⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

imagine the old and shabby town you were living in was replaced by something greater. a city you’ve only seen in still shots, a city you’ve gotten accustomed to through background sketches…

in your favourite otome game, love and deepspace.

“no fucking way.”

imagine you spent the first hour just looking around the apartment, then the rest of the evening was given to the city skyline, watching the ginormous buildings, the futuristic architecture, the holographic billboards for brands you’ve never heard before.

imagine you pieced it together slowly, restoring the life you’ve been given with the help of your phone. you were transported into love and deepspace, but not as emcee; there was no glowing evol, no sign of a hunter career, no trace of the five love interests.

you were just… you. an extra. a background npc with a forgettable face, working as a barista at destiny café.

and that was perfect.

you did not wish to get entangled with the love interests, and you definitely wanted to stay away from emcee — their world was too dangerous, too unpredictable. and no matter how much you knew about the game, how many hours you’ve spent collecting memories and reading the lore of the characters, you couldn’t shape your future steps with certainty.

so you made a quiet pact with yourself: you would not interfere with anyone. you would only play your part, watching the main characters from afar.

that in itself was enough — seeing them all interact, seeing them all be happy.

imagine you saw her for the first time exactly the next day. emcee entered the café with tara sometime during the day, and you tried your best to act natural as you took their orders with shaky hands.

then, gradually, you saw them all.

you observed rafayel and emcee taking a walk along the shore, the sound of the waves chiming in tune with their giggles. you watched zayne pause mid-step to tuck a strand of hair behind emcee’s ear near the hospital area. you saw xavier fall asleep against her shoulder on a park bench, his face soft and content. you even caught a glimpse of sylus’s unmistakable silhouette in a secluded alley, helmet visor raised, and even caleb’s boyish grin as he ruffled emcee’s hair outside a convenience store.

you never spoke to any of them. you didn’t need to. just seeing it all was enough for you.

you were their watchful eye.

but imagine something was off.

imagine you started to notice the scribbles that were woven into the buildings around town, curious graffiti drawings taking over otherwise blank surfaces.

at first, it seemed like random vandalism — sloppy spirals, nonsense symbols, an array of colours that made people stop only for a second. but then… it became strange.

letters and words bloomed on the outer walls, graffiti now taking more eloquent forms.

that was the problem. that was what made you stop dead in your tracks, skin covered in prickling goosebumps.

you saw a word in your native language.

“HELLO.”

you stood frozen, pulse stuttering. people were already scrubbing at it, muttering on and on about vandals, but you just stood there, trying to make sense of the graffiti.

imagine you moved on with your routine, but the messages followed along.

a scribble on the side panel of the garbage shute: “KNOW.” a flash of green paint on a train station pillar: “UNDERSTAND.” an elegant curvature on your favourite convenience store: “SEE”.

each one in your mother tongue, each one making you more and more paranoid.

you told yourself it was a prank, a coincidence, a glitch in your own panicked mind.

it couldn’t be anything else, really.

imagine the messages escalated beyond singular words, becoming phrases that clawed directly into that anxious brain of yours. a week after the first “HELLO”, you saw it on the side of a delivery truck waiting at a red light:

“YOU UNDERSTAND.”

your blood went cold, starting in your thumping chest and creeping down to your fingertips. you stumbled back from the crosswalk, clutching your bag like a shield, terrified by the perfect syntax.

it wasn't the language that scared you; it was the wording. whoever was doing this knew things they absolutely should not know.

they knew you were not from this world, they knew you were an outsider that had no business being here.

imagine you started taking different routes to destiny café, weaving through back alleys and less crowded areas, your head perpetually low.

the city, once a breathtaking panorama of your favorite fictional world, now felt like a cage lined with watchful eyes. the holographic billboards that had once charmed you now seemed to flicker ominously.

you avoided looking at reflective surfaces — shop windows, polished cars, the dark screen of your phone. you were terrified of seeing someone standing right behind you, someone that shouldn’t know you were in linkon city.

imagine the paranoia began to manifest physically. you were sleeping less, picking at your food, flinching at sudden noises. the cheerful chime of the café door sounded like a warning bell.

heck, the friendly chatter of customers felt like a coded message, and you somehow convinced yourself everyone was discussing you.

you were slowly losing your mind.

and imagine you saw emcee that day. she walked up to the counter with her familiar smile, ordering her usual, overly complicated coffee concoction. you focused on her, trying your best to loosen up. make small talk. act normal.

you are a barista. she is a customer. this is a transaction.

nothing bad was going to happen.

she is emcee. she is safe. and so are you.

“rough day?” she asked when she returned at the pick-up station, tilting her head, scanning your face with genuine worry.

you managed a weak laugh, wishing to conceal your uneasiness, hands pushing forward the iced cup of coffee. “just tired. here’s your drink.” you muttered back, holding up her mug for her to take.

but imagine you were wrong.

imagine something bad did happen.

as you looked at emcee, you saw it: the entire wall of the building directly across the street was no longer the muted gray you remembered. it had been transformed overnight into a single, massive mural, clearly visible through the huge window of the café.

it wasn't art.

it was a sentence, painted in dripping, blood-red letters, so large you could read them from behind the counter, from the depths of your own impending doom.

the letters were in your mother tongue.

 “I’M WATCHING YOU.”

followed by your actual name.

the coffee cup slipped from your grasp.

the ceramic shattered against the tile floor with a powerful crack, sending a hefty quantity of iced coffee on your apron and the lower half of the counter. the sound was deafening in the cheerful bustle of the café, putting everything on pause.

every conversation halted. every head turned. emcee flinched, her smile dissolving into confusion.

all eyes were on you.

imagine the sudden weight of all those eyes, all focused on you. the words from the graffiti echoed louder and louder in your skull, syncing with each panicked beat of your heart.

watching. they were all watching.

your coworkers, the customers, the old woman by the window, the child tugging at her mother's sleeve. emcee, her hand halfway to her mouth, her brow furrowed in concern.

were they in on it? were they aware you were fake? an outsider?

the walls felt like they were closing in, the cheerful café lighting suddenly harsh and interrogatory. the message wasn't just on the building anymore; it was in the glint of every eye pinned on your trembling form.

i’m watching you. i’m watching you. i’m watching yo–

imagine emcee took a step towards you, her expression shifting into concern. “hey, are you okay? you look really pale–”

you didn't hear the rest of her sentence. you couldn't breathe. you couldn't think. your mind was screaming at you to get away.

get away. they can see you. they know you.

you shoved through the swinging staff door, not stopping until you reached the back door leading outside. you collapsed against the closest wall, sliding down next to the stuffed garbage bins and curling into yourself, pushing your face between your knees and letting it all out.

imagine the sobs came in gasping, ugly cries that you muffled with your stained apron, fear shaking through you.

you were not safe. your decision to keep your distance, your role as a background extra — it was all an illusion.

someone had been tracking you, studying you, learning your secrets.

you were not an observer anymore. you were the observed. you were a target in a story you thought only you watched from outside, but you were proven wrong.

he knows of your existence, but you didn’t know of his.

“bring her to me. quietly.”

©pearlescenthoney 2026. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

Diluc keeps seeing your outfit from the corner of his eye, the material hugging your curves and so much of your bare skin on display. A testament of the weather finally warming up. If he turns his head even just a little, your cleavage is at the end of his nose. He can’t say he minds it one bit.

He angles his chin towards your chest, then tilting his face towards the swell of one of your breasts. He kisses you there, lips pursed against the plush.

“This new? Your dress I mean.” He asks, his warm breath on you. You hum lightly in response, until Diluc presses down another kiss, and another — dotting them all along your cleavage, your collarbone, and up the side of your throat.

“You’re lovely.” he whispers to your jaw.

You breathe a little heavier and naturally arch into his mouth, causing your tits to push closer to his face. You moan his name sweetly, your arms around his neck aiding to keep his steady and relentless mouth on your skin. Your heaving chest is nearly wet and the neckline tugged down lewdly which only causes the gentleman’s heart to race with need — and feeling it especially in his trousers.

His hand that holds you around your waist has also moved to your thigh, gathering the fluffy and light fabric of your sundress in his grasp until your bare hip is visible. You whimper, an impatient huff that tells Diluc not to stop, as more of you is uncovered. Diluc looks down at where your underwear should be, ready to tug them down your legs. He blinks back up at you, owlishly.

You smile, a mischievous little laugh as you shift your position on Dilucs lap to straddling him. Your pretty little dress is hiked up dangerously high on your thighs now as Diluc hums at you with a slow raise of his lips, and he descends his wanting mouth upon your chest once more and your head falls back in pleasure.

You both suppose that the date can wait, the warm sun will continue to illuminate your joined bodies from the windows in Dilucs office until then.

Applying the finishing touches to your makeup, you do a little twirl in the mirror, smiling to yourself when your sundress billows out around your thighs as you do. It’s cool and light for such a warm day — a nice change from the surprising little cold snap that Sumeru just had (or at least, what’s cold for Sumeru). You tug your sandals on to go out to greet your lover, Alhaitham, who is reading on the couch.

“Habibi, are you ready to go?” you ask with a half smile on your face, a bit amused at always finding him with his nose in a book. You’re used to it by now, of course. Alhaitham closes his book with a sharp snap, looking up at you. Aqua eyes are half lidded, gentle but calculating. You find that when he looks at you it’s never scrutinizing, it’s curious. He always wants to know more about you.

“Hm. That outfit…I’m not sure about it.” Alhaitham says plainly as he takes your hand and has you sit next to him. So much for not being critical! You huff a bit, holding back on a pout,

“What? You don’t like it…? I wore it for you.”

Alhaithams chest tightens at your disposition, fingers coming to the strap of your dress, the way it seems to want to fall off your bare shoulder. He pulls it to its proper place and his slight touch has your heart fluttering.

“It’s distracting.” he replies, opting to cup your cheek. You frown.

He kisses your pout, and you lean into it eagerly. Alhaithams other arm winds around your waist and pulls you closer, kissing you softly,

“Do you like my outfit or not? Kind of getting mixed signals here.” you chuckle shyly into his mouth. Alhaitham offers you an upturn of his lips, a slender smile that you hum at.

“You’re very beautiful.” he remarks, kissing you again. Open mouthed and hot until you’re panting against each other, and you’ve found yourself on your back on his couch. His body is slotted between your legs, heavily pressed against your core. There’s a soft symphony of moans and hushed sounds of kissing, feeling a heady ache at your center that Alhaitham seems to take note of. His hands push your cute dress up further as he moves down your body, kissing down your inner thigh.

You arch on the couch, his kisses teasing and only going anywhere else but where you truly want him. You whine, squeezing your thighs around his head to trap him.

“Well, you still haven’t answered my question, do you like my outfit or not?” you purse your lips at him. Alhaithams hands reach up to grip your knees and he spreads them. You whimper.

“I like it, however, it’s going to be coming off.” he promises.

The beach is wonderfully warm and windy when you arrive, opting to take your shoes off and hold them in your hand to feel the sand between your toes as you walk down to the shoreline with a picnic basket on your other arm. You can see Wriothesley from where you are, and you’re giddy at the sight of a picnic date with your beloved — who took a day off to ensure some extra quality time with you. You even bought a new dress, something short and strappy and comfortable for such a toasty afternoon on the beach.

Wriothesley has already shucked off his coat and vest, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his bulging biceps and even unbuttoned a little lower than usual. However just as you think you’re going to be the one distracted by him, when he sees you coming down the beach as the wind causes your sundress to billow around your thighs, he’s staring at you like you’re an angel.

“Wow.” is all he can say with a charming smirk on his face when you stop just in front of him. You shrug happily and do a little turn in your dress, leaning up on your toes as he leans down, to meet each other in a greeting kiss. You pull away from him but his big hand settles on your waist for a squeeze, you laugh but he looks at you so wolfishly your face heats up rapidly.

You quickly move to grab the beach blanket that Wriothesley brought with him, the pair of you working together to spread it out nicely enough for you to put your picnic down to eat. You’re on your knees, trying to swipe away some sand from the blanket, when a sudden gust of wind blows the bottom of your dress up.

You squeal, feeling your entire backside exposed for a moment before you can tug your dress back down. Wriothesley reaches over to help fix it as well, knuckles brushing against your thigh.

“Those were cute.” he chuckles, talking about your panties. You squawk, lightly slapping his arm,

“You brute!” you huff, making Wriothesley grin wider. He catches you at the waist when you laugh shyly in return, rolling you onto him as he lays back on the picnic blanket. His hands slide down to cup your ass, settling them there as you kiss him with a hum.

“Don’t know what this brute did to have a pretty girl like you, in your pretty dress, laying on me like this.” he grins. Your body warms at his sincerity, although by now your sweet dress is quite wrinkled, bunched up as you cup his jaw to kiss your lover again.

As your lips move against each other, Wriothesleys hands roughly bunch your dress up further until your underwear is visible once again, and one of his palms then flattens out to deliver a loud swat at your bottom. You gasp in surprise, blinking at him for his boldness. You can’t deny that when he does that, it makes you ache terribly between your legs. Wriothesley smirks, catching your lips with his again, hands kneading and rubbing at your butt to keep you tightly against his body.

The picnic stays in the basket for a good while, when your Duke decides he’d rather feast on you first.

The trek to the giant oak tree at Windrise would sometimes tire you out, a long walk from the inner city of Mondstadt being quite a ways for you — but today you’re quickly approaching in excitement, coming to meet Varka beneath the tree for an afternoon drink and a well deserved rest for the pair of you. Your dress floats in the breeze, almost playful as the hem billows around your legs the closer you get.

Your lover calls to you, waving brightly in the sun when you spot him. He opens his arms and you instinctively giggle, opting to run towards him so he can catch you at the waist and twirl you around before kissing you and setting you back on your feet. You stumble a little when you’re back on the ground, both of you laughing while Varkas large hands grip your waist to help steady you.

“Well aren’t you in a good mood!” you grin, the knight absolutely beaming back at you while he takes your hand in his and pulls it to his lips for a gallant kiss.

“Of course I am! Just look at you. It’d be criminal for a guy not to be happy when his girl is as pretty as you.” he quips back, tugging you gently towards the trunk of the oak tree where a bottle of dandelion wine and two glasses sit atop a couple of pillows and a blanket. Your heart warms at his cute, thoughtful attempt of making the spot look proper for a date, even if it is just you and him with a drink and the leaves over your heads.

You bend over to look at the setup, and though a man of honor, Varkas gaze slides to the way your dress rides up just a tad, and even moreso — when you turn back to him with a grin he notices the way the neckline of your dress highlights the curves of your chest. His lips lift at the corner as he strides a little closer to you, his broad hands coming to settle on your hips.

“Your dress is nice. Real nice.” he muses, walking you back slowly, carefully, until your back is against the tree trunk. You look up at him with a warmed face and fluttering lashes, and when Varka notices how your breathing picks up in the slightest, your breasts heave too in your cute little outfit.

“Thank you, it’s…new.” you purse your lips, letting your fingers playfully walk up his bare chest until you link your hands behind his neck.

You’re telling me you got this…for little old me?” Varka chuckles, but you see the sweetest pink flush his cheeks, and he hasn’t even had a drink yet. You giggle and nod,

“Yeah.”

He descends upon your lips, squeezing your hips and waist as he kisses you. You feel him smile against your mouth, and he parts only for a moment to shoot you a playful look before he hoists you up against the tree trunk. Your legs wrap around his waist as you squeal in surprised delight, but he’s already kissing you and grinding against your core before you can form another thought.

Your sweet dress is pushed up nearly to your waist as he grunts roughly into your mouth, keeping you solidly against the tree and curled safely in his arms to feel all of his broad, hard want for you.

He’s going to drink up, by getting drunk on you.

II. case two: encrypted outlook thread ( 12:21 PM )

higuruma hiromi ought to teach you a lesson.

frankly, you’re the worst paralegal he’s had the mispleasure of working with since joining pearson hardman. he can’t help but envy his rival, phoenix wright, and his paralegal, maya fey!

you’re much too forgetful, too busty, too disorganized. at 9AM today the files for the high-priority danganronpa case were due on his desk. they didn’t reach him till eleven, and you had the audacity to add on a sticky note labeled ‘sorry!’ and ‘meet me downstairs for some apology head ;)’. higuruma hiromi has concluded that you never learn.

so he decides he’ll teach you himself.

Subject: Investigative Documents for Danganronpa Case

From: Higuruma Hiromi

To: [L/N], [Y/N]

Y/N,

Not only were the documents I requested for prep late, they were also extremely disorganized. This is a serious case regarding kidnapped and murdered children, and I suggest you exercise some more seriousness and be more meticulous in your conduct. You also left an implicit sticky-note attached to the files. I suggest you come visit my office, lest I file a formal complaint.

Regards,

Higuruma Hiromi

—

Subject: RE: Investigative Documents for Danganronpa Case

From: [L/N], [Y/N]

To: Higuruma, Hiromi

Counselor,

Are you threatening me with a complaint? I’m just doing my job. I did notice your tie was a bit crooked today, though, so I’d be happy to come fix it for you when I swing by your office. Or take it off completely. Let me know when you’d like me to drop in and fix those files!

Regards,

Y/N L/N

—

Subject: RE: RE: Investigative Documents for Danganronpa Case

From: Higuruma, Hiromi

To: [L/N], [Y/N]

Y/N,

You can come fix it now. And then I’m going to fix the way you think you can talk to a Senior Associate. I will lock the door, and you will not be released till you admit exactly how much of a headache you’re deliberately trying to be. Don't test me, [Y/N]. I’m a very patient man, but even I have limits.

Higuruma Hiromi.

ー

Subject: RE: RE: RE: Investigative Documents for Danganronpa Case

From: [L/N], [Y/N]

To: Higuruma, Hiromi

ruma,

i suck at corporate speak 😭 are u saying ur gonna eat my pussy orrrrrr

—

Subject: [SECURITY ALERT] KEYWORD FLAG / SERVER SCRUB

From: Hange Zoë (IT Department)

To: Higuruma, Hiromi; [L/N], [Y/N]

CC: Human Resources (General Inbox)

Hi Hiromi, [Y/N],

Just a friendly heads-up: I’m running the quarterly server audit and the 'harassment/explicit' keyword filter just went off like a fire alarm on your thread. Specifically because of the word 'pussy.’

Sorry to intrude on your corporate sexting session! I’ve paused the sync to the main server, but the automated log has already been forwarded to the Senior Partners. You guys might want to check your calendars. Erwin at HR just opened a new 'Conduct Investigation' folder with both your names on it (uh oh!)

Best of luck to you both! And Y/N, I could be wrong, but I think his last message was implying BDSM; though I don’t doubt he’d be willing to eat you out as well!

Happy eating!

Zoë Hange

★ Y/N L/N ⎯⎯ DISCIPLINARY RECORD.

offense: MISUSE OF COMPANY COMMUNICATION CHANNELS / EXPLICIT DIGITAL CONDUCT

punishment: Mandatory 2-hour 'Digital Ethics' Webinar & temporary monitoring of all outgoing firm emails.

issued by: Erwin Smith, Head of Human Resources.

CC: Higuruma Hiromi, [Y/N] [L/N]

‘It has come to our attention that the Danganronpa Case thread was used for ‘personal negotiations,’ that which our investigative committee has concluded were most likely inappropriate. Please refrain from using the firm’s Outlook servers as your personal Wizz/Tinder moving forward. And Higuruma, we expect better from you. Please report to room three on floor six after lunch break. The door will not be locked.’

III. case three: company zoom meeting ( 5:04 PM )

higuruma hiromi thinks he’s so fucking smart.

he also thinks he’s the king of calendar invites. so when he tells you to send out an email for a company zoom meeting for 6PM but set the zoom’s actual time to five, he supposes his intellect rivals god.

“you’re late, y/n,” higuruma’s voice is close to guttural. he’s laid back on his desk chair, tie loose, legs spread, hair impossibly messy. and you’re knelt on your floor, laptop on your thighs.

you’re sporting the cutest little bath robe higuruma has ever seen. you’re grinning at the screen, cheeks peach-dappled & lips bent in a clumsy smile,

“hi, ‘ruma! wanna see my tits?”

lord, how higuruma adores you !

and who is he to say no? he leans back against his seat, swivel chair groaning with a creeeaaak. he’s already unzipping his pants as you begin to shrug off your pretty pink robe, breasts glazed over & supple in the fluorescent light.

a tiny, bright green notification pings at the bottom of the screen.

[Participants: 48]

higuruma freezes. then rises up, palm curling off his shaft & inching towards his keyboard.

slowly, agonizingly, he clicks on gallery view.

forty-six pearson hardman employees stare at him back.

erwin smith looks like he just witnessed a war promised to him 2000 years ago. hange zoë has a measuring tape held up against the screen. his rival, phoenix, is making a face that reminds him of the many memes of that one streamer you’d often send him—i show meat? levi ackerman has already left the meeting—he knows because the notification flashes at the corner of the screen.

and right there in the center box? harvey specter, senior partner of pearson hardman ltd, has his chin in his hand & eyes intensely locked on to the screen.

is he looking at your breasts ?

oh right, you! you’ve been calling out for the past one minute now, completely unaware of the other forty-six employees watching your wet nipples glisten in the light.

“‘ruma? ‘ruma? ugh, is this thing on?”

higuruma slams his laptop shut. it bangs louder than the gunshot that killed charlie kirk.

★ Y/N L/N ⎯⎯ DISCIPLINARY RECORD.

offense: PUBLIC INDECENCY / TOTAL BREACH OF FIRM REPUTATION

punishment: Termination of Employment (Effective Immediately)

issued by: Harvey Specter, Senior Partner ; The Board of Directors.

CC: Higuruma Hiromi (RESIGNED), [Y/N] [L/N]

‘Hey guys! Harvey here. So after a meeting with the rest of the board, we’ve come to the decision to terminate your employment. Higuruma, your resignation letter has been duly received. Gonna be completely honest, that was the last thing I ever expected to see in a corporate meeting. But you two really spiced up my evening, thanks! I tried to negotiate with Jessica and the other directors on your behalves, but sadly they weren’t having it.’

P.S: ‘Nice cock, Hiromi! Very impressive both length and girth wise. And sorry for sneaking a peak at your chest, Y/N. At the very least, your boob job looks very natural. Best of luck to you both!’

bad conduct, end.

EMPLOYMENT STATUS : #OPEN TO WORK !

! for those who don’t have linkedin ↓

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!!

"been waiting to taste you for weeks," he groans, lips already kiss bitten from an earlier makeout session.

it marks the fourth time in 12 hours he's run his lips against yours, temptation overwhelming as you embrace him.

the moomoo you were wearing, short and stained, has long since been discarded onto the floor. in nothing but underwear, you shiver against the sheets.

he takes notice immediately, moving to wrap his arms around you, body heat radiating into your core.

somehow, his clothes are still on, tie barely hanging ground his neck. you make quick work of them, nearly ripping the fabric straight from his body.

it doesn't take long for you to be entangled in the sheets, skin to skin, nanami's leaking head prodding at your entrance.

"please, let me inside." he groans it against the shell of your ear, hips shifting as he slides his length up and down your coated folds.

"put it in, kento," you murmur.

a sharp gasp leaves you. no matter how many times he fucks you, the initial stretch will always have you clenching. slowly, he rolls his hips, nestling his cock further inside.

he notices how your brow furrows, how your toes clench, even feels the slight twitch of your thighs. immediately, his thumb gets to rubbing your clit, easing the ache out. it doesn't hurt, never did (well, except for the first time, maybe) but it feels so good how attentive he is.

finally, he's seated fully inside you.

"mmm," you moan, already needy. it's been god knows how long since you got to fuck your husband, especially properly. occasional phone sex can't cut it anyore.

bracing himself, his arm cages you in, the other one tweaking your pert nipple. like always, his forehead goes to rest against yours, sweat glistening against it.

the drag of his cock inside of you is tantalizing, makes you moan into his mouth as loud as you want. "i've missed you so much, ken," you whimper, lips wobbling with need.

"me too, baby, me too." he kisses you firmly, open mouthed, sloppy and disheveled, yet it couldn't be more passionate. his pace quickens slightly, low slapping beginning to fill the room.

"oooh, just like that-fuck!" his eyes widen, trying to drink up your very being as he watches yours roll up. the dark blonde hair of his groin grinds into you, stimulates your clit without him having to try.

slutty moans, slapping and the most erotic of sounds fill the bedroom, bouncing off the walls. he loves how you move your legs up, spreading them wide so they bounce every time he thrusts up.

"yes!- god, fuck," he groans, no longer having to care that a curse escaped his lips. "you like being dirty for me, don't you?"

"mhm, mhmmm, yes ken!" his hand moves from your nipple to your face, cradling it up to meet his lips, face bent down.

too much blood is rushing to his cock, to his cheeks, to anywhere but his brain so he can think properly. his mind is filled with you, you, you.

gaze darkening, his whole aura shifts.

suddenly your legs are being hiked up even further, knees almost to your ears while he manhandles you. again, his hand moves, now tangling in your pretty hair, flat against the pillow. now you're looking straight forward, eyes focused on where his cock enters your soaking pussy.

his thrusts turn downright mean, harsh and unforgiving. he groans, voice cracking a little when you moan so loud the noise echoes.

"shiiit, darling." his baritone goes straight through your core, hitting so deep it might as well be a vibrator. the bed starts creaking, something it hasn't done since your daughter's been born. it shakes the foundations, floor threatening to break from the intense love being made on it.

he ignores how badly his back aches, how his knees are screaming to take a break. when his pretty darling is moaning so loud, creaming around his dick, why would he stop?

"k-ken, 'm gonna-" "i know you are. let it all out for me, okay?"

nanami almost screams when your orgasm tears through you, so strong it feels like he's the one coming. your vision goes white, as well as his, so overcome with pleasure it should be impossible.

also white is his cum, filling up your pulsing hole with ease. weeks of desperation show in the pumping, twitching release he gives you.

he falls onto the bed, golden tresses managing to frame his face perfectly. god, he always looks perfect.

your heart is still hammering in your chest, breath uneven, but you're beginning to come back to your senses.

"wow. you look tired," you tease. he rolls his eyes, turning his face away from you. the snort that escapes him isn't lost on you.

"fuck, we shouldn't have done that," you choke. slowly, you can feel the burn settling into your knees.

"but it was worth it, wasn't it? don't tell me you didn't enjoy it."

"you know i did."

sighing, he pulls you closer, pressing a small kiss to the top of your head.

"yes, i do. i'm sure the whole neighborhood does, too."

"i heard that, kento."

for now, it was you and the love of your life, wrapped together like thread, enjoying each others company.

soon, you would have to pick up your daughter and nephew. your chest was already aching a little at the thought of being away from them for so long. surely, your husband was too, muttering something about it right before he drifted off.

in a few hours, you'd be picking up your daughter, and maybe stopping by at the gas station beforehand. if you purchase a pregnancy test while there, so what?

and so what if it shows up positive, marking another baby on the way? you wouldn't have it any other way, and neither would nanami.

"always wanted to try for another girl," he mutters, green irises staring at the 2 bold, pink lines of the test.

masterlist | @orangethecarrotcoloredpaperred

“ahh, i see,” 

“yeah well, now y’ do.” satoru rolls his eyes with a small scoff. “what’s her name?” 

“that’s [name], she’s in my course actually.” 

“shit, she does art?” 

“mhm, really good at it too. kinda jealous, i can’t lie.” the raven haired man nods. 

suguru starts rambling on about art shit and satoru stops paying attention at that point like he always does when his friend gets into the whole ‘art kid’ spiel. 

“right, sounds tough, man. do you have her instagram or somethin’?” he brushes suguru off, trying to make it seem as if he couldn’t care less despite hanging off of suguru’s answer. 

suguru messes around with the app before saying, “mhm, here y’ go.” he holds up his phone displaying a very pretty looking account, and satoru snatches up the cell. 

“thanks, man.” 

and that’s when the obsession properly began. 

after looking through your instagram that night, he’d decided you were everything he’d ever wanted and more. you were kind, which was evident in the various charity events you attended with your friends, a quality satoru adored. you loved animals, which was telling from the multiple cat/dog pictures on your year dump highlights, and you had style that rivaled the cool people he always saw lurking around the fashion block. you were so interesting, and he feared you might be the only person he’d let out swag him. 

you were complete perfection. 

was that really weird to assume after seeing someone once and stalking their social media? yeah, yeah it was. but guys like gojo seriously couldn’t care less. 

over the next two weeks gojo spent around half an hour a day waiting outside geto’s art class after physics to ‘walk him back to the frat,’ when really, the brain dead loser was very unstealthily looking for you. 

“this is your big plan to get some? jeez man. give it a rest.” a very bored suguru sighed after around the fifth time gojo’d pulled this. 

“whatever are you talking about? m’ just being a good friend.” he answered, still unsubtly looking over his shoulder to watch you walking the opposite way back to your dorm, dressed in the prettiest little outfit. 

“you’ve made me walk home drunk for an hour because you couldn’t be bothered picking me up from a bar.. you’re the furthest thing from a ‘good frie—” 

“—do you ever shut up? god, let me be a changed man.” he half heartedly shot back, peeling his head around when you finally fall just out of sight. 

“god, i hate you.” suguru sighs.

“nuh uh.” 

“just ask her for her number!” 

“nuh uh.” 

and he didn’t, but not because he didn’t want to necessarily, but because he just couldn’t.. he got this weird anxious feeling deep down in his gut whenever he told himself he’d try, and gojo was someone very foreign to anxiety. guy could strip naked and go streaking in the streets, but when it came to either sending you a message on instagram or walking up to you to get your number? he just couldn’t do it. it was way, way out of the equation. 

he felt like a shy high school girl who had a thing for one of the athletic jocks, a match that was legitimately the other way around. 

“sugu, tell me more about that chick.” he falls down onto the couch next to his all-but fed-up-friend another time. 

“the chick i’ve already told you every single detail i know about? yeah, no. you wanna know more? go talk to her yourself, pussy.” the man scoffs while flicking through some textbook and jotting down notes and annotations in his skrtch pad. 

gojo sighs and gives up, throwing his head back like a child. suguru was right, he’d already picked his brain as much as a brain could be picked. what you did in class, who you hung out with, what kinda music you liked, where you worked. all things he’d then gone to study extensively. 

as he’s busy wallowing in self pity at the fact he’d probably never get to speak to you, his eye catches the front cover of the textbook geto was cradling, a colourful abstracted painter’s palette on a white background titled, ‘art, second edition. a visual history.’ 

“that a new thing you’re studying? haven’t seen you with that book before.” 

geto could say all he wanted about gojo and his less than stellar friendship qualities, but he had to admit the idiot was observant. 

“mhm, got it new from the professor last week, everyone’s been studying ’em like crazy for our upcoming exam.” 

hm. 

the next time satoru’s strolling through the university after basketball practice all sweaty and gross, the man stumbles over something and almost trips face first into the grass. 

“ah, fuck.” he mutters, steadying himself on a big tree beside him, flinging his head around so fast you’d think he’d get whiplash. 

over his shoulder, he spots the cause of his little trip, a thick looking book lying face down in the lush blades of green. 

he leans down to pick the thing up, wiping dirt off the cover before something clicks in his head.

art, second edition. a visual history. what geto was studying? 

he flicks through the pages, eventually landing on the front, which had a crisp log chart signed with just one name. 

[name] [last name], women’s dorm: 4 

fucking jackpot. 

you’re sat around your dorm just chilling out and painting when you hear three raps on your door.

knock knock knock. 

visitors right now? weird. 

you drop your brush into the water jar beside you, slip out from your desk, and fiddle with the knob pulling it back just to be met with the frattiest guy you think you’d ever seen. 

he’s tall, got tousled white hair topped with a backwards baseball cap, a tight white wife beater stretched around his chest, baggy skater jeans, jordan 4s, and simple silver jewelery littering his wrists, fingers, and neck. 

yikes, what did he want with you? 

“uh, hey. do y’ need anything?” you ask semi shyly, wiping your face which leaves a small streak of purple paint on your cheek. 

the big speech he had planned, the chivalrous toothy smile he had hidden behind his lips, both absolutely nowhere to be seen. 

this dummy can’t even reply. he just stands there staring at you like some poor excuse for a serial killer. 

“uhm...” you start to close the door comically slow, waiting for some sort of answer before the hinges on the door form a 180 and the lock clicks into place. 

satoru is still as stone, mental warfare exploding in his pea sized brain. 

fucking say something, satoru! 

“hi!” 

hi? fucking hi? 

“yeah, hi?” you reply, clearly growing more uncomfortable as this horribly cringe situation draws out. 

you watch as the mysterious man takes in a deep breath before putting forth his arm. in his grasp sits the art history textbook you were sure you left with utahime. 

“oh! thank you so much.” you nod, taking it from his hand only to be left tugging on it... the guy wouldn’t let go! 

“so can i... like, can i have it?” you deadpan, pulling on it again. the man lets go and pulls a hand down his chin in a clearly embarrassed fashion. 

satoru gojo wanted to die. he was sure as hell the demon lord was out to get him because what the actual fuck was he doing? 

lock in, satoru, you can do this. lock in. he reels in his brain, resorting to pep talks. he really was pathetic. 

another deep breath later and you finally manage to hear something coherent come from this tall weirdos mouth. 

“god, m’ really sorry. must be the weather,, huh?” he awkwardly laughs, rubbing the back of his neck while swaying back and forth on his feet nervously. what was becoming more and more obvious for satoru was that while he could swoon ladies into bed, it’d seem talking to them without intent to fuck was a little more difficult than he’d presumed.. 

“yep, must be the weather.” you purse your lips, trying your best not to cackle at the movie like awkwardness of all this. 

but you can’t help it... you start laughing right in this guy’s face. 

and if this wasn’t already going bad, gojo feels the heat in his cheeks triple when he hears that noise. beautiful, but definitely directed at him. and before he knows it, he’s laughing right along with you. 

“ah, jeez. i really am sorry.” he chuckles softly. “i really don’t know what i’m doing right now.” he admits, and like the angel you are, you just nod. 

“yeah, i can tell. who even are you? where did you find this?” you smile up at him. he’d better be thankful you were so laid back, any other girl would probably call the cops on an interaction like this. 

he laughs once more, “my name’s satoru, and uhm... it’s kind of a long story?” he rubs his neck again, peering down at you with a bashful look. 

“yeah? well i’ve got the rest of the afternoon. wanna come inside? i’ll make you tea or something. a reward for returning my book. without this thing i’m cooked for my history exam.” you look to him for an answer. 

what was it they said? all bad things come to an end or something? 

“i would love to.” the usually cocky guy smiles, feeling even more flushed than before. 

and with that, he’s being led inside a girl’s dorm, and not just any girl’s dorm, a girl he’s been plotting on for a good three weeks. 

not for sex, for tea.

hey, progress is progress! 

you sit him down on your small couch and he gawks at your room, he’d just entered every art kid’s dream studio. 

there were canvases stood up against every free wall, all shapes and sizes. you had blocks of wet clay and half finished sculptures sat in one corner, and a wall full of free hanging tubes of paint, every colour of the rainbow and their many accompanying hues. 

he already thought you were cool, but this took it to the next level. 

“you like?” he hears you ask from the small kitchenette. 

“hell yeah, your dorm is cool as fuck. my friend suguru would die for a setup like this.” he nods, watching fondly as you place one cup of tea in front of him on the coffee table. he never drinks tea, but if it was you offering, he thinks he’d drink sewer water. he takes a sip and pretends like the near boiling temperature didn’t just scorch his entire throat all nonchalantly. 

“suguru, huh? i know him. he’s in my class.” you nod, sitting beside him with your own cup. 

every ounce of confidence he’d worked up since that little blip at your door dissipated as soon as your butt hit the couch. damn you art majors and your lack of conservation, he thinks, remembering when him and suguru first met and the man had quite literally bear hugged him and decied they were best friends that night because satoru had a ‘nice vibe.’ he’s sure the man regrets that now, but that’s beside the point. 

“so, gonna tell me about my book? make it a good story, too.” you turn to face him, lounging back so effortlessly as you sip at your tea, waiting for the boy to start talking. 

he nods, sipping at his drink before clearing his throat. now was his time to swoon you, he could do this...

...do this he did not. in fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if you were to kick him out for being a stalker right then and there. 

instead of making up some cool, amazing story as to how he found out who you were and where he got the book, he’d spilled the beans on his little crush on you. 

every. little. detail. 

from the instagram to his ill intended walks home with geto, from the countless questions to him almost eating shit tripping over your book. satoru had put it alllll out into the open. 

and yet, to his surprise you weren’t staring at him like he’d killed your puppy, your hand wasn’t inching to grab your phone and dial 000, you were laughing. again.

that sweet sound he’d heard before now back in full force as he sits there mortified at the atrocities that spewed from his lips just moments ago. 

and just like before, he joins in. 

between heaves you’re able to get out a sentence. “so you’re telling me you’ve seen me at a party, stalked my instagram, decided you were in love with me, watched out for me after every single art class, and annoyed poor geto every day for nitpicks on me?” 

he’s shyly smiling, trying to let go of his embarrassment as best he could. “that’s uh... that’s pretty much it, yeah.” he cringes, nodding slowly as another puff of laughter comes from your throat. 

“and you just so happen to stumble across my book on campus? y’know what that sounds like to me?” 

“uh? what?” 

“fate.” you smile.

now it was his turn to huff out a laugh. 

“you believe in that shit?” 

“you don’t?” you retort.

that makes him think. the chronological stages of events were particularly convenient, and he’d fallen upon your book just when he was starting to give up hope...

“i guess you’re right.” 

“yeah, well i’m always right.” 

“that so?” he chuckles. somehow, in the half an hour in which he’s gotten to speak with you, he’d never felt more joy come out of a conversation and fill him with a sense of life.

you were just so calm. not only did you hear him out after that terrible first impression, but here you were serving him tea in your unfairly cool dorm in unfairly cool mugs with your unfairly cool composition. 

“so, if fate wants us to meet so badly, how about we meet again?” you riddle, interrupting his thoughts and causing his eyebrows to shoot up. 

did you just.. did she just ask me out? 

he thinks he could die happy right here in this very moment. take me god, i'm ready.

“like... like on a—” 

“—on a date. i’d like to meet you again, satoru. you’re kind of a weird freak.. but i like it.” you smile, offering him a wink as you sip your tea again. 

a weird freak.. the most degrading comment anyone’s ever been brave enough to give him, and instead he takes it as the biggest compliment in the history of compliments. 

“i would love to go out on a date with you.” 

“i know.” 

“do you just?” 

“told you, i know everything.” 

he laughs once more, shaking his head and looking down at his cup. as he looks back up, he notices the smudge of purple paint still there form before, and with a big surge of confidence he pulls his finger over the mark to wipe it away.

he watches as your eyes go all soft, your lips turning up into a very fond smile. "well, you're definitely cute. i'll give you that."

and the blush he thought he'd got rid of came back just as quick, painting his face in a light pink as he smiles back.

satoru gojo, a guy who once scoffed at the idea of dating was here blushing over a girl calling him cute.. living proof that someone can change for the right kind of person, and he was prepared to make all the sacrifices in the world if it meant seeing that beautiful smile permanently painted on your pretty face.

slept with: 47 

dated: 1

a/n i love and hate this guy he's so fun to write but i can't help but make him a pathetic loser </3

the fifth letter,

you are in no mood for games. very well. i am in no mood for them, either.

let me say it outright: there are moments brief, and increasingly frequent in which i reach for you without thought. this displeases me, i am not accustomed to such absence from you, nor restraint.

you have forced both upon me.

come home and shout at me. come home and fight with me. come home and break my heart, if you must. it has become yours only to break. just come home.

your husband, sukuna.

the next letter,

not even responding to my missives is ridiculous and beneath you and i hate it.

atleast inform me of your health.

ryomen sukuna

and then finally, your reply,

stop writing to me, at once. my wedded lord you have trespassed much and caused me such nuisance, it is quite enough now.

i am well. but do not pretend as if you may not already know that. you think i am not aware of my new lady’s maid keeping an eye on me, certainly appointed to report back to you?

consider it my generosity that i let her stay, and consider it my ignorance towards your repetitive letters for my lack of response.

if i receive any such scroll from you, i shall burn it.

signed, yours.

and his response,

surely if your lovely eyes may not grace my lowly epistles, then i shall speak freely.

to my most willful wife, you command me to cease, and yet you write at length. i had not realized i occupied you so thoroughly. as for your lady’s maid, you give me too much credit. if she watches you, it is because you are worth watching. i would hardly entrust such a task to another. although i cannot speak for what ways uraume employs to inform me on your health..

i have been told it is unbecoming to repeat oneself so, i will not ask you to return again. you may remain where you are, in whatever peace you have convinced yourself you prefer. i will not contest it.

and yet, i find myself wondering: why you will not come back of your own accord. have you no consideration, for your neglected husband?

the hand you force, your husband.

to my most theatric husband, you mistake response for preoccupation. do not flatter yourself, i write only to correct what you insist on misunderstanding.

as for being “worth watching,” you dress surveillance in pretty language, you always had a knack for that. for such sweet talk will not work on me, do not expect gratitude for it.

if your husband is neglected, perhaps he should consider why.

signed, your wife, unfortunately.

to my most contrary wife, “unfortunately,” and yet you take such care to sign it. i wonder if your hand hesitated at all.

as for your refusal of gratitude, keep it, i did not ask for it. you suggest your husband reflect on his neglect. i have. thoroughly. i apologize for everything, end this torment for me wife, for i can bear it no longer.

you insist my words hold no effect on you now. how curious, has distance made you bold, or merely forgetful? i recall a time not long past, when your resolve was far less reliable. how easily it would slip from you, how quickly your protests would soften when i would indulge you, a little more closely. 𓀐𓂸

have you truly forgotten? or are you simply daring me to remind you?

very well. do not worry, i will remind you, not behind these papers this time. consider that a courtesy, one last chance to brace yourself or do you prefer to test me?

i would find it entertaining, either way.

your lord and husband, R.S.

my lord, you are most unfair!

do not be naughty, ryomen. i warn you, what you speak of this “reminder” it is highly improper. and what if someone else were to see it? consider your poor wife’s reputation!

your teasing is relentless, and i am most vexed. you threaten of your arrival, yet remain absent, perhaps one day, your threats will find action..though i dare not hope it too loudly.

if you intend to test my resolve, i suggest you waste no more time. come, then, and take me with you, lest i change my mind.

apology accepted, your wife.

a shorter note, in refined handwriting,

lord ryomen sukuna will be arriving soon.

his subject, uraume.

firefly; this is probably my first fic where i have worked SO hard on formatting it, i hope you guys enjoy ❀ུ͏  

inspo: by cardan’s letters to jude from the folk of the air series.

“God, you’re so greedy,” he growls between your mouths, his hands making quick work of the thin material of your garments, reeling in some of his self control to stop himself from tearing them right off you. His large hands work with a frantic, almost needy lack of coordination, leaving your clothes in a heap on the floor. His eyes don't know where to look, flickering from your breasts down to cunt, watching as he squeeze your thighs together.

Varka looks ruined from the mere sight of you, lashes fluttering, his pupils blown out wide, almost completely swallowing the blue of his irises. Without a warning he hooks his hands under your thighs, hoisting you up like you weigh nothing as he takes three long strides towards the wooden tactical table nudged in the corner of his tent. Maps and inkwells scatter and tumble onto the floor as he clears it, pressing you down against it with a heavy huff. His breathing is ragged and you can tell his self control is slipping from his grasp. He shoves your legs wide, his knee forcing it's way between your thighs to keep you spread open for him, groaning when he catches sight of your glistening cunt clenching around nothing.

“Look at you, so needy,” he murmurs, his words rough against his throat. Varka makes quick work of his belt buckle and shoves his pants down just far enough so he can reach into his boxers and take out his cock. He leans over you, letting you sling your arms around his broad and muscled shoulders as he nudges his cock—swollen, thick, and glistening with a needy bead of precum at the head — against your entrance, his entire frame trembling with the effort to not simply lose control right then and there.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he lets out a hoarse groan. You've got nowhere to go, forced to remain pliant in his hold as he glides his cock through your folds, letting your wetness coat him. He's huge, hard and aching, the head of his cock throbbing each time he watches your clit.

"Fuck," he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut. "You and this goddamn cunt."

His breath is a hot, humid exhale against your ear, smelling of woodsmoke and the sweetness of the wine you shared earlier. Every muscle in his massive frame is coiled like a spring, his abs and biceps rippling with a sharp, involuntary force that he can't seem to throttle.

"Just the tip," you gasp when you feel him nudging at your entrance, your fingers digging into the thick muscle of his shoulders. "Varka, please—just the tip."

He lets out something that doesn't even sound remotely close to an apology, but rather a sharp, guttural moan that rumbles from deep in his chest, sounding more like pain than pleasure. He’s pussy-drunk and he hasn't even tucked you yet, but the feeling of your warm cunt clenching around the tip of his cock already has him looking ruined and desperate. The sight of your pussy —wet, swollen, and glistening under the lantern light with a mixture of your arousal and his —is a drug that has stripped him of his patience and pride.

"I can't," he whimpers against your skin as his hips rut forward. "God, you're so fucking beautiful, I—I can't stop."

He tries to listen. He tries to control himself. He really does. For a heartbeat, he just breathes you in—the scent of your skin, the salt of your sweat, and the heavy, greedy scent of need pouring off of both of your bodies. But then you clench around just the tip of him, a soft, fluttering invitation, and Varka finally loses the war.

His hips jolt forward with a sudden sharp jerk. He doesn't just push inside, he buries himself, the entirety of his massive, rigid length driving home in one long, devastating stroke that positively knocks the air that his mouth once stolen right from your lungs. The table groans and slides an inch across the dirt floor under the sheer force of his thrust.

"Varka, ngh!"

"Fuck—fuck, I'm sorry," he nearly sobs, his face twisting in pleasure as he feels your walls clench and stretch to accommodate him. You're warmer than he remembers, tight and snug around him, your cunt drooling, making a mess of the table beneath you. He’s deep, deeper than he should be, his balls grinding against you as he fills you past the point of saturation. "You're so tight, baby—you're taking me so fucking well, I—"

He starts to move, his rhythm messy and frantic. He’s devouring you, mind, body and soul — his mouth finding yours again in a searing kiss, ensuring that every one of your moans land right on his tongue as you sob out your need. He can feel you leaking down the length of him, soaking the table, making a mess and it fills him with a jostle of pride knowing he was the only man who could get you this wet and needy. Every pulse of your pussy is another nail in his coffin, another reason for him to lose his mind.

"Look at me," he growls when your head falls back with a particularly loud moan, his voice a wrecked octave that barely scrapes past his throat as his hips continue to pat pat pat, driving his cock into you. "Do you want the whole camp to hear us? Want to wake up my soldiers and have them realize you're getting fucked nice and dirty?"

You vigorously shake your head, your nails dragging down the massive expansive of his back, trying to grasp at anything to keep you grounded as Varka fucks you. It's nasty and mean and sweaty but you wouldn't want it any other way. Two thick digits circle your lips before he pushes them inside, pressing down on your tongue.

"Attagirl."

It was such a stark contrast that you were left reeling. Six months into your marriage, reality bore little resemblance to the life you had once imagined.

You had once thought your home with Zayne would be warm with laughter, shared meals, and soft conversations lingering late into the night—a place that breathed with comfort simply because the two of you were in it together.

Instead, the halls of the grand mansion granted by the emperor were cold—spacious, immaculate, and lonely.

“My lady, here.”

The voice startled you out of your daydream, snapping you back to focus as your handmaiden, Yvonne, wrapped the shawl around you.

Oh, right. Today you were accompanying your lord husband for his audience with the emperor.

. . .

The journey to the palace was smooth. You sat demurely within your palanquin, lulled by the steady rhythm of the horses’ steps. Now and then, Zayne’s voice carried through the air as he issued clipped commands to his troops.

And before you knew it, your entourage had arrived at the royal palace. The palanquin doors swung open, and the first thing you saw was your husband’s stoic expression.

“My lady,” he muttered, grayish hazel eyes stern, offering his hand to you to assist you out.

Your heart pricked at the sight before you. Zayne had always been steadfast—but before all this, he was never rigidly formal with you like this.

“One day… I will become the greatest general in the land. Will you wait for me until then?”

The memory rose then: a younger Zayne, red-faced, thrusting a jasmine flower into your hands as he stumbled through his confession. It made your chest ache even more.

The things he saw in the wars turned him into this version before you, you believed. Maybe, to him now, the tenderness you once shared during your childhood no longer held any meaning at all.

You took his hand.

“Thank you, my lord,” you replied with equal stiffness, gripping his hand. You didn’t dare look at him while he led you forward.

Yet you still took comfort in one thing—his hold over your hand never wavered, not even as the two of you came to stand before the emperor himself. It was only when he had to let go of you that he did.

“What a pleasing sight it is to see you, Lord of Anlan!”

The emperor was headstrong yet a jolly individual. From his elevated dais, he greeted the two of you with open warmth. Zayne answered with a restrained bow, and you quickly followed his lead.

The emperor’s attention then shifted to you. “And I trust the Lady of Anlan has been well?”

“I am well, Your Majesty,” you replied, fixing a polite smile in place. “Thank you.”

However, you had a feeling that the emperor didn’t actually care about you at all, as the way his sharp gaze lingered on you sent an uncomfortable chill down your spine each time.

He soon turned his attention back to Zayne, and the two spoke at length about matters concerning the fief. Then—

“Is something troubling you, Your Majesty?” Zayne asked, putting on a mask of a concerned subject.

“Oh, yes—yes,” the emperor said with a faux chuckle. “There is something that has been bothering me...”

“And what might that be?”

“Well, the princess royal is still in search of a husband. It’s giving me a headache as she insists on someone just like you… It’s such a pity you turned down my proposal back then, Lord of Anlan...”

You could feel his hot stare on you, and he continued, “Had you accepted the princess’ hand, you would be part of the royal family by now.”

You clenched your fists. It was not the first time this had been mentioned, and each time it was brought up, it always left a bitter taste in your mouth. Zayne had indeed refused a royal marriage decree and chosen you instead—but did he somehow regret that choice that it left him cold and distant to you all this time?

If so… why hadn’t he broken off his betrothal with you back then?

. . .

By the emperor’s command, both you and Zayne were to remain in Yunshao for a time—residing within the imperial palace itself.

The two of you were showed to your temporary chambers, and the moment you stepped inside, you let out a sigh. Behind you, Zayne paused, noticing your weariness.

“Are you tired?” he asked.

You opened your mouth to answer, but the words halted. And in that hesitation, something in your expression must have betrayed you.

“You look unwell,” he observed, tone thoughtful. “If the travel has strained you, I will have the physician summoned.”

“That isn’t necessary,” you replied quickly. “I am fine.”

The silence stretched. He was watching you—not coldly, not warmly either, simply assessing. Then, as if deciding something, he spoke again.

“I will be entertaining the princess royal shortly,” Zayne said, his voice returning to that familiar, careful neutrality. “Her Highness has arranged for it. It would be improper to refuse.”

The princess, again. The woman who had once sought him as a husband never seemed to miss an opportunity to summon him whenever he was within palace walls. Lowering your gaze, you were silently irked.

“Do you… have to go?” You asked before you could stop yourself.

“Yes.”

A default, logical answer. You had expected this but somehow your heart still hurt regardless.

“I see,” you murmured, the words felt hollow even to your own ears.

Zayne didn't linger. As he turned and walked toward the door, his steps were quiet.

And the space between you suddenly felt wider than the vast halls outside your door.

The palace was a world of its own—lavish courtyards, lotus ponds glimmering beneath carved bridges. Servants moved like shadows, each bowing, each whispering, each watching.

Yet none of those gazes ever lingered on you for long.

You were the Lady of Anlan, yes—but not a lady of imperial blood. In a place where lineage was currency, you were a mere general’s wife. Polite smiles were given, greetings exchanged, but you passed through the palace halls like a quiet breeze.

Zayne, meanwhile, was constantly summoned—councils, briefings, private audiences. You saw him only at night, and even then not much that could be talked about.

And so, you learned to occupy yourself quietly. Reading beneath shaded pavilions. Feeding the koi in still waters. Watching the sky shift from pale gold to indigo behind tiled rooftops.

It was during one such day that the palace stirred with unusual excitement—an envoy had arrived from Zhaole.

It was Zhaole’s prince himself who had come to negotiate trade routes. You paid it little mind at first as foreign politics had nothing to do with you... until you were summoned to attend the audience.

You stood at your designated place within the grand hall, slightly behind and to the right of Zayne, when the doors opened.

“His Highness, Prince Rafayel of Zhaole, has arrived!”

Silk banners bearing unfamiliar insignias unfurled as the entourage entered. At its center walked a man whose presence seemed to bend the air around him.

Prince Rafayel was clad in white robes embroidered with cerulean and gold-threaded waves, the fabric flowing like water with every step. His long purple hair and porcelain-like skin were striking. Exceptionally refined and handsome. There was something artful about him, like a masterpiece aware of its own beauty.

His eyes swept across the hall lazily at first—measuring ministers, skimming over the servants—

And then they stopped. On you.

For a fleeting second, you wondered if you were mistaken. But no—his gaze sharpened, as though he had found something unexpectedly intriguing among a sea of expected faces.

And a second later, he smiled—at you, before he resumed his walk.

The prince came to a halt before the dais and offered a bow for the emperor.

“I bring greetings from Zhaole,” he said smoothly, his voice clear as a plucked string. “I am Rafayel. I trust Yunshao’s hospitality will not disappoint.”

The emperor responded with booming warmth, welcoming him to the court. Formalities were exchanged. Polite laughter followed.

But you would never expect what would he do next.

As the formal greetings concluded, Rafayel’s gaze suddenly shifted towards where you stood beside Zayne.

“My apologies,” Rafayel said lightly, tilting his head with deliberate curiosity. “I do not believe I have been introduced to the lady standing beside the esteemed Lord of Anlan.”

The hall grew quieter. You felt Zayne’s posture stiffen imperceptibly, and you—caught beneath the weight of the prince’s attention—found yourself momentarily at a loss.

The emperor chuckled. “Ah... that is the Lady of Anlan.”

Rafayel stepped forward, not too close to breach decorum, but close enough for both your and your husband’s discomfort.

Up close, his smile softened, eyes gleaming faintly.

“Oh, Lady of Anlan...” he repeated, as though tasting the title. Then, inclining his head toward you in a gesture that was respectful, yet strangely personal, he said, “It is a pleasure, madam.”

And that was how you went from being overlooked to the subject of every whisper within the imperial palace.

“Hey… did you see what happened earlier?”

That evening, the palace held a banquet in honor of Zhaole’s prince.

The grand hall was transformed beneath the glow of lanterns. Music drifted softly through the air, accompanied by the quiet murmur of noble voices and the occasional ripple of laughter.

“The imperial prince of Zhaole— he specifically greeted the Lady of Anlan!”

And yet, Zayne wasn’t amused in the slightest.

It was one thing for his wife to become the subject of palace whispers—that alone was enough to draw attention he did not welcome. But it was another thing entirely to realize that his wife had caught the interest of a royal prince.

Zayne didn’t show it openly. His expression remained as composed as ever, but throughout the night, the faint crease between his brows lingered longer than usual, and his gaze would settle on you often.

It was most probably nothing, he told himself. A passing curiosity. A prince’s fleeting amusement in a foreign court.

Across the hall, you stood beneath the lanternlight—radiant without trying. You, his childhood sweetheart, had always been a dear to him.

After he was done conversing with an official, he made his way towards you.

“My lady,” he greeted quietly. You jolted at the sound of his voice, turning to face him.

“My lord,” you replied.

Once, you had called his name freely, whenever you wanted. You would tug at his sleeve, demanded his attention, laughed without restraint. Zayne didn’t like this formality between you, honestly.

“Take a respite if you are tired,” he said then, mostly out of concern. “You have always disliked attending banquets.”

You let out a quiet sigh. “And you have always endured these far better than I ever could.”

When had your relationship become this strained? There had been no single argument that shattered everything. No cruel words spoken in anger that could not be taken back.

Only distance. Distance that crept in so quietly neither of you had noticed until it was already too late.

Zayne inhaled slowly. He didn’t want to say it, but he couldn’t remain silent either— and so he did:

“…Don’t get too close to the Prince of Zhaole.”

You frowned faintly, seemingly not taking his words well. “What are you implying?”

“I am saying,” he began slowly, “that you should not allow his attention to draw you in.”

However, contrary to your usually docile demeanor, your expression hardened immediately.

“I’m not so naive.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

For a moment, you simply stared at him. And then, you pulled back slightly, your chin lifting. “You speak as though I’m incapable of judging character for myself.”

That was not what Zayne was getting at at all, but you were already irate. “I don’t—”

“You entertain the princess, a woman who tried to make you her husband,” you went on, eyes sharp. “So tell me, why is it acceptable for you… but not me?”

Zayne held your gaze. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The music swelled faintly around you, but the air around you felt cold.

There was a lot he wanted to say. That you were not meant for another man’s curiosity. That you are reserved for him only. That to him, you were precious more than anything.

But he knew better than to say it aloud, because you already looked at him with resentment.

“Take care of yourself.” He finally left you with those parting words.

He had never been a man of excessive affection or one to indulge in sweet words. Love, he believed, was best proven through stability, protection—through ensuring that you would never lack comfort nor security.

“Lord Zayne!”

But to give you everything, he was bound to give himself to his duties first.

Zayne held back a sigh and turned towards the voice—the princess royal, a vivacious woman trying to attract his attention, and forced a straight face.

“Your Highness,” he greeted evenly.

His fingers tightened around the stem of his cup, the cool porcelain grounding him.

. . .

While the banquet was lively, the laughter felt distant, the lanternlight a little too bright against your tired eyes. After the argument with your husband, you were honestly considering to retire for the night.

Your chest still felt tight.

It felt like an ache you could not soothe, because you honestly had enough of everything in this marriage. You wanted a husband who was present, not just dutiful— and Zayne wasn’t really fulfilling what you really desired.

You exhaled quietly, intent on leaving the grand hall behind. However—

“My lady.”

You were stopped in your tracks. The velvety voice came from your right. You turned.

Prince Rafayel stood nearby, dressed in darker robes of burgundy, the candlelight catching in the gold embroidery. Up close, his gaze was as intent as it had been earlier—unabashed in its attention.

He inclined his head politely, lips curved in a bright smile. “I trust the palace has been treating you well.”

You lowered your gaze in courtesy, once again bewildered by his presence before you. “His Majesty’s hospitality is generous. I lack for nothing.”

“Is that so?” he questioned lightly, “Is it just my imagination then... that you don’t seem particularly fond of it?”

The comment caught you off guard. You looked up at him, startled. His expression softened, as though aware he had stepped too close to something unheard of.

“Forgive me,” he said, lowering his tone. “It’s merely an observation. I suppose when one’s husband appears to be too close to a certain princess, you’re bound not to enjoy the evening.”

His gaze flickered across the hall, and you instinctively followed his line of sight only to see your husband with the no-nonsense princess, ever composed and attentive. You looked away.

“They say the Lord of Anlan is unmatched in the battlefield,” Rafayel began idly. “That he drove back the pirates without mercy and won the Emperor’s favor through sheer merit alone.”

“Yes,” you said softly. “He did.”

Rafayel glanced back at you, studying your expression.

“They also say,” he continued, “that he governs Anlan with fairness. That the people trust him. That he is a man who does not bend easily, nor does he offer himself cheaply to gain favor.”

Everything he said was true. Zayne was always steadfast. Honorable. Respectful. He had always been that way—even as a boy.

“Yes,” you admitted quietly, a smile slowly forming in your lips. “He is.”

Rafayel watched you for a moment longer, as though weighing something. Then, he reached for a nearby tray and lifted a cup of sweetened wine, offering it towards you.

“While all of them might be true, even the greatest man does not stand alone. Behind him is a woman just as remarkable. You must not diminish yourself beside him, my lady.”

Your breath stilled. An imperial prince was telling you that you were worth more than what you thought you were.

“You may not be a princess,” Rafayel continued, his voice warm but certain, “but you are in no way lesser. Everyone here knows it to be true—or at least, I do.”

Your cheeks flushed from the heat and flattery. “Your Highness... Thank you for your kind words.”

Prince Rafayel’s gaze held yours with quiet sincerity, still smiling. Your fingers closed around the cup before you could think better of it.

“And right now, you are far too lovely to spend the evening looking as though the world has wronged you.”

You let out a small breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and raised the cup to your lips.

The wine was sweet. Warmer than you expected, and the slight bitterness loosening something tight within you.

“Yes, just like that... chin up, my lady. The lanterns favor you better that way.”

You hadn’t realized how much you needed it.

Rafayel said nothing more, merely gesturing lightly when another tray passed. And when your cup emptied, another found its place in your hand.

And then another.

The warmth spread slowly through your limbs, softening the sharp edges of the evening. The distant laughter no longer felt so piercing. The ache in your chest dulled, and replaced by a fleeing sensation and your own laughter.

You drank, and drank... perhaps more than you should have.

But for the first time that night—

It became easier not to look across the hall.

At some point, Zayne realized he had not seen you in a while.

The moment he found a lull in his conversation with the princess, he excused himself at the first opportunity. His eyes swept the grand hall, but you were nowhere among them.

A faint unease settled into his chest, until he passed by his personal guard—

“My lord,” he bowed slightly.

“Did you see the lady?”

“I believe the Prince of Zhaole was seen escorting Her Ladyship out to the western terrace.”

Zayne’s eyes hardened. He immediately made his way towards the said terrace. He found you at last—

And Prince Rafayel stood beside you, too close for his liking.

“My lady, are you sure you’re fine?”

And you—

“Am fine! I’m fine!”

Your hand rested against the stone railing, posture swaying, your cheeks flushed and gaze watery. Flash of anger immediately filled Zayne’s sense at the sight.

Rafayel noticed him first and he turned to him courteously.

“Lord of Anlan,” the prince greeted smoothly, his expression calm. “I was merely keeping your lady company. It seemed the evening had become tiring for her.”

Zayne moved past the prince, taking big strides without acknowledging him.

“…My lord husband?” you murmured, voice soft when your eyes finally landed on him. Zayne immediately reached for you.

“Y/N,” he whispered in your ear, trying to ground you. But you staggered and crashed into his chest. His jaw tightened as he pulled you into his embrace.

That accursed prince had seen you like this.

“I shall take my wife back,” he said through gritted teeth.

Rafayel inclined his head with easy grace, putting on an easy smile. “Of course.”

Zayne put his arm around your shoulder, steadying you. You leaned into him instinctively as he led you through the quiet corridors, away from the prying eyes.

By the time you reached your chambers, your steps had grown even more unsteady. He guided you inside carefully, dismissing the servants with a glance before they could speak.

Your husband sat you gently on the edge of the bed, meanwhile you were still trying to get your bearings, blinking slowly.

“Are you alright? Do you feel dizzy?” Zayne asked, unable to conceal the worry in his voice. His hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing lightly against your warm skin, frowning deep. “I’ll get you some water.”

Your gaze followed his every movement as he crossed the room and poured water into a cup. He knelt before you again once he was done, holding the cup carefully toward your lips.

“Drink,” he coaxed gently.

You stared at cup of water. Then at his hand. Then at him.

Then, with clumsy defiance, you pushed the cup away. Splash!

Water sloshed over the rim, spilling onto his robe and the floor below. Zayne froze.

However, not caring about it at the slightest, you raised your hand abruptly, your finger pointing at him—

“You terrible, detestable, wicked—”

You might be slurring, but your eyes burned with clarity as you spew profanities at him:

“—husband!”

The last word left your lips and you slumped. Throughout the years you had been with him, Zayne had never seen you so openly wounded like this. He stared at you, at a loss of words.

You swayed where you sat, your arm falling limply back to your side.

“Yvonne said I’m pretty,” Your nose scrunched faintly as you sniffled. “My maids said I’m pretty too...”

Zayne tried to reach for you again, but you refuted his touch.

“And Prince Rafayel—” you continued, sounding borderline delirious, “He said I’m no less than a princess... So why—”

Your lashes were wet, tears blurring your vision, and your lips trembled as you glanced up at him:

“—am I not enough for you?”

The question pierced him cleanly. Zayne felt something twist inside his chest at the sight of you. He knew that with everything that had happened, you were bound to resent him. But he had loved you... still loved you even at right this moment.

He closed the distance between you then, gently and firmly taking your face in his hands before you could turn away again.

“Enough?” His voice dropped, dangerously close to breaking. His hazel eyes searched yours as if trying to carve the truth directly into your heart. “You are... You are more than enough.”

His thumb brushed away the tear that fell down your cheek. Something flickered across his expression— the hurt, but when his eyes shifted to your lips, it was replaced by something far more possessive.

“And you— must only look... at me.”

And then, Zayne crashed his lips into yours with fervor. One hand on your waist, he pulled you flush against him. The taste of salt lingered between you, your tears mingling with the heat of his mouth.

“Mmm...” You gasped into the kiss, fingers instinctively clutching at his robe—still damp from the water you had spilled.

He softened only slightly then, angling his head, kissing you slower but deeper. His thumb traced along your jaw, coaxing you to respond, to open for him. And when your lips parted for him, he groaned, before inserting his tongue to tangle with yours.

Each kiss lingered, pressed harder—until you melted into breathless sighs against his mouth.

When Zayne finally pulled back, his grayish hazel gaze held yours with such intensity that made it impossible to look away.

“You are more than enough,” he repeated, voice hoarse. “You undo me.”

His hand slid to your cheek again, gentler now, almost reverent.

“And if I have failed to show you that, then that’s my failing.”

You were half-conscious and all thoughts emptied from your head, spellbound by the restrained desire in your husband’s look.

His thumb traced your lower lip, swollen from his kisses. “Don’t measure yourself against another man’s gaze.”

He would show you how you meant to him, he vowed.

“For mine has never left you.”

. . .

Six months into marriage, and you had learnt that your husband wasn’t as gentle as he looked in marital bed.

With practiced fingers, he worked fast on the laces of your robes as he guided you to the said bed. He kissed the path from your lips to your throat, nipping at your skin— and at the same time, he palmed your breasts, his thumb brushing over your nipples in slow, deliberate circles until it tightened beneath his touch, sending a sharp, aching warmth through you.

“Zayne...” you gasped, arching to his touch.

“Tell me what you want, wife,” he growled against your ear, flicking your nipple in the process, making you squirm. “Tell me.”

Words failed you as his kisses grazed your collarbone, leaving love bites there. He followed the path from your shoulder— and you were in for a ride when he took your erect nipple into his mouth, sucking hard.

A cry slipped from your lips, your nails digging into his hair. The sensation was overwhelming—heat pooling low in your belly, your breath coming in uneven gasps as your husband shamelessly suckling you.

“Ahh, mmrgh…”

He held you firmly, feeling every tremor running through your body. But suddenly, he lifted his head, lips glistening and eyes dark with lust, gazing straight at you. “I want to hear you first.”

“I...” your breath hitched, swallowing the shame. “I want your... mouth.”

“Beg.”

You fingers curling weakly against the sheets. “Your mouth, please—” you breathed out, heat blazing on face, “all over me.”

His lips quirked into a satisfied smile. “As you wish, my lady.”

And with that, Zayne moved to the other breast, giving it the same devoted attention, his sinful tongue swirling before he bit down gently on the flesh.

“Mmngh!” you moaned, head falling to the pillows. His mouth was relentless, and true to his word to fulfill your desire, your husband made sure you were sated with his mouth first.

He rained hot, open-mouthed kisses throughout your chest and abdomen next, and stopped just below your navel, dark eyes clouded with predatory haze.

The thought that he very much could get you swollen with his child after this night was through made himself hard. If his seed were to take hold within you tonight— even Prince Rafayel would know better.

His hand tightened at your waist, his lips pressing into the softness of your folds—and a second later, lapping at it like a man in throes of hunger. You gasped, grasping his hair, as he devoured you down there.

And in no time at all, your lord husband made you come on his tongue.

“Ah—aaah...” Your thighs trembled around him as pleasure washed through you.

He is cruel... You were hazy with drunken lust and tears, but you no longer cared enough to resist.

“Stop…” you whimpered. “Just… make love to me already…”

Your husband’s stern, hazel eyes turned to you, slightly widened at your bold plea. “Is that truly what my lady wishes?”

You glared at him. “Yes.”

And he honored your wish without hesitation. Zayne rose, shedding his garments with swift movements. His magnificent length sprang free, thick and hard, his hand closing around it as he stroked himself slowly—his eyes never leaving yours.

Your lord husband is very, very tantalizing, indeed...

He moved over you, settling his hips between your thighs. One hand wrapped around himself as he dragged his length slowly through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. He pressed against your entrance, the tip nudging there before he stilled, dark eyes once again confirming yours.

“Are you ready to take me, wife?”

You wrapped your legs around his torso, pulling him closer. “Please, Zayne— now.”

And with that, he pushed himself into you. You writhed, broken gasps spilling out of you—the way he stretched you was perfect, sinking into you slowly, making you feel every inch of himself.

Zayne grounded you by resting his forehead against yours, groaning into your mouth like a beast in heat. “Perfect,” he choked out.

When he began to move, you lost all your wits altogether. His thrusts were slow at first, each one reaching inside you impossibly deep— “Ah, ah...!”

But the rhythm did not stay gentle for long. It grew steadier, more insistent and faster. The lewd sound of skin slapping resounded in the room, your breathless moans mingled with his harsh grunts.

“Look at me,” Zayne commanded, voice rough. His hand came to your chin, turning your face toward him. “Look at your husband.”

You forced your eyes open, meeting his captivating gaze. In that fleeting instant, you thought you saw everything reflected there—lust, the aching need to be closer than flesh could allow, love.

He adjusted his angle, and suddenly struck that one spot that made you cry out. “T-there!”

A low growl rumbled from his chest as he aimed for that spot again, and again, relentless in his pursuit. Your vision blurred, your cries filling the room, clutching his shoulder helplessly as his unforgiving fingers found your clit—circling and rubbing it, driving you closer and closer to the brink.

And a second later, pleasure crashed through you without mercy. Your walls clenched around his girth, and the feeling of how you pulsed around him pulled a rough sound from his throat, making him lose his control at last.

He thrusted deep one last time, burying himself to the hilt as ropes of his cum filling your womb— sowing a part of himself in you.

The first thing you noticed when your eyes fluttered open was the warmth.

Soft, steady warmth wrapped around you, and golden sunlight filtered through the window, spilling across the bed in beams. For a moment, you simply lay there, suspended between sleep and waking, your body heavy.

Then you became aware of something else. An arm draped securely around your waist—

Your breath caught as the memories of the night before flickered faintly at the edges of your mind.

Last night, you and Zayne were...

You unwittingly let out a gasp, and your voice woke your husband.

Behind you, Zayne stirred. His hold tightened instinctively for a second, as though even half-asleep he refused to let you slip away. A low murmur brushed against your ear—

“…You’re awake.”

His thick voice sent a faint shiver down your spine. You slowly turned in his arms.

You were greeted with his beautiful face. The familiar line of his jaw. The faint crease between his brows as sleep gradually left him. The dark grayish hazel of his eyes as they focused fully on you.

It had been so long since he was in your bed. Long enough that waking up like this—tangled together, bare beneath the sheets, his warmth still wrapped around you—felt almost unreal.

Your lips parted, but no words came. Instead, your eyes grew glassy, emotion rising too quickly for you to contain. The sight of him made your chest ache.

“Y/N?” he asked quietly, catching your forlorn expression. A realization dawned on him—

His arm loosened at once, withdrawing from your waist as though your skin burned him. He shifted back, putting a small distance between your bodies.

“I won’t touch you again,” he said, voice steady, the spark in his eyes dimmed. “If last night was… a mistake in your eyes, then it will not happen again. I give you my word.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. After enduring days and nights of feeling unwanted, to experiencing the most exalting night in your life— only for him to spew this nonsense—

“You stupid, stupid lord!”

Before he could react, you seized the nearest bolster and smacked it against him. Zayne blinked, completely caught off guard as you struck him again.

He instinctively grabbed the sheets to cover himself, trying to shield his face from your assault. “Wife—”

“How dare you—!” you snapped, hitting him again. “You have ignored me for literal months, always busy with that damn princess, and then bedded me— only to say that?!”

Another blow landed against his shoulder.

For a man who commanded armies and terrified courtiers with a glance, Zayne looked utterly defenseless as you continued your attack, his hair disheveled, sheets barely clutched around his waist.

“You’re awful!” you continued, your voice trembling now for an entirely different reason. “I thought—”

Your arm faltered mid-swing, your grip on the bolster loosened. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” you choked out, the first of your tears falling.

The way you teared up made Zayne’s expression change instantly. He moved before you could turn away, his hands found your wrists, drawing you closer despite the awkward tangle of sheets between you.

“How could I not want you?” His thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching the tear there. “Marrying you… has been my goal from the very beginning.”

Your breath hitched. The memory of that spring replayed in your mind’s eye once again: “One day… I will become the greatest general in the land. Will you wait for me until then?”

Zayne’s jaw tightened in regret as he pulled you into his embrace.

“But apparently it was just the start, not the end. After our wedding, I thought that my duty next is to ensure you never have to want for anything. That if I build enough stability… enough wealth, then you would never feel lacking. And in doing so, I neglect something far more important.”

His other hand rose to cradle your cheek fully now. You found his steadfast gaze.

“You.”

Zayne leaned his forehead lightly against yours.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and this time there was no pride left in his voice. “I should have treated you better. I should have been beside you more. Not just as your husband in name—but in truth.”

“You’re so silly.” You stared at him through your tears, poking his chest. “All this time… you thought I only needed wealth? Security?” Your fingers curled slightly in the fabric of the sheets between you. “I was right here, and yet you strayed so far away.”

If being silly was what would get you with him, then so be it. Zayne’s eyes softened in a way few people would ever be allowed to see.

“The girl who chased fireflies with me in the jasmine fields…” he smiled despite himself, picturing the little you who were always full of laughter for him. “When I asked her to wait for me, I also vowed that I would never let her experience any hardships in life once she came to be with me...”

You shook your head immediately, your hand sliding higher, resting over his heart firmly.

“I wanted to marry Zayne,” you said, looking at him with a frown. “Not the Lord of Anlan.”

Something in his expression broke then—not painfully, but like frost melting beneath the first warmth of spring.

His forehead rested against yours once more, his eyes closing as though savoring the closeness he had denied himself for far too long. His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, and in that touch was his love for you.

“And you did,” he whispered. “You married a man who has loved you long before he ever became anything else.”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I can’t prolong my stay within the imperial palace any further. My wife wishes to return home, and I don’t have it in me to deny her.”

Zayne’s voice was calm and unwavering as he stood before the throne, posture straight and expression composed, facing the ruler of the land himself.

“As for the princess… I am certain a worthy match will present himself in due time. So I humbly ask that Your Majesty refrain from summoning me again for this matter.”

The emperor scoffed, seeing the two of you off with thinly veiled exasperation, but this time, Zayne didn’t bend, nor did he seem troubled by the emperor’s displeasure.

He had chosen you, and from now on, he would continue to do so.

. . .

Preparations for your departure followed swiftly. Your servants and handmaidens moved with practiced efficiency, gathering belongings and readying the palanquin. Yet their eyes lingered, subtle curiosity passing between them as they noticed the unmistakable change.

“Have you seen them?”

“His Lordship hasn’t left her side once.”

“I’ve never seen him look at her like that before…”

Their voices carried in hushed murmurs, behind sleeves and lowered gazes, and you pretended not to hear, only greeted them with the brightest of smiles.

When the time came to board the palanquin, Zayne turned to you and offered his hand openly, a faint, reserved smile resting upon his lips—one meant only for you.

The servants fell into stunned silence as you placed your hand in his, in awe at the picturesque sight of their dashing lord and beautiful lady. It was a simple gesture, one they had witnessed countless times before.

But this time, there was clearly something different in the air.

He helped you into the palanquin carefully, his hold steady—as though you were something precious. And this time, he didn’t ride the horse, but went inside along with you.

“…I think they’ve reconciled, at last,” one handmaiden murmured softly.

“It’s about time,” the lord’s personal guard sighed.

A heartfelt smile appeared on Yvonne’s face. “Ohh, I’m glad!”

And truly, they all were.

They had always admired him—their stern, unyielding lord, a man of discipline and honor.

And they cherished you—the general’s lady, whose kindness had touched every corner of Anlan.

To see the two of you now, no longer separated by silence but standing side by side as husband and wife… It felt like watching the very first blossom of spring unfurl after winter.

“darling, what are you doing?” he asks, his tone laced with warning. you know how much he cares about his work, but you also know how little he can resist you.

you take full advantage of that knowledge when your hands glide up the insides of his muscled thighs.  

“i'm taking care of you.” you flash him an innocent smile as your hands spread his legs apart before climbing higher to unbuckle his belt.

a large hand grabs your wrist, stalling your movements. “i’m on a call,” nanami protests. though it hardly seems like he means it considering he still loosens his grip and lifts his hips for you, allowing you to slide his pants down just enough to free his already stiff cock. 

you look up at him as you wrap a hand gently around his base, your tongue lolling out to give the flushed head a few kitten licks. tongue swiping along that little slit, you can taste the salty precum that’s already been dribbling out as nanami grunts softly above you.

a heavy palm comes to rest atop your head, a sign of his approval and a silent urge to continue.

you drag your tongue up the underside of his length, trailing along the bulging vein that makes him twitch in your grasp. he's always been so sensitive.

opening wider you take him into your hot mouth, little by little, breathing steady through your nose until you feel his tip hit the back of your throat. your lashes flutter and you look up at him with those pleading eyes, all glossy and desperate before you slowly pull yourself off of him with a soft pop!

you're stroking him lazily, your grip just light enough for nanami to roll his hips, trying to get more from you. but you don't give him anything else. just sit there teasing him, swiping your thumb along his slit every few pumps because you know that drives him crazy.

and you can see his composure slipping.

“want me to keep going, kenny?” you coo, giving him a light squeeze.

he sucks in a breath, eyelids fluttering as his words escape him with a sigh, “yes, sweets, keep going.”

“and after your meeting? what then?”

“i’m all yours, darling,” nanami groans, his voice strained as you tap the tip of his cock against your tongue.

“promise?” 

“promise—” nanami’s barely able to get the word out before you’re wrapping your lips around him again and burying his cock in your throat. 

you flatten your tongue, gliding it along his shaft whenever you bob your head. the slippery muscle flicks against his frenulum each time you pull back, rewarding you with a deep groan.

and you can't help the way your mouth waters even more when he hits the back of your throat, spit threatening to spill out the corners of your mouth. quiet gags and gurgles come from beneath nanami’s desk and the lewd sounds coupled with the sight of his gorgeous girl on her knees before him has nanami's head falling back. 

the button down shirt he's wearing is being pushed to its limits, the fabric straining whenever nanami tenses, his biceps flexing and chest heaving with deep breath.

“just like that, shit—” nanami grunts, hips bucking when you gag again, your throat constricting around his length.

his body is already telling you how good you feel with each stutter of his hips and pulse of his cock on your tongue.

your jaw aches. no matter how many times you throat him, you can't get used to his size— he's huge.

but you also never get tired of hearing nanami grunt out those sweet praises to you, reminding you anyways of how well you’re doing for him, how good you're making him feel, and how pretty you look with those tears in your eyes.

"thaaat's it, just like that darling," he pants above you, unaware of anything other than the feeling of your tongue swirling around his tip, your throat swallowing around his length. "always such a good girl, making me feel so good."

you moan around him in response, bobbing your head faster as one of your soft hands moves to cup his balls. you fondle them gently, squeezing and rolling, just how he’s told you to do before.

his breathing grows heavier, a steady crescendo of pants and grunts escaping him when– 

“nanami, what do you think about that?”

his coworkers fall silent after, patiently awaiting his opinion on something, and you’re sure that he has no idea what that something is. 

you know you shouldn’t find it amusing, but the corners of your lips twitch as you hear him scrambling above you to un-mute himself. you take the opportunity to hollow your cheeks, sucking him in tighter, toying with him. 

he shoots you an inconspicuous glare, the hand on your head pressing down firmly. he ignores you as you choke on his cock, lips sputtering around him, spit starting to trickle out of your mouth and your eyes watering.

his jaw is tight as he offers the most generic reply he can think of, “s-sure, sounds good.” and then he's muted again.

both hands now rest on either side of your head, keeping you in place. 

“such a little minx, trying to get me in trouble?” his tone is clipped, stern.

you try to shake your head but you can't.

nanami won't let you. instead, his hips buck up into your mouth, shoving his length impossibly deeper down your throat.

he starts slowly, rolling his hips to make sure you’re able to take him. and when he can tell you've adjusted to him, he moves faster, harder.

he’s fucking himself into your mouth, using your pretty puffy lips as his own tool for pleasure as he chases down his climax, trying to finish before his meeting does.

your hands fly to his thighs for stability but you let him use you, a familiar warm wetness pooling between your thighs. 

this is exactly what you wanted.

you love your sweet husband, of course, but there’s a special kind of excitement that comes from when he gets like this. when his near-infinite patience with you finally snaps and he gets rougher with you.

“just couldn’t– couldn’t wait, huh? had to interrupt my work?” 

he's so mean, the way he's bullying the back of your throat, no doubt leaving it bruised. his thrusts are brutal, but nanami knows you'll take it.

he knows you can handle him even when you whimper softly, glistening tears slipping from your waterline. even when you’re breathing heavily through your nose, glancing up at him with your brows furrowed, pure need written all over your expression.

nanami can’t help the loud moan that tumbles out from his chest at the sight of his perfect wife, so eager for him, so lovingly allowing him to fuck her pretty face. 

he doesn’t last much longer.

a few more sloppy thrusts and you feel nanami's rhythm finally waver before he stills. he keeps his cock stuffed deep inside your throat when he cums with a guttural groan, his hot, salty, release spilling onto your tongue. you swallow it all, determined not to waste a drop.

a moment later nanami pulls you off of him, large hands moving to caress your cheeks, wiping away the mascara that smudged under your waterline as you both catch your breath. 

his touch is gentle, soft, but the look in his eyes makes your core burn when he curtly dismisses you. 

“go wait for me, i’m nowhere near done with you.”

you always knew what nanami needed, and now work was the last thing on his mind.

this is an edited repost of one of my old nanami fics :p for the record he has minty breath and white teeth here