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ᨳ. ‿‿ ₊ ˚ make you mine ♡
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𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜: 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚒𝚍𝚘𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝 (𝙷𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚒'𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝)
𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍: 𝟦𝟢𝟧𝟢
𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗌: 𝖬𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖻𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖲𝖾𝗑 𝖳𝗈𝗒𝗌, 𝖠𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗒, 𝖠𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖲𝖾𝗑, 𝖦𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗅𝖽𝗈, 𝖡𝗎𝗍𝗍 𝖯𝗅𝗎𝗀, 𝖢𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗂𝖾, 𝖮𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝖲𝖾𝗑, 𝖠𝗁𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗈, 𝖬𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗂𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝖮𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗌𝗆𝗌, 𝖵𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖲𝖾𝗑, 𝖣𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝖳𝖺𝗅𝗄, 𝖠𝗁𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗈
Chapter 2: The Softening
The impossible garden grows, and so does Sukuna's interest in his third wife. But confusion clouds his desire—he seeks comfort in familiar arms while drawn to your chambers. Ningning watches his divided attention with growing desperation. In a palace where love is a weapon, you offer something far more dangerous: genuine acceptance.
WC: 2,838───〃★ masterlist
The camellia became a conversation piece.
Within a week, the entire palace knew about it—the impossible flower blooming in the dead of winter, a gift from an emperor who'd never given gifts before. Servants whispered about it in corridors. Concubines eyed it with barely concealed jealousy when they passed your garden.
You simply tended it with the same gentle care you showed everything else.
"It's beautiful, my lady," Haerin said softly one morning, kneeling beside you as you checked the soil moisture. She'd grown bolder over the past week, speaking without prompting, even smiling occasionally. "The petals are so delicate."
"Like snow," Danielle added, carefully watering the seedlings you'd planted nearby. "But warmer somehow."
You touched one pale pink petal, marveling at its softness. "Camellias symbolize devotion," you murmured. "And eternal love in some cultures."
Both girls went very still.
"Do you think..." Haerin started, then stopped, biting her lip.
"Do I think what?"
"Do you think the Emperor meant it that way?" she finished in a rush, her cheeks flushing. "Or was it just... a whim?"
You considered the question carefully. In the week since Sukuna's midnight visit, you'd seen him only twice—once from a distance as he walked through the palace grounds with his advisors, and once when he'd passed by your garden, pausing just long enough to ensure the camellia still lived before continuing on without a word.
But you'd heard things. Whispers from servants about where he spent his nights.
The concubines' wing.
"I think," you said slowly, "that even whims can mean something. And I think that a man who's spent his life destroying things doesn't accidentally create beauty."
Danielle's eyes went soft. "You like him."
It wasn't a question.
"I don't know him well enough to like or dislike him," you replied honestly. "But I'm... curious about him. About who he is when he's not being the monster everyone expects."
"The second empress was terrified of him," Haerin whispered. "She used to have nightmares."
"And the first?"
"Angry," Danielle said. "Always angry. She hated that he had concubines, hated that he wouldn't give them up for her. She made everyone miserable until he finally sent her away."
You hummed thoughtfully, returning your attention to the camellia. "Fear and anger. Both are exhausting emotions to maintain. Maybe that's why neither marriage lasted."
"And you, my lady?" Haerin asked. "What emotion do you feel toward him?"
You smiled. "Hope, I suppose. Hope that under all that power and violence, there's something worth knowing."
A voice like dark honey interrupted: "Careful, little empress. Hope is dangerous in a place like this."
You looked up to find Ningning standing at the garden entrance, wrapped in furs despite the braziers warming the space. She looked immaculate as always—her hair perfectly arranged, her robes the deep red that Sukuna reportedly favored. But there was something sharper in her expression today. Something almost... hungry.
"Ningning," you greeted warmly. Danielle and Haerin immediately bowed, but you gestured for them to continue working. "You're welcome to join us, if you'd like. We're planning the spring layout."
"In winter," she said, echoing her words from before. But this time there was less mockery in her tone and more assessment. Her eyes lingered on the camellia with an expression you couldn't quite read. "You really believe spring will come, don't you?"
"It always does," you replied simply. "Even after the longest winters."
She studied you for a long moment, then surprised you by actually stepping into the garden, kneeling across from you with practiced grace. Up close, you noticed the faint shadows under her eyes, the tightness around her mouth.
"The other concubines think you're playing a game," she said. "Being sweet and gentle to manipulate him."
"And what do you think?"
"I think," Ningning said slowly, her fingers trailing over the frozen earth, "that you're either the smartest woman I've ever met, or the most genuine. I haven't decided which is more dangerous."
You laughed softly. "Can't I be both?"
Despite herself, Ningning smiled. But it didn't reach her eyes. "Maybe." She reached out, touching the camellia with careful fingers—too careful, like she wanted to crush it but was restraining herself. "He's never given any of us flowers. In two years, he's never... created anything for me."
There was something raw in her voice. Something that spoke of long nights waiting, of hope repeatedly crushed.
"Perhaps he didn't know how," you offered gently. "Some people spend so long being weapons that they forget they can be anything else."
Ningning's eyes snapped to yours, sharp and assessing. "You're trying to see him as human."
"Isn't he?"
"That's what the first wife thought. And the second. They both tried to find humanity in him." Her expression softened slightly, but there was something brittle in it. "They both failed."
"Maybe they were looking in the wrong places," you said. "Or maybe they were trying to create something that wasn't there instead of nurturing what was."
Haerin and Danielle had stopped working entirely, listening with rapt attention.
Ningning stood, brushing dirt from her robes with deliberate movements. "You're strange," she said, echoing Sukuna's words. "But I'm beginning to think that's not a bad thing." She paused at the garden entrance, and when she looked back, there was something almost wistful in her expression. "He came to me last night. After he visited you."
Your hands stilled on the soil.
"He does that sometimes," she continued, her voice carefully neutral. "Seeks comfort in familiar places when something... confuses him." Her smile was sharp. "I know his body better than anyone in this palace, little empress. Every scar, every preference, every sound he makes when he—"
"Ningning," you interrupted gently, not unkindly. "I'm not competing with you."
That seemed to surprise her. "You're his wife."
"And you're someone he trusts enough to be vulnerable with," you replied. "That's not nothing. That's... actually quite significant."
She stared at you like you'd spoken a foreign language. "You're not angry?"
"Why would I be angry? I've been married to him for barely two weeks. You've known him for two years." You smiled softly. "I'd be a fool to expect him to change his entire life for someone he barely knows."
Something flickered across Ningning's face—confusion, maybe respect, maybe something darker. "You really are different from the others."
"So I've been told."
After she left, Danielle leaned closer to you, her voice worried. "My lady... was that wise? She basically told you she's sleeping with your husband."
"She told me she's sleeping with the Emperor," you corrected. "There's a difference. One is a political position. The other is... something that has to be earned."
Haerin bit her lip. "But doesn't it hurt? Knowing he's with her?"
You considered the question honestly. "A little," you admitted. "But I'd rather know the truth than live in ignorance. And I'd rather build something real, slowly, than demand something false immediately."
What you didn't tell them was that Ningning's revelation had actually solidified something in your mind: Sukuna was searching for something. And whatever it was, he hadn't found it yet—not in Ningning's practiced seduction, not in the first wife's demands, not in the second wife's shallow devotion.
But maybe, just maybe, he might find it in your patient companionship.
You didn't see Sukuna for several more days.
But you heard about him.
The servants whispered about his increased visits to the concubines' wing. Three nights in a row, he'd spent hours there—with Ningning mostly, but occasionally with others. It was unusual, they said. He typically visited once, maybe twice a week, and never stayed long.
Now he was there almost every night.
"He's running," Haerin said quietly one evening as she brushed your hair. "From whatever he felt when he gave you that flower."
"Let him run," you replied calmly, though your heart ached slightly. "He'll stop when he's ready."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Then I'll have a beautiful garden and two wonderful attendants," you said, squeezing her hand. "That's more than many people have."
But that night, alone in your chambers, you stood by the window and looked at the camellia blooming in the moonlight. You touched the glass, breath fogging it.
"Take your time," you whispered to the night, to him, to yourself. "I'm not going anywhere."
Sukuna came to you on the tenth night.
You were reading by candlelight—a book of poetry Danielle had found in the palace library—when his presence filled the doorway. This time, you didn't startle. You'd almost been expecting him.
"Sukuna," you greeted, setting down your book. "It's late."
"It's my palace," he replied, stepping inside. "I go where I please, when I please."
He smelled like jasmine and something muskier. Ningning's perfume, you realized. He'd come straight from her chambers to yours.
You didn't comment on it.
"Of course." You gestured to the cushion across from you. "Would you like to sit? I was just reading."
He stared at the offered seat like it was a trap. "The others never invited me to sit."
"Did they invite you to do anything?"
"The second one invited me to her bed often enough," he said bluntly, watching for your reaction.
You didn't flinch. "And the first?"
"Screamed at me, mostly. About how I was neglecting her for the concubines. About how I was a terrible husband." He moved closer, but didn't sit. Instead, he prowled around your chambers like a caged beast, taking in the small changes you'd made—books stacked neatly on shelves, a vase of winter branches on the table, your garden visible through the open screen despite the cold.
"You've made this place..." he paused, searching for words. "Softer."
"Is that bad?"
"It's different." He stopped in front of the garden screen, staring at the camellia he'd created. "You haven't asked about where I've been."
"I know where you've been," you said simply. "The servants talk."
He turned to face you, something dangerous in his expression. "And?"
"And what?"
"You're not angry? Not going to weep and wail about how I'm betraying you?"
"Are you betraying me?" you asked calmly. "We barely know each other, Sukuna. You owe me nothing beyond the basic courtesy of our arrangement."
He moved toward you with predatory speed, looming over you. "You should be jealous. Furious. You're my wife."
"I am," you agreed, setting your book aside and standing to face him. You had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. "But you're not mine yet. Not really. That's something that has to be built, not demanded."
"Ningning said you weren't competing with her."
"I'm not."
"Why not?" His voice was almost angry now. "She's beautiful. Experienced. She knows exactly how to—"
"Because I don't want to win you like a prize," you interrupted softly. "I want you to choose me. When you're ready. If you're ever ready." You reached up, touching his face gently. He froze at the contact. "I want you to come to me not because I'm your wife, but because I'm the person you want to be with."
His jaw clenched under your palm. "You're infuriating."
"I've been told that before."
"Ningning is obsessed with me," he said suddenly, brutally honest. "Has been since I first took her to bed. She watches me constantly. Arranges herself to catch my attention. Perfects herself to be exactly what she thinks I want."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It is," he admitted. "But it's also... familiar. Easy. I know what she wants from me."
"And what do I want from you?"
He stared at you for a long moment. "I don't know. That's what terrifies me."
Your heart squeezed. "I want you to be yourself," you said gently. "Monster, emperor, man—all of it. I want honesty more than perfection. Companionship more than passion. Though," you smiled slightly, "I wouldn't say no to passion eventually."
He made a sound low in his throat—not quite a laugh, not quite a growl. "You're dangerous."
"How so?"
"Because you make me want things I gave up on centuries ago." His hand came up to cover yours, still pressed against his face. "Hope. Companionship. Something that isn't just power and conquest and fleeting pleasure."
"Is that so terrible?"
"It is when I don't know how to have it without destroying it." He pulled your hand away but didn't release it. "I'm not a good man."
"I know."
"I killed three people today. Slowly. Because they annoyed me."
"I know."
"I'll probably kill more tomorrow."
"I know," you repeated patiently. "You're an emperor. A curse. A monster. You've told me this already."
"And it doesn't bother you?"
You considered your words carefully. "It bothers me that killing is necessary in your world. But I also understand that you're who you are—you've survived this long by being exactly this. I'm not asking you to change, Sukuna. I'm just asking you to let me see all of who you are—the violence and the flowers. The monster and the man."
He was quiet for so long you wondered if you'd said the wrong thing. Then: "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do you want to see all of me? Most people prefer the monster—at least that's predictable."
You stepped closer, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. "Because I think the man is far more interesting than the monster. And because everyone deserves to be seen for who they really are, not just what they can do."
His other hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. "I spent last night with Ningning. And the night before. And the night before that."
"I know."
"She does this thing with her tongue—"
"Sukuna," you interrupted gently, "I don't need the details."
"You should," he insisted, something almost desperate in his voice. "You should be disgusted. Angry. You should hate me for it."
"Why do you want me to hate you?"
The question seemed to break something in him. "Because that would be easier. Because I know how to handle hate. I don't know how to handle... this."
"This?"
"You," he said roughly. "Your patience. Your gentleness. Your complete refusal to be what I expect." He leaned down, his breath warm against your lips. "You terrify me."
"Good," you whispered. "You terrify me too. I think that means we're even."
He kissed you then.
It wasn't gentle—Sukuna didn't know how to be gentle. But it was different from what you'd expected. There was desperation in it, yes, but also something like wonder. Like he was trying to understand you through touch since words kept failing.
You kissed him back, rising on your toes to meet him, your free hand coming up to rest against his chest. Under your palm, you could feel his heart racing.
When he pulled back, his eyes were wild. "I don't understand you."
"You don't have to understand me," you said, slightly breathless. "You just have to trust that I'm not going anywhere."
"Everyone goes somewhere eventually."
There was something haunted in his voice. Something that spoke of abandonment and loss and too many people who'd feared or hated or tried to use him.
"Then I'll be here until I can't be," you said firmly. "And while I'm here, I'm yours. Completely."
He made a sound low in his throat—not quite a growl, not quite a groan. "You shouldn't promise things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because I'll hold you to it." His grip tightened slightly. "I don't let go of what's mine."
"Good," you said simply. "Neither do I."
He stared at you for another long moment, then released you, stepping back. "I should go."
"You don't have to."
"I do." He moved toward the door, then paused. "The garden. Plant whatever you want. I'll make sure it grows."
Your breath caught. "Sukuna—"
"And your servants," he continued, not looking back. "Haerin and Danielle. They're yours now. Permanently. Anyone who bothers them answers to me."
Warmth flooded your chest. "Thank you."
He left without another word, but you noticed his steps were slower. Less certain.
Like maybe, just maybe, he didn't actually want to leave.
The next morning, the garden had transformed.
Not just your small plot—the entire courtyard outside your chambers. Winter flowers bloomed in impossible profusion: camellias in white and pink, winter jasmine trailing up the walls, early plum blossoms scenting the air with delicate sweetness.
Haerin and Danielle found you standing in the center of it all, tears streaming down your face.
"My lady!" Danielle rushed forward. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"
"No," you laughed, wiping your eyes. "No, I'm... this is beautiful. He did this. For me."
Haerin turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. "The entire palace is talking about it. They're saying the Emperor has gone mad."
"Let them talk," you said softly, touching a plum blossom with reverent fingers.
What you didn't see was Ningning, watching from a distant window.
Her hands clenched on the windowsill, knuckles white.
He'd never made flowers bloom for her. Never created anything beautiful in her name. She'd spent two years perfecting herself for him—learning his preferences, anticipating his needs, being everything she thought he wanted.
And this... this quiet, gentle woman had received more from him in two weeks than Ningning had in two years.
"My lady?" her own servant asked quietly. "Are you well?"
Ningning's smile was sharp. Dangerous. "Perfectly well. Just... admiring the Empress's garden."
But inside, something dark and desperate was taking root.
She'd had his attention first. She'd been the one he returned to, night after night. She'd been special.
And she'd be damned if she let some outsider take that away from her.
"Prepare my evening attire," she told her servant. "The red silk. The one he likes best."
If the Emperor was confused, she'd remind him exactly what he'd be giving up if he chose his wife over his favorite concubine.
And if that didn't work...
Well.
Ningning had survived this long by being adaptable.
And she wasn't above ensuring her competition faced... complications.
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﹡ ֗ ۪ ♡゙ ☪︎ ꒪ ࣭ٜ࣪ ⬭ 🩵 ❤︎
❥ ᩙ 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑏𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑜𝑠 𝑜𝑗𝑜𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑒 ⠀♫ ♪ ⠀♫ ♪ ᩖ
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
𝒹𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑒 𝑒𝓈𝓉á𝓈, ✚ 𓈒 🎵 𓈒 ✚
𝓉𝑜𝒹𝑜 𝒻𝓁⚉𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑒 ❤︎ ˚̣̣̣
𓂂 ◌ 𝄞 ॱ ͏͏͏ॱ़۫ ✺ 𓂂 ͏͏͏𝄞 ◌ ॱ़۫ 𓊗 ﾟ . ✹ ✺
to speak
⁎̯͡𓉸 to die
֗ ۪ 𓂂 ✺ ִ ﾟ . * 𓂂 ◌ 𓊗 ✹ 一 ͏͏͏listen to your heart 𝄞 ॱ़۫
