked his lower lip, trembling with mere inches of his cock sank inside you. "So tell me now, where did you see it?"

There was something pervy within him. Great Lord Hades, fearsome Choso, a dreadful figure living in darkness, always there but never caught by anyone. Everyone thought of him as a ghost, a demon almost, so powerful in his might yet somehow always unreachable.

But you knew.

You saw it, felt it, his presence, your disappearing panties, the rosy smell on his neck, this look when his eyes traced your body, smooth skin, a giggle escaping your lips, and single glances shot towards him, enough to give him false hope and obsess over you within the dark chambers of his temple.

A drop of sweat rolled down his forehead; his voice clearly dipped in utter embarrassment and yearning. "I-I saw you with Gojo."

You raised a brow, lips curved in an o, when you tried to remember the last time you and Gojo had sex.

Dear God, wasn't it like–

"Two years ago, you mean?"

He nodded his head, biting lower lip. Cock still only catching on your entrance, and as much as he wished to sink deep into your soaking cunt, with insanity hanging by a thread, he squeezed fingers on your hips and took a deep breath.

"Y-you rode him them, I-I saw it–"

"What do you mean, saw it?"

Oh, you loved it.

Loved loved loved it.

This blush spreading over his cheeks, a pathetic gaze he bestowed you, paired together with soft whimpers every time you squeezed slightly around his aching head, precum drenching your walls in salty droplets.

"I watched you f-from the c-corner of your chamber," admitting his perversity was a true nightmare, but you couldn't stop this pleasure coiling in your belly.

"You watched me, baby?" You sank lower, just a bit, giving him a prize for being such a good and obedient boy. "Did you touch yourself too? Hm? My cunt riding Gojo's cock excited you that much?"

His head nodded again, fast, a whimper escaping his throat when his huge cock went deeper inside your fluttering walls. The stretch was delicious, absolutely devastating, with a soft moan escaping your lips right into his parted lips.

"M-my Goddess, p-please can you move? Just a b-bit, please, please," He gasped, restraining the urge to buck his hips and push his cock into your drenched pussy till his pumping head will hit your cervix.

"How many times have you watched me?" Your questions were coming one by one, next more difficult than the other, giving Choso almost a cardiac arrest, with his heart beating so fast and his eyes almost glossy, he could not stand another embarrassing answer.

"E-every time, my Goddess, please–"

"Every time?" The last time you satisfied yourself was just after the feast. Did it mean that...?

Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes, lips wobbly when you finally, finally, sat on him with your full weight, heavy cock deep inside your cunt. You deflected, back arched, hands resting on his thighs, legs parted, allowing him to watch a creamy ring forming at the base of his cock.

"S-so good, dear Goddess, oh it feels so fucking good, y-your pussy–" He cried, whimpered, hips finally bucking up to meet yours, cock thrusting deep inside you, squeezed, kissed by your muscles and cervix, sucked every time he tried to pull out.

His eyes met yours – cunning, glistering, with this lovable hint of gentleness and desire he never ever saw with your previous lovers. And he observed you every time another God fucked your tight cunt.

Every time with your panties around his leaking cock, every time noticing what brought you the most pleasure.

So that's how he knew that if he put his hand on your lower belly, bulging with his fat cock, and pushed it slightly, your pussy would clutch him ever harder.

He knew that if his thumb would circle your sweet clit, a sharp whine would bubble in your throat, and your eyes would cross in pleasure.

So he watched your face twist in delight, hips riding him even faster, stronger, wilder, with tits moving together with your sharp back-and-forth moves. He sat up and leaned over to suck your perked nipple, cupping another one with his big palm.

Oh, how he wanted to taste the sweetness of your milk, feeling the heaviness of your breast sitting tightly in his palm, so soft and squishy, he whimpered heavily with his cock sinking in even more. "M-my Goddness, you're squeezing me so hard, feels so good mhmmm. D-do you feel g-good?"

You nodded your head, sweat dripping down your temple, but not for long, because Chose leaned and licked it from your honeyed skin.

Oh, how fucking delicious you were.

"Let me take over? I-I promise I'll be good," His hands on your hips helped you move, fucking himself back into you harder with every thrust, but it was clear that you were getting tired. "I'll be good, good, so so so good for you my Goddess–"

Although he absolutely loved this view, needing to have it in front of his eyes every morning – your full hips bouncing obscenely on his fat cock, belly bulging with his shaft, reddened lips parted and brows furrowed, with sweat dripping between your heavy tits, fitting his palm just perfectly. He would truly be ready to give over his Godly title to see it every fucking day.

"Mhmm yeah please baby, gonna fuck me with your cock?" Your lost gaze met his, even more miserable. "Mmm Cho baby, you're the best, the best fucking lov–"

You didn't manage to finish your sentence before he changed your position fast. You knew he was strong, with muscular arms and great posture, back filling his black robes and heavy, massive cock sealing your thigh cunt juust in the right way.

But you truly underestimated the power he possessed. And maybe you realised it the moment his hands appeared under your thighs, puuushing them far until your knees were almost around your head, with ass lifted in the air and breath knocked out of your chest.

And he?

He was massive. Obsessed. Lost. Bubbling under his nose, with eyes glued to your open pussy. About how delicious you were, how pretty your cunt was, how he'll breed it until it flows with his cum. He parted your lips with two fingers, whimpering at the sight of you, oh so lonely and needy hole, with saps dripping down the sheets.

Choso needed one thrust only – short, absolutely brutal, stretching a still tight ring of your muscles, absolutely devouring every panted cry that escaped your lips with his wet kisses, mouth covering yours fully, and tongue sinking down your throat.

"Mmm Cho, just like that, yes yes yes." He was swallowing your every moan like a madman, thrusting his cock deep aaall the way down to your cervix, head catching on your spongy spot and hammering it with every push.

"You make me, fuck, m-my Goddess, you turn me into fucking animal," He whimpered right into your mouth, fat tears prickling in the corners of his eyes, dangerously close to sliding down his flushed cheeks every time your cunt clamped down on his drenched cock. "I-I dreamed about this for s-so long."

And you started to feel it – this warmth in your belly, your hitched breath, head spinning, and back slightly arching with Choso's brutal thrust, obscene moans filling his chamber and nothing but squelch squelch squelch of your absolutely soaked folds drenching his fat cock.

"C-cho I'm close, I'm so so so close mhmm p-please!"

Nothing could prepare him for your sweet cumming – cunt clenching hard, creamy rings stuck to his shaft and slick gushing down your thighs. You cried, shuddered, rolled your hips against his, squeezed on his cock so hard, you felt every vein of his throbbing shaft. And he continued to pound you madly, brutally, cock sinking balls deep into your hole, a whimper escaping his throat when he drove his mass on your body even harder.

Folding you in half, preparing for a proper breeding, the thought of fucking the most fertile Goddess made him go insane.

Oh god, oh dear fucking god, how many children could you give him?

How delicious your milk would be when he would fuck your pretty pussy while drinking it riiight from your plump tits?

"M-my Goddess, can I p-please cum–"

"You better not spill any drop." Your voice was raspy but still possessed this domination that made him cream his pants on the spot.

So with another thrust, he completly crushed, body shuddering, thrusts not stopping until his tip pressed fully against your womb, filling you with loads and loads, oh god he really was a perv and a virgin, of cum, until it stuck gluey to your walls.

And with a heavy breath, he finally plopped down, embracing you with both arms and placing a cheek on your breast.

The silence filled his chamber, with sky still showing no traces of sun, only the nighttime quietness and, oh, were those crickets singing outside his temple?

"They're also dying, you know?" He whispered, as if reading your mind.

A laugh escaped your throat as you combed your fingers through his hair. "So you decided to put them in your garden?"

He chuckled too, dark eyes closed as if preparing for deep slumber. "I hoped you'd like it. To have something... alive, more familiar here."

Your heart squeezed faintly at the thought of God of the Dead himself wanting to make you comfortable in his always gloomy, always eerie domain.

And maybe you didn't much enjoy the shrieks coming from Tartarus and all the lost souls wandering around his territory, you truly thought that with more aliveness here, you could make it work.

That's why no God or nymph could ever imagine, that during the next feast, Hades himself, a God feared by them all, will sit obediently, flushed on red wine, with a such a beauty on his lap – Aphrodite herself, chippering something sweetly to his ear and may or may not moving her hips in circles on his, oh sooo tight robe!

Going back to Egypt, Seth! Sukuna next <3

yuuji gets so sensitive when he finally gets to be with you. maybe it’s exam week, maybe class has taken up too much of your time towards the end of the semester and you’re too tired to kiss, let alone fuck by the end of the day. so when you finally get a moment alone at the dorms, when you’re finally underneath him again, sweaty and sniffing, nipples brushing against his chest from the brutal force of his hips cantering into yours — he’s cumming too soon cause you hug him so well n bathe him in your slick and cry his name like you’ve gone dumb and it’s the only word you know… it’s so much.

syrupy, hot white that dribbles down your inner thighs and webs around his thick circumference. so much that it helps yuuji slide deeper, he’s got no choice but to fuck it into you, make sure it smears along your velvety walls before he’s cumming when. he throws his jersey off somewhere in the room, everything too temperate and too humid, sex in the air and mingling between every breath you take after every kiss.

and god, his balls can’t stop twitching, shaft won’t stop throbbing with every wave and he shudders wholly above you, words stuck in his throat as it runs dry unlike his balls. so ready to be milked, so ready to fill you up again. all of it all over the sheets, all sticky on your doughy shaky thighs and your soft tummy. he’ll keep cumming until he’s shooting blanks, but every time there’s more than the last because you keep begging for enough to knock you up.

“please yuu? jus’ one more? promise i’ll be so good. missed you… missed you fillin’ me…” you wail, begging for another load despite how full of cum and cock you are. it’s been so long since you went at it like this, the practises and the exams have you aching carnally for each other. you hardly ever beg like this, that’s how he knows. yuuji’s neglected his baby. now you want a baby. you’re too innocent, too pure and you always let him lead but now you’re dazed out of your fucking mind as you plead for yuuji’s dick like your life depends on it. a heap of swollen lips and foggy glasses and salt-licked limbs beneath his stocky, strong frame.

fuck, he knows.

he knows you’re being dangerous. he knows he can’t get you pregnant. not now. not yet. and he knows you’re being so greedy and yuuji will never ever say no. can’t bring himself to pull out when you clench on him just like that and your ankles lock at the base of his spine. keeping his meaty girth plugged in that soaked, spasming hole.

so then pink hair tickles the junction at your neck as his head drops to it, yuuji’s breath shaky and his eyes watery ‘cause even he’s overwhelmed by just how much your perfect pussy drains him. caked in frothy cream, seed oozing over your swollen clit where your heartbeats proud. “but you are, baby,” he heaves, collapsing on top of you with flushed cheeks and a kiss to the side of your head. “you’re so good, feel like a dream. dream come true… but i can’t—”

“but you’d…you’d never say no,” you whimper, all pouty and whiney — clenching again with that warm gush of slick and seed coating the veins on yuuji’s sensitive cock. now you’re playing a sick game itadori didn’t even know you could play. his shy baby, with her cute little glasses sliding down her nose the faster he pumps into her, skirt flipped so his cock can carve a home for itself in her cunt… you’re killing him. manipulating yuuji into pressing his cum into you and keeping there when he really shouldn’t.

his abs contact, muscles twisting tight against your soiled stomach like he’s trying to hold back an orgasm just seconds away from breach. “please please please yuuji. want you to cum again ‘n again. wanna feel you breed me. wanna r’member how you knocked me up.”

what else can he do? is there any point in holding back? you’ve already taken more loads than he can count so he really can’t help it when his body succumbs to cold shakes and warm cunt, ropes of white landing deep within — clinging to every ridge along your ribbed walls. waves of it flow into you, an erotic stream that paints you in his claim. he’s hiccuping now, rendered a weak hunk of muscle on top of you — exhausted in a way not even practice with coach gojo could make him feel.

“can’t talk like that when i’m inside you, baby. d-dunno what i’ll do.”

itadori heaves, though he’s not helping much — grinding into you with long, hard circles… ass taut and clenched as he pushed his release deeper inside. like he’s trying to make it stick. trying to plug you full, because after begging for it, you’re not allowed to waste a single drop.

you can’t help the way your body trembles in the cage of his muscular arms while his abs ripple against your tummy and his pelvis tacks deliciously to your swollen clit. the bed creaks beneath the sloppy affair of your grinding bodies and somehow, within the mess of sex and love, your freehands link and squeeze to ground one another. “the way you’re suckin’ me in, god, honey,” yuuji coos, his words tickle the shell of your ear delicately, contrasting with the carnivorous way his deep brown eyes drink you in when he pulls back slightly to look at you, silver chain and dog tags dangling above your hot face, as if he’s picturing you nice and full of him and his seed. “so selfish, you don’t wanna let me pull out. you want this cum…yeah?” 

in that moment, you think you might cum, all because of the breathy whimpers from your lover that ghost over your dampened cupid’s bow ( wet from kisses ) — accompanied by the sensation of his hard-on bullying its way into your tight, quivering little hole. there’s a keen smile that spreads across yuuji’s plush lips when you nod your head ‘yes’ in response, you feel his excitement and desire for you deepen when the entire length of him twitches inside of you — pulsating as small spurts of precum begin to line your lewdly squelching walls.

“i knew you would, you’re such a good girl…and you’re all mine, how lucky am i? that you’re all. fucking. mine.” for a boy so sweet and gentlemanly outside of the bedroom, itadori is always sure to fuck you nasty and raw whilst making you feel like the most adored person on the planet. yuuji’s sailor-mouth-like praises are slurred and sinful, a tale tale sign that he’s already pussy drunk as he sheaths inch after inch within you. you can hardly blame him, not when your body adjusts to yuuji so perfectly — silken pussy stretching over the blue spiralling veins on his heavy cock. “mine to love, mine to fuck, mine to breed.” he tells you through seraphic gripes too.

“ohmygod!” you squeal, voice ringing hoarsely in your throat. your cunt spills honey molasses and sweet nectar against your ravaged sexes, juices intertwining with the small pink tufts of yuuji’s happy trail as his bright red tip bears down harshly on your gummy g-spot — providing him with the lube he needs to make love to you properly. “baby…i c-can’t!” 

just as you moan out again, legs squeezing around your boyfriend’s slender waist — yuuji’s blushing face ducks into your neck, making quick work of marking up your skin…because if he looks at your face, the way your brows crease softly and your lips part in a gentle ‘o’, and sees the way it twists with mounting pleasure. he won’t be able to hold off for much longer, he’ll lose his mind and fuck you too hard for either of you to cope. he knows that you can take it, manage to take all of his seed and all of his love — but if yuuji snaps, he’ll be pounding into you until he’s shooting blanks. 

with your hands traversing upwards into yuuji’s sea of pink curls and over his smooth undercut, he reacts with his golden eyes rolling back into the dark depths of his skull — temporarily locking away your sunlight that brings warmth to your dorm. a familiar heat prickles underneath the surface of your skin like a thousand tiny needles as you pant out your words, pleading with bambi as you look up at yuuji. “i want your cum, yuuji, i want you to…hah… fill me up ‘n get me pregnant…” there’s a feeling painfully seated above your abdomen, a burning sensation of mounting pleasure like a wound desperate to be licked and soothed by itadori.

by grinding up against him, sticky clit smearing over his tense stomach and golden abs, you think that you might garner some relief — but you only feel teased and taunted when the jock pulls his cock from the snugness of your tight head to slap his milky cockhead against your pulsing mound proudly.

“don’t say it like that, fuck, baby,” yuuji all but groans, lashes fluttering at the slick sound your cunt makes with each love tap. beads of his precum ooze over you in another form of claim, glazing you in yuuji’s scent and taste. some of it even drips from your abused hole as it clenches around nothing, desperate to be filled by all that your boyfriend has to offer. “there’s so much… s’leaking out of you. gonna have to keep you on my dick always, give you all my babies.” the rose haired man can’t even hear himself speak, not over the sound of blood rushing through his ears — carrying sex crazed hormones. certainly not over your sweet sighs that form a melody with the pap, pap, pap of your pussy as he slowly sinks back into you — building up a steady rhythm to his thrusts, like an ocean’s regular tide.

yuuji can’t stop rambling, saying whatever lustful thought sits at the forefront of his mind. having you splayed out beneath him like this, your nipples pert against his firm chest and your breasts bouncing with every forceful lunge of his hips forward — it drives him up a wall. “gonna look so pretty ‘n round when you’re full of me. i’ll put a ring on it, make you my pretty wife — holy fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight. you like it when i talk to you like that, huh?” the thick vein on the underside of his shaft presses deliciously up against pleasure spots that only yuuji knows about, never leaving you unsatisfied, not even for a moment as his body rocks passionately into yours.

tanned skin and hard muscle feel slippery underneath your trembling hands. you don’t know what to hold onto, don’t know how to ground yourself when you feel this good and yuuji’s cock skilfully dives into your sopping heat — promises of the future, a wedding and family hand in the humid air buzzing between you both but is best said by the way itadori’s body dsnces with your own, his arousal soaked signature lining your rippling walls.   

“need that so bad, yuuji! need you so bad… please fill me up, i want it inside.” you hiccup and demand, hardly able to speak through it all. the bed moans and groans just like you do, every time itadori’s dick pumps in and pulls out of your dripping, greedy hole — coated in a layer of foamy white. using your elbows as leverage, you work your hips down to meet yuuji in a slick and sensual dance, clenching at every inch of him that assails your insides until delight crackles over your hazy brain.  

“god, baby please…if you keep talking like that i’m gonna—“ yuuji whines from deep within his chest, the sound resonating through you and shooting straight down to your creamy cunt that clamps down on him, pulling little droplets of precum from his sensitive tip. 

your next words have the jock pounding into you with new vigour, desperate to give you everything that you want. “d-don’t pull out, yuuji. inside.” 

“ahh, okay,” he whimpers as his voice rises in pitch, brown eyes stinging with tears. his golden arms flex as they lift you by the apex of your thighs — dragging you back onto his cock and it’s unforgiving pace. itadori presses his forehead to yours, caramel eyes shining with tears that gleam in the afternoon sunlight breaking through the curtains of your dorm.  “okay, okay fuck. okay, oh god — h-honey, i’m…fuck! i-im cumming!” he stumbles over his every word, the pink haired jock’s entire world shattering into smaller glass fragments as he finally hits his peak. thick waves of white flood your womb, hot and viscous and lighting you up from the inside out. it coats your swollen pussy lips in an opaque layer that smears along your inner thighs, pouring endlessly from yuuji’s fat cock and breeder’s balls.

effectively breeding you. 

still humping at you relentlessly and not daring to leave you far behind, yuuji tacks two of his fingers to your clit and caresses it in smooth circles, searing his name into you forever. he never lets up, fucking his cum into your womb with languid thrusts — bulbous and mushroomed cockhead spurting his hot seet against your g-spot as it grazes the epicentre of your pleasure over and over again. yuuji holds you in his arms while your vision clears, replaced by only blinding flashes of white and accompanied by an empty scream rattling around in your throat. your arousal spurts out of you in generous and clear streams, nearly forcing yuuji’s cock from your tight, rippling walls — painting both you and him in your juices. 

your boyfriend can barely hold himself above you as you both finally come down, flopping onto you and trapping you against the sex soiled matress for cuddles. 

“we can’t have babies, yuuji,” you laugh happily, letting out a puff of air from deep within your chest once you’re finally able to catch your breath. “not right now, we’re too young and we’re still in college!”

“well duh, not right now…” he muses, kissing your jaw and your neck and every part of you that he’s marked up and bruised. “but like afterwards…yanno? a few years down the line when we both have jobs. i’m gonna be pro and you’ll be a sexy career woman. ‘n i’ll make so much money that you can take all the time off you want. make sure you’re nice and taken care of and—“ 

giggling, the sweet melodies of your laughter cut through your boyfriend’s wistful rambling. 

“what’s so funny?” 

“it’s just…you’ve really got this all planned out, huh?” you reach a hand up to cup itadori’s sweaty cheek, brushing a thumb over the rough scarring at the corner of his mouth. he leans into you, much like a cat seeking physical touch, and you scratch just under his chin. “you want to be with me for that long?” 

“i mean…yeah. i want you for the rest of my life. i thought that was obvious,” yuuji manages to say while you squish his cheeks and play about with his face, sounding a little dejected. “don’t you? … don’t you want that with me?” 

your smile drops as you shift to your elbows, immediately dead set on reassuring your usually confident boyfriend. “of course i want that with gou. i want everything with you, it’s just that…” you chew on your words, push them around the cavern of your mouth as it dries with nervousness. “it’s just that… i’m still so different to you, i’m still not…conventional by any means. so i just thought… by the time college was over you’d—“ 

“i’d get bored of you?” 

yuuji looks almost offended, his pink and kiss-swollen lips pushed forward into a pout and his dark brows drawn together in the centre of his forehead. falling back onto the sheets, one of his hands sink into the pillow supporting your head as you lay flat on your back — you feel it tremble with an emotion you can’t quite place on his face. is it anger? hurt? annoyance? either way, your heart hammers in your chest and crawls it’s way up your throat. you feel nauseous at the prospect of even upsetting yuuji — especially after the loving sex you’ve just had. 

a croak in your throat replaces your sweet voice, you’re not sure if it’s because of how you’d been previously screaming your boyfriend’s name or because of how nervous you’ve suddenly become. “y-yeah,” you say slowly. “that.” 

“how could you even think that?” yuuji breathes steadily, the corner of his mouth twitching into a frown but you can’t bare to look at him any longer — casting your gaze to the side. 

shaking your head, you blink back tears you hadn’t even known were there. “i don’t… i don’t know. forget it, pretend i never said anything.” 

itadori bends at the neck to reach you,  tutting into the air as it cools down and loses its feverish taste for lust. his nose bumps yours, the pair of them becoming neighbours while his breath coasts across your face almost comfortingly. 

“when i say i want you, i mean it. forever,”  he confesses, like a reflex, like the natural reflex that his brain has to make his heart beat. “i want you to be my wife after all this. you’re not just some college fling to me. i want to buy you a house, a big ring, keep you comfortable for the rest of my life. i decided on that when i first met you,” a calloused finger and thumb tilt your chin to the perfect angle, making you look at him, your gaze falling into a mahogany one belonging only to your doting partner. “i don't care how long it takes to prove this to you… but you’re the love of my life, so have a little faith in me. okay?”

yuuji takes your hand in his, placing your palm on the left side of his chest where the muscle keeping him alive races for you. the only girl in the room. the only girl in his worlds. his dog tags jingle at the movement but his eyes on you remain unwavering and so full of commitment. you’d be stupid not to believe him now.

“okay,” you affirm sweetly, tilting your head a little further in a silent ask. you want a kiss. “i love you, yuuji.” 

“and i love you right back,” he mumbles against your lips without skipping a beat, slotting your mouths together perfectly in a gentle chaste kiss. “now baby, please stop asking me to cum inside, you know i can’t help it and we can’t have babies just yet,” yuuji whines and collapses on top of you with a huff. 

“you’re the one who said you wanted to give me babies!” 

“and you’re the one who keeps feeding into my breeding kink, let’s not get it twisted here!”

and all throughout your playful bickering, yuuji stays nestled deep inside of you — keeping you plugged full. of both his cum and his love.  

Satoru smirks at that, laughing and shaking his head. “I think she harbors some sort of fondness still, not love just…”

“Of the past?”

“Yes, I think she’d be upset if I killed him. Unfortunately.” Satoru crosses his arms over his chest, propping a foot on the wall now, peering across the way to see you walking through the gardens. “I’d love to bury him six feet under, where no one finds him, yet I don’t want to hurt her any more than everyone already does.”

“You’ve grown up a lot lately,” Satoru peers at him, blue eyes narrowing. “Since she’s been here.”

“I just want to be the man she deserves, and this fucking country isn’t allowing me to be.”

“She loves you,” Satoru’s cheeks heat up. “She truly does.”

“I know,” he starts walking again, nodding a bit as several servants curtsey toward him, his sandals quietly clicking against the wood of the trail towards the gardens. “She told me that last night.”

“Ah, last night,” Kiyotaka blushes, pushing up his monocle a bit. “I heard you all made quite a loud spectacle.”

“Mmhmm, sure did,” Satoru’s grinning far too big, his hands behind his head as he approaches you, your eyes glitter all fucking pretty when you see him, clutching to your gowns. “Can you blame me?”

“Not at all.”

“Don’t sound so wistful Kiyo,” he shoves him and Kiyo sighs, rolling his eyes, you cross your arms now.

“Don’t you be mean to Ijichi!”

“Thank you my lady,” he kisses your hand and you giggle all cute, Satoru is glad you’re married to him, he doesn’t trust that Kiyotaka isn’t some pussy eating prodigy after he got out of that brothel free of charge. “I should leave you to talk to the Emperor, I’ll convene with you both later.”

“Satoru,” you lean up and he cups your face, bending down to kiss you for all to see as they walk by and whisper, smiling against your lips. “I missed you and it’s only been a morning.”

“Is your cunt aching?” You snort and shove at him playfully, for him to catch your wrist and kiss the inside of it, but then he frowns a bit, taking your hand and walking you both away from prying eyes and gossip, until you’re well into the pretty maze he’d had built years ago.

“What’s wrong?” You ask softly, he turns you toward him, tilting your chin up, his lips set in a terse line unlike his usual parted lips. “Toru…”

“I love when you call me that,” he admits softly, hand brushing your lower back, tugging you close. “I love you.”

You blink back emotion, last night was so intense you didn’t know if he was in the moment, but now in the light of day you feel it – his love. You kiss his chin, hands placed on his chest, feeling his heart thud steadily underneath your palm. “I love you, Satoru Gojo.”

“God,” he’s kissing you now, desperately, hardly able to pull himself back. “Fuck I have to tell you something before I throw you down on the grass and rail your cunt.”

“Oh god!” He’s dead serious, there’s no mirth or teasing, just a raised brow. “You’re a mad emperor.”

“Yes I’m aware,” he brushes your hair back and sighs. “Well, I’m apparently needed for riots breaking out – just four days time, but this is a precarious fucking time right now.”

“It certainly is,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I wish I could go with you.”

“That would be far too dangerous, I would never risk you,” his hand comes to your tummy now. “And our future baby.”

“So I hope,” your voice is wistful, he can just see how badly you want this. “Still no period but I want to give it a little longer, sometimes it’s just late.”

“I hope you are, and not for the empire, for me.” You blink tears now, burning your eyes, making your vision swim.

“I hope I am too,” both of your lips press together, melding as the warmth of the sun casts heat across both of your skin. Satoru presses your back against the tree sat right in the middle of that maze. “I know you’ll be a good father.”

He pauses now, sighing and brushing his thumb over a flushed cheek, kissing it softly. “I want to be a good father. Have I told you I want a girl?”

“What?” You blink in surprise, tears swiped off by a flick of his thumbs. “You’d want a girl? But don’t you need a son?”

“Need this, need that,” he shakes his head, swallowing now nervously, emotions caught in his throat. “I want a daughter, I want a little mini you running around, demanding everything – probably will want her own kingdom, and I’ll give it all to her.”

“Satoru…” You can’t stop the tears that fall, lips pressing on his over and over, as he holds you so close. “You want a girl even if the entire country wants us to have a boy, and all that pressure, you still want it?”

“I do, but I’ll love any baby, boy or girl,” he whispers, the love for him making your heart shatter then.

This is love.

The pure, undying devotion in Satoru’s words, the love in his eyes, the careful way he holds you and says he wants a daughter. You can see it all unfolding, see her wrapping him around her finger, so vivid this image that you can’t stop crying, can’t stop kissing him, needing him – endless.

“Oh Toru I want that too,” you’re a mess, trembling, tears salty against his lips – your nose sniffling as he tilts your chin up higher. “I swear I can see it already.”

“Me too, god me too,” he’s grinning so big now, so bright it eclipses the very sun overhead. “I had a dream about it.”

“I wish for such dreams,” you sigh now, frowning a bit. “Mine were rather much like nightmares.”

“I forbid you to have nightmares while I’m gone.”

You laugh, even through your tears. “Forbid me hmm?”

“Only lewd sex dreams about me,” you smack at him and he picks you up, thighs around his hips, weight pushing the bark against the silk of your dress. “Have I told you how pretty you are crying?”

“You perverted man, mmm,” you love it, he knows you do – kissing you breathless, pressing his clothed cock against where you’re constantly throbbing. “I hope this never goes away, this need.”

“It won’t,” he exhales against your neck as he kisses up it. “I’ll fuck you even when my bones are old and frail, I’ll still lift your ass and fuck you right on this tree.”

“When we’re ninety!?”

“Yep,” you grin, hands entangled in his white hair. “It’s how I’ll die, trying to fuck you on this very tree, and you’ll die with me.”

“I certainly will, an orgasm from you when I’m ninety? I fear we’ll both have to be buried underneath this very tree,” he nips at your neck, making your eyes roll back. “Suguru was so wrong, you’ll love me even when I’m a relic.”

“He couldn’t be more fucking wrong,” he sighs and leans back a bit, nose brushing yours. “There’s no ‘shiny and new’ that could catch my eye, I want you until my last breath.”

“Satoru…” You desperately cling to him, ready to let him fuck you right out here – when you both hear voices, whispers. “Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed,” he eases you down, wincing and adjusting his throbbing cock. “I have to leave in a couple hours, I’m so sorry I have to leave you here.”

“Please don’t apologize for your duty,” you press little kisses all along his jawline now. “I will be here waiting, and yes, I'll touch myself in your bed.”

“Please mess up my sheets,” you giggle at his lewd whisper, until his mood grows serious.

“What is it?”

“Kiyo will stay to keep an eye on you, but I don’t trust that dumb knight,” you nod, his voice is just a breath, careful so only you hear. “I have a lawyer coming to help get rid of those girls, you will meet with him tonight discreetly with Kiyo. All right?”

“Yes of course,” you nod eagerly, Satoru snatches up your hand and walks right past some of the girls who are taking to the gardens, ignoring every single one of them, his eyes on your hand in his. “I hope we’re able to be alone together, just us.”

“I’ll make it happen sweetheart,” he smiles and melts your heart. “Just please be careful, stick to Kiyo, mama and Miwa please.”

“You sound very worried,” you turn and look at him as you all walk towards the front palace now. “Is everything all right?”

“I just have a feeling something’s off,” he looks around, making sure no one is within ear shot. “I can’t explain but please listen to me. Don’t be a stubborn brat.”

“I am not the brat in this relationship.”

“Excuse me!?”

You’re giggling again. “I will stay to myself and be careful, I don’t want to be around Suguru anymore than you want me to.”

“And stay away from the concubines,” you tilt your head curiously. “Promise me, I don’t know what this feeling is but anyone who could hurt you right now I need you to avoid.”

“All right Toru,” he sighs in relief, kissing your forehead. “I’ll stick with Mama, Miwa and Kiyo and if I’m not with them I’ll be in my chambers.”

“Good girl,” you heat up at that, and he knows it too with his smirk. “I hope you’re good and pregnant when I’m back.”

*****

“My lady,” the barrister and Kiyotaka both bow when you enter Kiyotaka’s office after a teary eyed departure with your husband, he shuts the door behind you as the dark haired man takes your hand. “Higuruma.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, truly,” you say softly, instantly at ease with the man, much like how Kiyotaka makes you feel, he presses a kiss to the back of your hand, making you just a bit flustered. “It was so kind of you to come on such notice.”

“I must admit usually my proceedings are impossible divorces that require the utmost attention,” he lets your hand down and smiles, a tired little smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. “To hear of a ruler who wants to only be with his wife rather than leave her and marry a mistress? A fucking delight. I was so bored.”

You laugh softly, fiddling a bit with your hands in front of you. “I am very lucky Satoru is so devoted, truly yet…”

You trail off and sigh, shutting your eyes.

“I feel it’s all my fault for being terribly jealous, and quite… how do I word this properly…”

“Posessive?” Kiyotaka says, you giggle again, peeking at him. “I’m so sorry my lady I…”

“No, I am possessive I’m afraid,” you sigh and sit in the chair that he pulls out for you. “Thank you very much.”

“Of course,” Higuruma sits on the desk rather than the seat, peeking at the stack of papers. “So Lola is the one who raised a hand to you, correct?”

“She did try to smack me.”

“Smacking an Empress is insane work,” Hiromi frowns, his dark brows drawing together now. “And nonstop antagonizing of you it seems from several accounts I was able to pull.”

“Oh yes they constantly do,” you murmur, settling into the seat a bit. “I think it’s a little excessive because Satoru ignores them.”

“Well who would blame him,” you blush and he curses. “I’m sorry…”

“No that’s sweet, thank you Sir,” he blushes just a bit, walking around to sit in his chair now, pulling a pen out. “It’s very kind of you to say so.”

“I have heard from many sources you two are a lovely match,” Hiromi smiles at Kiyotaka. “Especially from him.”

“Well of course, Ijichi loves the emperor.”

“I’ve heard more about you,” it’s Ijichi’s turn to blush, you’re giggling at him.

“Empress, please…”

“I’m sorry it’s so cute,” you stand now and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re here while Satoru is gone.”

“I shall keep you safe,” you smile and then look back at the lawyer who’s yawning.

“Sir please rest.”

“Not yet.”

“Have a meal and relax a bit,” you say firmly. “Do you think there’s a possibility to… grant Satoru his freedom?”

“I do, it may be rather complicated, but using the girls ill intent towards you – especially that banished maid? That could make things much easier.”

“I really hope so,” you close your eyes now. What are your other options, really? Deal with them forever or do what Satoru suggests and run off to the mountains somewhere? Where would that leave the country? His family?

“We will make it work.” Hiromi assures you. “I will take you up on the meal and the rest, hmm?”

“Good! I should rest as well. We’ll talk more when Satoru gets back.”

“I’ll be gathering evidence until then,” he walks by and bows just a bit at the waist, leaving you and Ijichi alone.

“You really love me, hmm?”

“Empress! Don’t do that to me,” you’re a giggling mess now, he flicks you on the forehead. “You are becoming just like him, what a terrible influence!”

“You love us,” you loop your arm through his now. “All right you said you’re not to leave my side, walk me up to my room please?”

He sighs, patting your hand. “Of course Empress.”

You want to say you say super strong, but when you lay in Satoru’s – well you both share this bed now – bed you feel an overwhelming emptiness, so much so it steals your breath. When it’s quiet and it’s just you, the only light the candle flickering on the table next to you, casting shadows of your silhouette on the wall, just waiting for him to come home, knowing it’ll be days.

Tears spill as you inhale his scent on the blue satin pillow, hugging it tightly and crying against it, you’ve been through time without Satoru before but you feel as if you just got him back home. Just to have him leave again, and not knowing if he’s safe or all right keeps you up with worry, until the candle wanes and you get so exhausted you crash, but it’s already dawn.

*****

Satoru hates going away from you – that time he had to leave for almost an entire month was horrible, and it was really before your relationship had developed this deeply, before you two spoke of love. Tentative and new then, and it hurt to be away from you, he ached for you.

Yet this time felt worse – like a piece of his heart was missing. You were his heart though – of course it was ripped out of his chest any time he had to leave, and in such a precarious position.

Why can’t he shake this feeling he has? This ominous one that’s crushing him? It’s been two days and he’s hoping to cut it short as negotiations were going smoothly, but even that felt not soon enough. He’s laying down in the bed they set up for him inside the tent, staring up at the ceiling and picturing you here next to him.

Would you snuggle to his side and kiss his neck?

Or would you be the needy girl you are and climb on top of him, kissing down his chest, his abdomen – pressing little ones on every single battle scar you could find, your hand slipping even lower. Would you take him right down your pretty throat and touch yourself because you get so wet?

The thoughts ruin him – are you in his bed right now touching yourself, thinking of him like he asked you to? Are you sliding your fingers in your messy little cunt and getting all frustrated that it doesn’t work? Satoru pictures it as he wraps his hand around his own cock, sucking in a breath at the sensation – he’d jerked it many times while he was gone, imagining filling you up.

He was never a man to before, but you drive him so fucking insane, how can he not? When thoughts of you constantly flood his mind to the point of insanity? He knows you would make him feel better, knows you’d swallow him devotedly, picturing your pretty mouth and that throat contracting around his length instead of his big ass hands is maddening.

He’s stroking and whispering your name – mixed with ‘sweetheart, my empress, w-wife’ as he stutters, jerking it faster with his eyes fluttering closed, picturing just how you’d look when you swallowed all his cum down your throat. How you wouldn’t leave a single drop, would you? No you’re too thirsty for it, you need all of it.

“That’s it baby, take all of it – mnh,” Satoru’s moaning as he makes a mess of his hand, white ropes that should be buried in your tummy instead streaking his hand with white. “Fuck…”

He can’t stand another day without you.

He meant every word he said by that tree, Satoru would never get over you, never tire of how you make him feel, the love he has. You would be beautiful at any age, after however many children you have – he wants to make sure you’ll know that too, especially with Suguru trying to get in your head. It’s just all you he sees, especially as he sleeps.

Yet it’s a nightmare again, of you dying in his arms.

Satoru’s had them two nights in a row, this time his entire body is in chills and broken out in a sweat, heart hammering in his chest. He tugs on his clothes quickly and rushes out – surely it’s nonsense, surely it’s his nerves, but he can’t take another night like this. No, he marches right out and snags up a carriage, and lets everyone know they can finish without him.

He needs to go home.

*****

Satoru will be home tomorrow some time – and god you can’t wait to see him again. You’ve missed him so much you’re sick from it, the thoughts of if he’s all right, not being able to know whatsoever. He’s not gone long enough for letters, but even when he was gone the month it was terrible on your very heart and soul.

The good news was that over the past days with the barrister Hiromi Higuruma, you’ve been feeling much better about a world where it’s just the two of you. He seems utterly knowledgeable and for the first time you’re… hopeful.

You’re so hopeful, especially since you still haven’t had your monthlies, your breasts and nipples are so tender. To think you could have Satoru Gojo’s baby inside your tummy makes you realize how this is your dream, what you thought was rushing off to marry a knight ended up being brought to the emperor.

You bite your lower lip, looking down at the pen and paper on the vanity – you’ve been writing Gojo every single day he’s been gone, as he asked you to before he left. His own love letters, and you make sure to pour every bit these past few days, all of the words you struggle sometimes to say the right way.

Knock knock knock.

“Oh hello,” you blink curiously at the new maid – you’ve seen her only once before. “Where is Miwa?”

“She was feeling ill, your majesty, she asked if I could step in and offer you tea and treats for the night,” you smile gratefully, the maid sets the tray down. “Should I help you brush your hair?”

“Yes please,” you turn and peer at your paper where you’re writing Satoru of all the things you want to say when he returns.

That you want a daughter too, you want to see the all mighty Emperor Gojo just sipping tea with a little girl that looks like you both – maybe she’d have that white hair, and your eyes. Or she would have pretty blue eyes like the Gojos did, and take after your hair coloring, you could see her in so many ways, giggling as he sips from some teeny ceramic tea cup.

You want to let him know you are dreaming of it, that you adore every moment you get with him.

That you’re so very glad you were sent here – no matter the rocky start, and that you will never hold a thing against him in the beginning. That it all means so much, everything he’s going through to change his entire world for you and all that entails, all the risk involved because he loves you that much. Your hands tremble just a bit as the maid brushes hard, pricking pain on your scalp.

“Ah!”

“So sorry,” she mumbles, you smile at her.

“No, please, it looks so pretty already, thank you,” you stand and take the brush from her hand gently. “I’ve only seen you once, what’s your name?”

“It’s Tian, your excellence”

“Thank you, Tian…” you sit down on the little chaise lounge by the foot of your bed, taking the tea and pouring in a little milk, stirring it. “It’s so kind of you to help Miwa, truly.”

“It is no problem,” she smiles then and something…

Seems familiar?

But you’d remember those freckles and thick brows, surely if you knew her. It must be some resemblance?

“I hear you may be with child, is that too bold to say?” She asks, you are just a bit surprised, but you’re sure they are speculating.

“No, no,” you rub your tummy and smile. “I think I may be, but I’m keeping it under wraps until we know for certain. Gossip travels, hmm?”

“Indeed, well I hope that you are,” she curtseys as you sip the tea, wincing just a bit at the bitter flavor. “Something wrong, your excellence?”

“What’s in this, Tian?”

“Oh it’s actually a tea from my town, it’s special and it can help with fertility – in case you are not. Perhaps a little more syrup and sugar?”

“That’s so kind,” you lean back and pour more sugar in it. “Oh, so good now! Thank you Tian, I shall rest I think.”

“Of course, your majesty,” ‘Tian’ or – former concubine Lola – curtseys once more, shutting your door and grinning, turning and running right into Suguru’s hard body. “What are you doing here?”

“I should ask you the same thing,” Lola simply shrugs at the big glaring knight, brushing herself off. “Aren’t you supposed to be seducing the emperor?”

“How, when he’s out of town? I just stopped to give her tea, all right? You should save yourself the trouble, she doesn’t want to see you. She’s…” Lola laughs then. “Pregnant for the moment.”

“For the moment?” She leans up and kisses Suguru on the lips, he pulls back, glaring down at her. “What are you on about?”

“Time for me to wait for Satoru, he’s returning this morning, isn’t he? Well, I must look my best, these shitty maid clothes won’t do.”

“What the fuck are you…” She rushes off, leaving Suguru to blink in confusion, before glaring at the note in his hand.

Something’s not right.

Suguru heads toward your chambers – he knows he fucking shouldn’t, he knows for all the reasons you hate him, that he sent you away, that it all was a fucking lie. Yet Suguru does have feelings, strong feelings that eat him up inside, and thinking of you pregnant with Satoru Gojo’s baby has him so envious he’s sick.

You wanted to run away with him – a simple knight, you tried, you truly did and he never gave you the chance. Now with your letter you wrote having been intercepted at a post and brought to him here, he can’t help but feel fucking horrible. The love you poured, the way your heart was broken, how deeply you were hurt at first clearly by leaving here.

Did you feel any of that?

He opens your door and you look up, gasping, standing straight up in a night gown that covers nothing, so sheer he can see your pretty body. “Suguru you can’t be up here!”

“I just came to talk, please,” you scowl and shut the door quickly, shoving at him until he’s pressed into the door.

“You could have me ruined if anyone saw you!” You hiss angrily, heart hammering in your chest – anger, regret, this past love you had that has hurt you so bad it’s physically painful.

“No one will come up, I was discreet,” Suguru holds up the letter you wrote when you first arrived, and your heart drops. “I saw this.”

You gasp, stepping back, tears swimming in your eyes, shaking your head quickly.

“I read it.”

“I wish you hadn’t,” you swipe at your cheeks, shaking your head, suddenly weak and dizzy – was it from seeing him? “It was under false pretenses.”

“You did love me,” he whispers, cupping your face with one hand. “You truly did, didn’t you?”

“I thought I did Suguru,” you admit, breaths coming quicker, suddenly the room is shrinking in on you, growing smaller by the moment. “Yet I know now what true love is, and not the falsehoods of a knight – who touched me to get information. Who had me cum on his fingers for a goal.”

“Princess-”

“Empress,” you correct, Suguru swallows now, the guilt of hurting you washing over him. “I’m his empress.”

His jaw sets. “You were my princess.”

“I am not anymore,” you stumble now, and Suguru frowns. “I just… Suguru I… can you just…”

“What’s wrong?” He demands, you’re almost collapsing in his arms, your eyes drooping, a drop of blood pouring from your lips. “What’s wrong!? What happened, did you… princess…!”

“S-suguru…” You fall against him, listless and limp, when Suguru sees that fucking cup of tea still steaming hot.

Did Lola…

Did she fucking poison you?

And it’s him who let her in.

“Fuck, fuck,” he picks you up in his arms and rushes down the halls, catching sight of Kiyotaka who’s scowling right at him. “Please, it wasn’t me who did this.”

“Did what!? Oh, Empress,” Kiyo’s heart shatters when he sees you just limply hanging in Sir Geto’s hold. “Speak, now.”

“Not here, she needs an apothecary, and a medic – well versed with poisons,” Ijichi snatches you up in his arms, the last thing he’s doing is letting this man hold Emperor Gojo’s wife.

“Then come and fucking explain,” he carries you through the halls that are thankfully quiet, Suguru curses.

“I can hold her better than you.”

“I hold her just fine, I won’t have you touching her,” Kiyotaka turns the corner and rushes with you cradled in his arms, not making a goddamn sound. “Who poisoned her?”

“She’s a former concubine.”

Kiyotaka stops in his tracks, jaw setting. “Lola?”

“Yes,” his hands tighten their hold around your body, cursing internally – he promised Satoru he’d protect you, he gave his word, and she’s been right under their noses? “I think at least, in her tea, she hates Satoru and I suppose resents her  – but she promised not to hurt her.”

“And you fucking believed that? She hates the Empress more than anyone,” Suguru curses, the guilt eating at him, seeing your body like this terrifying – even your color is different. “No time for this.”

Suguru follows him until they’re in the doctor’s quarters, he doesn’t bother to knock, he just juts the door open with his shoulders. “Bloody hell… oh!? What’s wrong with the Empress?”

“Poison,” Kiyotaka quickly lays you on the doctor’s own bed, scowling at Suguru now, when Dowager Empress Gojo walks by, gasping. “Thank god you’re here, my Lady.”

“What happened to her!? Kiyotaka…” She instantly sits on the bed, picking your head up and gasping out when she sees the blood dripping down your mouth. “She must be okay – she must! Her and the baby… she thinks she is…”

“I need someone familiar with poisons,” Ijichi says, while Dowager Empress holds you close, panicking clearly – and Suguru stands there in horror – not that Kiyotaka cares for him, he hates that fucking failed knight almost as much as Emperor Gojo does.

“I believe there’s a girl visiting the palace with an envoy,” Miwa says as she enters the room, she’s already been informed but to see you like this had her devastated. “Oh goodness.”

“Information please, Miwa,” Ijichi puts a hand on her shoulder, she’s already trembling. “She will be fine I swear it, I won’t let her die.”

“Oh god I just…” She closes her eyes now, taking a shaky breath for courage. “Her name is Maomao I believe? She’s a young lady and very experienced – she came along with Master Jinshi.”

“Then certainly we can trust her,” Dowager Empress Gojo says, sniffling still, rare tears on her usually stoic face. “He’s a very good judge of character.”

“Can you fetch them, Miwa?” Ijichi asks Miwa softly, she nods now, but rushes over to press a little kiss on your head, tears dripping from her eyes onto your face, but you don’t move.

“Please be all right,” she whispers, Gojo’s mother touches Miwa’s cheek as she gathers her robes up. “I will rush there straight away!”

“Thank you Miwa,” the doctor asks Gojo’s mother to move so he can attend to her, she heads straight over to Suguru now.

“Oh, so you’re that knight, huh?”

“I… yes -” She smacks him hard in the face not once – but twice, the loud clap against his skin echoing in the room.

Suguru has no words, and god help him if he did decide to speak any in that very moment.

“That’s for whatever the fuck you did to my daugher in law, I just know you did something to her,” Suguru sighs now, looking down and rubbing his cheek. “This girl was pining away so hard for you that she felt guilty loving Satoru, now you come and do this!?”

Suguru’s lips part, red mark on his cheek blossoming. “You must understand me, I didn’t do this, I’d never hurt –”

“You did something,” she shoves him once more, he clearly lets her, resigned and looking ashamed – not that Kiyotaka feels sorry for him, not when he was the idiot who let that woman back in the palace.

Gojo had wanted to kill Lola at the time but you had talked him out of it, even if you were a feisty girl you could be kind, and Ijichi knows how sweet you can be when you don’t have to be so brave. He can’t stop his own heart from hurting but he must not cry – Gojo would need him to take care of things and keep a clear head, so that’s what he does.

He starts giving orders to everyone, they all rush off as Miwa comes back with the girl in tow – a green haired girl who doesn’t look old enough to be an apothecary sweeps inside, she comes over and carefully starts examining you. Tugging your eyelids open and peering at each one to see the dilation.

“What do you think?” The doctor asks, she hums just a bit, feeling the pulse on your wrist.

“She is clearly poisoned, but her pulse is fluttering quite strong, so she’s fighting it,” she frowns and sits down on the bed next to you, assessing you carefully. “What was the method of delivering the poison to her?”

“It was… I think it must have been in her tea as it was just delivered when I saw her, I can get the teacup,” Suguru offers quietly.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Ijichi orders. 

“I can tell what this is already.”

“What is it?” Ijichi asks quietly.

“Arsenic, maybe belladonna too,” the apothecary frantically starts searching in their book. “I think I have the herbs to make a tonic, but I have to gather them, please keep her stable.”

“Of course,” the guard rushes up now, and Kiyotaka addresses them. “The former concubine Lola is on the palace grounds, search every corridor until you find her, and make sure she’s apprehended.”

“Yes sir!” They rush off and Kiyotaka looks back at where you lay, so helpless in that bed, unmoving, and panic fills his heart.

You have to be okay.

*****

“God I can’t wait to see her,” Satoru’s coming home just a little early, they rode through the night so he didn’t have to spend another night without his bride. The carriage wheels come to a halt in front of the palace and he jumps out, the grin on his face dying when he sees all his guards everywhere. “What the…”

He grabs his sword, when one of the guards comes to him. “Your excellence, it’s the Empress.”

Satoru’s heart drops.

“What about my Empress? What about her!?”

“She’s… she’s been… you must come, not with us,” Satoru rushes and follows the guard, they’re all over searching every maid, making him even more confused as chaos has erupted in his palace.

“What are they searching for? Where is she!?”

“Please just come,” Satoru almost gets sick when he sees where they’re headed – the doctor’s chambers.

He falters, dread filling his fucking soul – he can’t lose the girl he just found, the love of his life, the love of all his lifetimes better goddamn be alive, or Satoru will simply kill anyone and everyone who ever fucked with their happiness. His breath is caught in his throat, seeing you in that bed now, swallowing down bile, seeing Suguru, Ijichi, Miwa, his mom, the doctor and a goddamn apothecary surrounding you.

They all look at him as he walks in, Suguru looks down and Satoru can't wait to fucking kill him. His mother is in tears and so is Miwa, they're trying to get you to sit up but you're listless, unmoving, crimson dripping from your nostrils.

Satoru can't fucking breathe.

“What. Happened. To. My fucking WIFE!?!?”

Satoru rushes and his mom moves, letting him pick you up, tears streaming down his cheeks at the sight of you like this. What would he do without you, when he just got you in his life? When he just told you he loved you – before your lives together, before children, how can any of this ever be liveable if you’re not by his side?

“Sweetheart please,” he tilts your chin up just for it to flop to the side, making dread fill him, he scowls at the doctor and apothecary. “What happened to her? Answer, one of you, now.”

“She was poisoned,” that’s the dumb fucking knight, Satoru scoffs and glares at him, ready to cut him into fucking pieces.

“By your fucking doing, isn’t it? So mad she rejected your goddamn advances?” He pulls you closer, trying to hear if you’re breathing.

“I didn’t know she would… I swear I didn’t, I wouldn’t have hurt her,” Satoru cuts him off, his tears just fucking annoying him.

“Who? Who the fuck is her?”

“Lola,” Ijichi answers, the medic comes and takes your hand, pricking it with a needle and letting drops of blood hit a little disc.

Satoru smacks his hand and the medic just bows and holds his hand out, “Care to explain why are you making my wife fucking bleed more!?”

“Blood letting-”

“That is nonsense,” the apothecary girl is mixing together some sort of odd smelling herbs in a jar, as Satoru tries to process just what the fuck happened. “What is that, kid?”

“I’m not a kid,” he rolls his eyes and she smiles just a bit, looking at how tightly Satoru is holding you. “You love her.”

“Of course I do,” he nuzzles your cheek, wrapping you in his big arms, his robes covering most of you. “She’s my wife.”

The way Satoru says ‘my wife’ breaks everyone’s heart – even Suguru if he admits it to himself, still in such shock he can’t move or speak. All he can do is see the hints of your unconscious face. Maomao is back mixing when Kiyotaka comes up to Satoru and bows at the waist.

“I’m so sorry this slipped under my nose,” Ijichi says, Satoru softens then, swallowing down his emotions and shaking his head, even if he’s furious and distraught, he knows Kiyotaka isn’t at fault. “I should have known.”

“Don’t take the blame for what’s his fault,” Satoru’s scowling at Suguru again. “You couldn’t let her be happy, huh? Mad she got rid of your fake ass counterfeit necklace, are you?”

“God no I-”

“I have it ready,” Maomao clearly works quickly, she’s already got a little mixture ready in a tiny vial, Satoru’s shaking he’s so petrified it won’t work.

“What are you giving her?”

“It’s a mix of herbs that counteract it and help purge from her system, it seems she didn’t consume too much as she’s still got strong vitals.

“She is stubborn,” Satoru almost breaks down as he looks at you, hardly able to keep it together. “Will it work quickly?”

“If the poison is strong, this may take time – but it will stabilize her,” she says, Satoru nods quickly, swiping the blood off the corner of your mouth, his stomach sinking at the sight of the crimson against your skin. “Can you get her to open? She’ll have to swallow.”

It’s quiet as Satoru helplessly sits you up, gently trying to pry open your mouth, his tears hot and burning from his eyes and spilling freely down his cheeks, heart in fucking pieces. He’s been in battles and wars and he’s never felt this terror – not knowing if you’ll wake up, and if you did and you were pregnant…

Would you lose it? That would tear you apart.

He would hurt for you – even if there could be others, but you were just so damn hopeful that day as he kissed you on the tree, and he could picture this perfect life – only to be filled with this sense of dread, with the pain deep and building. With the fear of not looking into your pretty eyes once more – he can’t fucking go on.

It sounds insane to think it, that in a couple short months you became that precious – but you have, given Satoru the meaning he always sought. All he wanted was to make you happy, and never hurt you – to kill everyone who has ever hurt you, and oh he will do that, he’ll make sure he finishes the job with Lola this time. You were too sweet, and now you’re hurt because of it.

He won’t be sweet.

Satoru opens up your mouth carefully, it’s clamped down with how tightly your teeth are clenched together, but you finally relax it, opening up for the tonic the apothecary has made. "Drink, baby. Please. You have to drink."

Satoru gently urges it down your mouth, tilting your head up so it slips down your throat, he sighs in relief albeit temporary, resting his head on yours, tears falling against your skin. He wraps you so tightly in his arms, pressing kisses over and over and over on your face, he hears the sobs of Miwa, his mom, dumb fuckin Suguru looking like his world ended.

His world will end the moment you wake up and are safe enough for him to leave your side for a moment, though he knows already he’ll need this dumb knight if he wants to get these sluts away from his pretty Empress.

“Lola did this?” Satoru asks quietly, his voice dark, Suguru sighs as the medic patches that little cut up on your finger.

“We are trying to apprehend her,” Ijichi says, Satoru’s mom puts a hand on her son’s shoulder, her other one brushing your hair back.

“She’s strong Satoru, she’ll make it,” she says softly, he cries even more with her comfort, eliciting every emotion from him. “Won’t she?”

“She likely will, we caught it early,” MaoMao says softly – as if on cue you moan then, coughing up blood, Satoru and the entire room are on edge as MaoMao carefully brushes a handkerchief on your lips. “That’s actually a very good sign, your excellence.”

You don’t open your eyes, but you’re coughing and moving, you’re sitting up against Satoru’s chest when he helps you, as you cough over and over. The guards come rushing in the room now, and pause when they see Satoru on the bed, Ijichi quickly commands them to speak.

“We’ve apprehended several servants that fit her description, we will need you to pick her out,” Ijichi nods now.

“Don’t kill her yet,” Satoru says softly to the guards. “I want to kill her myself,” he looks at Suguru then. “We can bury the two of you together.”

Suguru says nothing, crossing his arms and just staring at you in horror, as if the dumb man really cared. Maybe he does, but Satoru can’t admit that just yet – not with his hatred consuming him.

“Why haven’t you arrested me?” Suguru asks, Satoru just sighs, burying his face against you again, hearing your breathing steady and feeling such relief when your hands clutch his robe.

“I will need you to explain exactly what you did, I’ll need it against Lola…” He cries silently when you grip his arm tightly, coughing more against him – albeit still unconscious. “I’ll need the barrister to meet me, Ijichi. Can you keep this knight under watch for now?”

“Can I not stay with her-”

“NO YOU CANNOT.” Satoru’s words silence everyone, echoing in the chamber and so fucking loud half the palace hears it. “I want to be alone with her if she’s stable enough. Just me until she wakes up.”

“Toru,” he looks at his mom and sighs. “Are you sure you don’t want me here, do you need to get settled at least, you’re still in military garb.”

He’s not even noticed. “How can I leave her, mom?”

“A few moments is fine, I’ll be here,” he shuts his eyes and presses another kiss as you stir. “Surely you need a word with him, hmm?”

Satoru looks at Suguru’s reddened cheek now. “I see, did you smack him, mama?”

“I did.” Satoru grins at that.

“I do need a moment with him it’s true,” Satoru kisses you once more, sighing and brushing his thumb across your cheek that’s got just a hint of warmth. “I’ll be right back, my love.”

Everyone in the room melts aside from Suguru – why would he when he’s in this state of devastated shock?

Satoru quickly changes and comes to where Ijichi has brought Suguru, he quickly steps out and shuts the doors with a loud click, leaving the two men to stare at each other. Dark, exhausted eyes meeting ones so blue they’re hard to look at, glacial and cold, the silence echoing aside from Satoru’s footsteps on the floor.

Silence – that is until Satoru walks up and punches him in the face with a sickening crack. He winces but he takes the hit standing, not raising his own fists.

“At least you’re not a complete fucking idiot,” Satoru shoves him against the wall, a hand on his throat. “I should cut your dick off and cook it for you, make you a eunuch huh?”

“I didn’t know, she told me she wanted to hurt you, kill you I didn’t fucking care,” Suguru grips Satoru’s wrist. “I wanted to take her back with me, to have her help me take over – with a Princess the people would accept me easier.”

“So you meant to use her more than you already have,” Satoru punches his stomach now, earning a wince. “You can take a hit, you little fuck. I’ll at least give you that.”

“Lola said she hated you, and I fucking hate you, so I saw a perfect opportunity, I didn’t know she’d be blinded by your bullshit like the entire nation is.”

“Do you know how much she loved you?” Suguru pauses, Satoru punches him again, he still doesn’t move, holding his ribs which he’s sure are cracked, coughing but still standing. “Had her mind full of your nonsense about dewy fucking roses, what a fucking fool you are.”

“I am a fool,” he admits softly, taking a breath now, shutting his eyes. “I didn’t realize before that she was different from the other nobles. I didn’t know she really meant anything by her words.”

“Your bullshit is getting on my last damn nerve, if anything happens to her I swear to god I’ll-”

“You can kill me if it does,” Suguru says now, tears in his eyes. “I don’t want to live with myself if I killed her.”

“Fuck you,” he backs off now, sighing and rushing a hand through his hair, punching the wall next with already bloody knuckles, so hard books go flying off the shelves and scatter. “I swear I hate you more than I hate anyone, except that evil little whore Lola, that is. Let me guess, she sucked you stupid?”

“She’s not very good at that, actually.” Satoru shuts his eyes, sitting on his desk and grimacing. “Also, the Empress… she did turn me down. Utterly, when I kissed her she… smacked me.”

“Of course she did, that’s my girl,” his lips twitch affectionately, and Suguru steps closer, making him glare once more.

“You do love her.”

“Of course I do – stop trying to make me not want to kill you, it won’t work,” he scowls again, leaning over his desk to grab a cloth there, wrapping his fist tightly where his knuckles are throbbing. “What were Lola’s ‘plans’ then?”

The knight sighs. “She claimed she hated you for choosing the empress over her, and she wanted to poison you – and yes, I was going to let her. I fucking hate royalty, all of you, and I thought I could get her back.”

“She’d never go with you,” Suguru lowers his gaze, the note in his pocket that showed how desperately you did want to leave Satoru – but it was before you fell in love, clearly. “What are you so silent about?”

Suguru decides the last thing he should do is fucking hurt you more. “She does love you, and I’m furious she forgot about me.”

“She didn’t forget, she had to move on,” Satoru says, rolling his eyes then. “Trust me, you were the source of much fucking contention.”

“Contention?”

“Let’s say I ripped your shitty necklace off – her neck is too pretty for it, truly, but she was quite mad about it. I haven’t told her, you know, that it’s fake.”

“I… why didn’t you? To make me look horrible?”

“Tch, I wouldn’t hurt her like that,” Satoru shuts his eyes again, the trip and every emotion exhausting him. “You are a goddamn fool if you couldn’t see how much Lola hated her.”

Suguru is silent, looking down as he holds his ribcage gingerly.

“You’ll testify against her, yes?” He blinks in confusion.

“Won’t you murder me?”

“I’ll settle for you helping me rid of these goddamn concubines, and this should fucking do it – though I hate it came to this,” he shakes his head, tears forming in his eyes once more. “Yet I know she’d want me to use any method to get rid of these girls once and for all.”

“You don’t want them?”

“Why would I? I have her,” Suguru’s brows draw together.

“I saw you and…”

“I have to put on a show,” he hops down, shoving Suguru again, so hard he slams the wall and more books go flying, pinning him now. “You did enough damage, you just had to do more? What did that girl ever fucking do to you!? Huh? Love you and beg to leave with you – a broke ass knight?”

“I didn’t know she really… I never meant…”

“Never this, never that,” Satoru lets him go and scoffs. “Will you testify? I’ll keep your part out of it.”

“Yes of course,” he blinks now, looking in Satoru’s mad gaze. “What will you do with Lola?”

“Throw her off the top of a building,” Suguru snorts and Satoru raises a brow. “Something funny?”

“No that sounds like something I’d like to do as well, of course I’ll testify – but what are your plans for me?”

“I’ll let my wife decide what I should do with you,” Satoru opens the door now. “Guards, keep this man under your watch.”

He is back in the medic’s room in moments, you’re snuggling against his mother tightly, your arms wrapped around her waist, and his heart melts at the sight – of the two women he loves so much, he has cried more today than he thought he could, but he feels no shame over it like he would before. He will feel every feeling today so that he remembers what Lola did, and how much he needs you in his life.

Maomao comes up to Satoru and puts a hand on his arm. “What is it, kid?”

She sighs, rolling her eyes now. “She’s quite stable, color coming back, she’s moving around and breathing well. I have every hope she’ll wake up soon – then I’ll need to do a few more tests. I heard she…”

“Yes maybe,” their voices are quiet as people come in and out of the room. “Would you check when she’s better if…”

“Of course, I would,” he exhales in relief – he doesn’t want a man touching his damn wife, especially after all of this. “I’ll be here for at least a week, I’ll make sure to keep an eye.”

“Can she be brought to my chambers?”

*****

It’s hours later, Satoru still watches you sleep, he had Hiromi meet him up there along with Ijichi so he wouldn’t have to leave, Lola was easily identified despite her disguise and is now behind bars for just the moment – until Satoru can at least get some damn use from that woman and have her make his empire one where he only had one woman.

You.

It’s late and Maomao has already given him instructions if you wake, the doctor administered fluids to try to flush any poison out, leaving him silently just looking at you in his bed as the last person leaves – your bed. Both of you have kissed and fought, have made love and fucked, hate sex and sweet kisses, you are everything and anything all at once to him.

He sees a letter sitting there on the vanity and peeks at it curiously, when he lifts it and sees your pretty handwriting he can’t help but read it.

Satoru,

You scratched that out.

Toru,

The palace feels so much larger and emptier when you're away, I am not alone so do not fear – but without you it’s as if this home is missing, you have become my home in this short time. Once I thought there was no way you could ever care for me, could ever choose me, but you’ve shown time and time again how much you have.

I would regret every fight, every smack I gave you and every tear I shed, but how can I when that’s made us so close? When you saw parts of me the world could never see, parts that I hid under a pretense of perfection, and you let me see parts of you, ones I ache to see more of.

The man who truly cares of his subjects, the man who loves his mama to distraction (i love her too) the very same man who adores his wife enough to tell her he wants a daughter. Oh Satoru so do I – so badly do I want to see you braiding our little girls hair, teaching her to ride a pony, trying to beat her at chest competitively the moment she’s old enough to hold a pawn in her hand.

I never imagined I would be so completely, hopelessly in love with my Emperor, with this arrogant, beautiful and infuriating man. With the man who drives me as insane with love as he makes me laugh, as he brings out every competitive part of me, challenges me. Fell in love with the man who saw not just a princess standing there, but saw me.

The true me, the real me, the one who is bratty and can be hasty, who is messy and passionate, who is ever so jealous and possessive of her husband – of you. Yet you accept all of me.

I love you and I will love you till my last breath, I want to spend every day I can with you, until we are old and ninety underneath that tree.

Forever yours.

Your Empress.

“Fuck,” he’s cried so damn much he can’t produce tears, grabbing the carafe of wine on your table and pouring a glass with a shaky hand, drinking it in one gulp, looking back at you and setting down the letter.

He knew you loved him but to read it was different, so different.

“Satoru… Satoru please… Satoru…”

“Baby,” he rushes now, picking you up to sit as you thrash around, coughing more and more, weaker and weaker. “Please, please open your eyes – god please let me look upon them.”

You cough once more and then he sees it.

Your irises.

You blink just a bit when he wraps you in his arms, so tightly you can’t hardly breathe, everything in the room a faded, muted black that’s barely changing – you feel his tears on your neck and panic, but you can’t move, just stuck there. He’s crying your name, over and over, his breath warm against your neck as he buries his face in it.

“Satoru,” you whisper, voice hoarse and lips dry, you feel so weak and out of place, as if you’re in a dream rather than a reality.

“Sweetheart,” he pulls back and you see his puffy eyes and tear streaked cheeks – something you’ve never seen before.

“Wh-what’s wrong… Satoru who… hurt you please…”

He shakes his head, you cup his face and he presses it tighter against his cheek, taking several breaths now. “No, they hurt you.”

“Hurt me…” You blink as you try to piece the evening together, the last thing you remember is Suguru. “Suguru had… um, a letter from me and… I’m sorry, I sent it b-before… we fell and…”

“Don’t upset yourself,” he orders softly, leaning over to grab the glass of water and bring it to your lips, you drink and just that hurts, making you wince. “You have to try to flush this out of your system.”

“Drugged?” You mumble.

“No, poisoned,” your eyes widen, hands clinging tightly around his neck when he tugs your body onto his lap. “Not Suguru, even though this is his fault too.”

“Who then? There was a maid…”

Who was that damn maid?

“Lola,” you whisper suddenly, he nods and you sigh, shutting your eyes. “I should have let you kill her.”

“Well I will, don’t worry,” he smiles so big then. “I love you, evil little empress – even poison can’t take out evil.”

“Shut it,” you’re laughing and coughing again, he brings you more water, and you brush his tears from his cheeks. “Was I out long?”

“Five hours,” you gasp just a bit. “I knew you were stable but…”

“I’m sorry you were so scared Toru,” he shakes his head, swallowing nervously, setting the glass down with a quiet click as you touch your tummy. “Oh do you think… if I am with child it… how could…”

“We will check tomorrow, all right?” He murmurs softly, a hand over yours, hating the sight of your tears falling from your pretty eyes. “We will get through it together if you’re… if there’s no babe.”

“I know we will, but I want to give you one so badly,” you’re a mess of emotions, as your husband just holds you, and lets you cry against his pretty white robes, blossoming with the dark spots of your tears. “I will give you one.”

“I know it,” he whispers, nuzzling your hair and inhaling its scent. “I dreamt of it so it must happen.”

“That makes me feel better,” he runs his hand against your hair gently, making your eyes flutter shut. “My mama did that when I was young.”

“As did mine,” he admits, realizing there is still so much to learn about you. “Do you miss them? Did you have a good relationship?”

“I did, they let me be quite a free spirit,” your tears brush his neck as you shift in his lap, and he grabs a blanket and puts it on you. “I want them to meet you some day, to meet my emperor.”

“Then we will,” you smile all pretty, ruining him utterly if it was possible to do it even moreso. “I read your letter.”

“Oh it was a rough draft,” he peers at the ten crumbled letters and you laugh just a bit. “I kept messing it all up.”

“It was perfect,” Satoru tilts your chin up now, resting his forehead on yours in a way only Satoru Gojo can. “You wrote letters, I was jerking off thinking of you.”

“Perverted, slutty emperor,” he chuckles, the sound vibrating against his chest, as you snuggle deeper against him. “Your cum is your love letters.”

“It truly is,” you laugh again and so does he, when finally he presses his lips against yours, you pull back quickly. “Can I not kiss my wife?”

“What if there’s poison on my lips!? No indeed,” he kisses you again, then again, until you are putty in his arms, boneless and aching for his love, letting his lips move over you and take you over. “Oh Toru…”

“I’m so goddamn glad you woke up, if anything… I can’t live if…”

“Shh, it’s all right, I’m alright,” you both kiss and hold each other, finally falling asleep just like that, until the morning light comes – and Satoru knows what he must do, as you’re checked to see if you are with child. The apprehension and how tense you both are only making one thing crystal clear.

Satoru would make sure Lola is dead, and that there’s never another one of these women around him again. 

ahh dw the next part will NOT take this long, I love the emperor SO DAMN MUCH.