#kk.writes

“I’m no courtesan or consort. Even within these walls, virginity is a commodity—a prize for the highest bidder, not a necessity.” Maomao took a breath, her fingers dragging down the strong muscles in his back, his torso long with a strong frame. “I suppose a man who wants me will want me regardless.”

The words sat there, weighty and daring, their meaning stretching like silk pulled taut. Jinshi adjusted her in his lap, drawing them closer together, just enough to make her aware of how firm his body was where he pressed against her, how much bigger he was than her.

“It wouldn’t bother me any.” His fingers traced lazy circles against her hip, the intent of his touch drawing a gasp from Maomao. “I like you in any state that you are, as long as you’re with me.”

“Bold of you to assume you’re who I meant,” Maomao said. The smile on her lips belied her flat tone.

“Bold? Or astute?”

Despite not liking it, he’d grown used to it though—the coasts and the insanity that happened on each of them.

The South, in contrast, was wholly unfamiliar territory. He’d never been and wasn’t quite sure what to expect as the steamboat continued down the river, churning water and whistling every few minutes as it continued down the path. He'd heard of the common things: the chambermaids and the sharecropping, the stark divide.

Asia had its things, too, though, so he tried not to judge. He was headed to New Orleans for one simple thing: to meet with the sugar baron and solidify a trade deal. His sugar for their textiles.

Simple, tedious. Safer than sorcery.

The ride into the city was surprisingly comfortable. He lounged in a reclined chair on the deck, his eyes hidden behind shades that concealed his exhaustion from the arduous journey across borders—across seas. The sky painted itself in alluring hues of lavender and rose, casting a serene glow over the waters of the Mississippi, like spilled oil paint.

The air hung heavy with the scent of magnolia blossoms, their perfume an intoxicating blend of sweetness and decay. Spanish moss, soft as bundles of silk, swayed languidly from the cypress trees that lined the riverbank, caressed by the gentle breeze.

The Crescent City, that’s what his boss had called it. The birthplace of jazz.

Nanami couldn’t say he wasn’t intrigued by the prospect of it.

"Please collect your belongings, everyone," a petite deckhand announced, dressed in long corduroy trousers and a cute puffed hat. "We'll be docking in port in five minutes."

Nanami adjusted his glasses, straightening out the legs of his slacks as he made his way to the port side of the boat and watched the city come into view along with the sound. The bustling swing of music was expected, but Nanami hadn't anticipated enjoying it so much. The masterful wail of saxophones, the sultry croon of trumpets, and the deep, resonant throb of bass greeted him as he filed off the boat.

Other men exited the boat before him. Some wore business suits, while others wore Navy uniforms, and a few were in Army attire. Most bobbed their heads along to the music, while some outright danced. People lined the port, leaning on the ropes to catch a glimpse of the arrivals they'd come down to the harbor to greet and welcome home.

The city had a vibe reminiscent of New York, perhaps, but it felt more homey. It felt good in his soul.

"Hello, gentlemen. Good to see you all safe and sound!"

Among the welcoming crowd, a young woman stepped forward with a beaming smile, scanning the group until she spotted Nanami, skipping over to him. Her big blue eyes shone as she looked up at him, tilting her body to get a good look at his face. “You must be Kento, right?” Nanami nodded. She must be the daughter. "Wonderful! My name's Charlotte," she introduced herself, coupled with a sweet giggle. "You can call me Lottie, though. Everybody does."

Nanami tipped his head in a subdued bow, a gesture that the American women found charming.

“Pleased to meet you, Lottie.”

She smiled like a young girl, all cherry pink cheeks and tight lips. It was cute, demure in a way that spelled immaturity rather than modesty.

Not Nanami’s type.

“My daddy told me to come ‘round here to collect you. Is this all you brought with you?” She pointed to his briefcase and the small musette bag on his shoulder. He nodded again. “That’s light. Are you hungry? Have you eaten? That Trans-Pacific is a long way’s journey to get here. I bet you’re starving.”

Nanami hummed, acknowledging her observation. "I could eat. It's been a long day."

"A long few months, I reckon." Lottie placed a comforting hand on his back, gently steering him further into the bustling city. "My good friend works at this little ol’ restaurant down on Lafayette Street. It's just a hop, skip this way, and we can get you some good eatin'. Have you had Cajun before?"

Lottie's words tumbled out rapidly, but Nanami managed to keep up. He shook his head, allowing her to guide him through the lively streets.

"Oh, you're in for a treat then. This here is the best food you'll ever have. Just wait until you try a beignet." She playfully wiggled her brows, her enthusiasm infectious.

Though Nanami didn't understand the term "beignet," he took her excitement as a promising sign. "Whatever tastes good, I'll try."

"That's the spirit!" Lottie gave his suit jacket a friendly pat as they weaved through the crowd, exchanging greetings with any familiar faces she spotted.

“Here we are, mister. Hope you brought a loose pair of britches 'cause you’ll need ‘em.”

Nanami looked up at the building, taking off his shades to read the chalk writing fixed onto the side.

Duke’s. Charming.

The ambiance inside was a perfect mirror of the outdoors. People packed in from wall to wall, and the music from just outside the rear of the restaurant wafted inside, adding to the vibrant atmosphere.

“Let’s go sit you down at the bar, get a nice cold one and some grub in that belly. Tiana!”

He sat, slipping off his jacket to drape it across his seat, while his glasses found a home on the bartop. His bag hit the floor with a thud as he dropped it to rest between his feet.

“Hey, Lottie,” a sweet voice floated from the kitchen, followed by the source of it. The woman—slim-figured with rich brown skin—gave Nanami pause. She was beautiful, not unlike many of the women he’d met with her complexion over the years, but she was more, in a way.

Perhaps it was the curls. Nanami had developed a liking for women with thick, coily curls. They framed her face exquisitely.

“Hey, Tia. This is Kento.” Lottie placed a hand on Nanami’s chest as she introduced him. "He's a business friend of Daddy's. Take good care of him for me, will you? I have some business to attend to myself while Daddy’s out at the shooting range."

Lottie winked, and Tiana—Tia, as she called her—responded with a gentle smile.

“Can do,” she assured Lottie before turning her gaze to Nanami. “Give me one second, sugar, and I’ll be right with you.”

Nanami nodded, settling into his seat. A group of soldiers occupied the other end of the bar, rowdy as they sang unfamiliar songs. There was a little curse lazing on the bartop, slumbering against one of the soldier’s arms—surprisingly harmless.

He left it alone.

“Have a nice meal, Mr. Kento. I’ll be ’round to come get you a little later tonight,” Lottie purred with a natural pout, her lips reminiscent of a porcelain doll's. “Don’t have too much fun without me, y’all.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Tiana replied with a warm smile, disappearing into the kitchen to retrieve a full round of plates.

She moved through the bustling restaurant with a graceful rhythm, her deft hands skillfully balancing trays filled with tantalizing cuisine—Creole, Nanami assumed from the building sign. He couldn’t quite understand the difference between that and Cajun, but all the food that passed his nose smelled heavenly all the same.

The spice that clung to the food was present in the air, pleasantly familiar, like the hawker centers in Singapore or the night markets in Taiwan. He still harbored dreams of visiting Malaysia, indulging in street food, experiencing Mamak stalls, exploring mosques, and paying his respects to the land.

His boss informed him he was slated to go to Germany next, for what he didn’t yet know. He could dream about Malaysia in the meantime.

He took out his pocket notebook to jot the thought down.

“Order up!”

Nanami followed Tiana's graceful movements with his eyes, catching glimpses of each dish she served, the way she bantered with the other patrons and had every man in the place hanging off of each word. Her presence was striking and commanding—a woman in charge.

That’s what it was—what made her so beautiful. She was a woman. The kind Nanami did like.

The meticulous care she took in plating the food made it as visually inviting as the enticing aroma was to his senses. Her apron bore the telltale signs of ware of a kitchen in perpetual motion, a fragrant cloud carrying the essence of spices and sweetness floating around her.

As she passed by him their eyes met, and a knowing smile graced her lips.

“So, you’re from out of town, huh?” she said, tawny brown eyes looking up at him through wispy lashes. She cleaned a mug, stuck in a constant stream of motion that made it hard for Nanami to look away.

Nanami nodded, and she placed the cup under the beer dispenser, pouring him a tall glass.

“Thank you,” he acknowledged, accepting the beer when she set it in front of him, accompanied by a shaker of flavored salt.

“How far out of town?”

Nanami hummed thoughtfully, trailing his fingers through the condensation dampening the sides of his mug.

“Asia. Here on business.”

“You’re from Asia?” Tiana's eyes sparkled with intrigue as though she were solving a puzzle. “Which part? Can I guess?”

Nanami jerked one shoulder. “Go ahead.”

“Maybe the Philippines?” she ventured, passing around more beers. “Lots of business types love the Philippines. The soldiers never shut up about it.”

Nanami quirked a brow, aware of why soldiers held such fondness for the Philippines. “No,” he replied, hiding a smile behind his cup. “Try again.”

“China?”

“Nope,” Nanami stated before taking another sip. “Been there a lot, mainly Hong Kong. I’m not from there, though.”

“Japan?” she guessed, her eyes squinting, her brow raised.

Nanami thumped his finger against the glass with a soft clink, clink, clink. “Japan.”

Her triumphant smile was indeed beautiful, with pretty teeth providing a striking contrast against the fullness of her lips and the warm tone of her skin.

“Got a wife hidden over there or something?” she teased, a sweet smirk gracing her lips. “How many kids?”

“No kids, no wife,” Nanami responded softly, feeling the tension in his body from the long journey. “My maternal grandfather was half Dutch, half something else. My grandmother was Japanese, and my mom married a European man in Japan. They stayed there my whole life, so… Japanese.”

“Fascinatin’. What business brings you here? If you can tell me. First time?”

“I can,” Nanami said, taking a few more gulps. The beer tasted different than what he’d had before in the States, less malty and a hint sweeter. “It’s my first time in Louisiana, but not America in general. I’m here meeting another businessman—sugar cane.”

“Ah, that explains Charlotte. I thought she’d just taken a liking to you; she’s always good at finding the handsome ones.”

Nanami perked up at that, a hint of a smile gracing his lips, fueled by the warmth of the beer. Tiana, with practiced ease, poured him another glass.

“I’m handsome, then?”

Tiana rolled her eyes. “You know you are, with your dapper suit and those eyes. Women must throw themselves at you.”

Nanami tilted his head, a little maybe present in the motion. He didn’t indulge nearly as often as he could.

“Have you met Big Daddy yet?” Tiana questioned, and Nanami almost spit out his beer.

He knew enough of what American women liked to call men that they fancied. He’d never heard the term out in the wild, though.

“Oh, excuse me. Eli La Bouff,” Tiana clarified with a teasing laugh, her lips even prettier when she smiled. “Lottie’s father. She calls him Big Daddy, usually. You’ll see why when you do meet him.”

Nanami nodded, a soft chuckle passing through his teeth. People in the South were different, then. Lighter, more hospitable.

Tiana leaned in closer to the bar, narrowing the space between them as she addressed Nanami. “You look hungry. What can I get started for you, sugar?”

Nanami met her gaze, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Surprise me," he replied, his voice low and smooth. “I prefer savory, but I’m craving something a little sweet.”

Tiana hummed, tapping her chin. “How about blackened salmon with a sweet bourbon glaze, red beans and rice, and piping hot Andouille sausage and chicken gumbo to get you started? We’ll pair it with zucchini, corn maque choux, slow-cooked collard greens, mac and cheese, with some fresh beignets to top you off for dessert,” she said, leaning over to glance at Nanami's stomach, subtly assessing the fit of his dress shirt against his well-defined physique, “if you have any room, that is. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds divine,” Nanami said, solely because of the silky tone Tiana said every word with, not because he knew what any of the dishes were. “You make everything sound good.”

“I made the recipes, so it will be.” She smiled; Nanami returned it. “Wait here, get comfy. You have a long journey ahead of you.”

Nanami leaned back slightly in his seat, his eyes following as she went to put his order in with the kitchen. It was then that he noticed a little curse on her back, small—the size of a quarter. It was the curse of abundance. Blessed for riches through hardship.

A lucky curse, Geto would have called it.

Nanami left it alone, too, sipping his beer as he waited for his food.

He couldn't help but smirk to himself; Tiana’s words took root in his mind. So did she, it seemed.

“So, Yor… when are you two trying for a second?”

The dark-haired beauty turned her head, spinning on the axis of her heels so fast that she almost lost her balance. Despite her practiced poised nature, Yor couldn’t help but gape helplessly as she scrambled to find her words. Under the weight of Camilla’s gaze, and her line of questioning, Yor was at a loss.

She stood in the middle of her co-worker's home with a glass of wine, surrounded by people lost in their own little worlds of conversation beneath the warm hue of decor lights and soft jazz-inspired music. She’d had the mind not to come. She knew she shouldn’t have come, but she’d had no choice. 

It was Camilla’s engagement party, and she’d never have heard the end of it if she and Loid hadn’t made an appearance. Their whole life together was built on maintaining the perfect image, so not coming would have spelled doom socially for their family in an instant. So, here Yor was again—playing in a den of lions donning ascots and top-dollar balayages.

“A second?” Yor asked, sipping nervously at her drink as her eyes subtly scanned the room.

Loid was speaking with some men a few feet away, looking as cordial as ever as he discussed the details of his casual chocolate-brown suit with an inquisitive friend of Dominic’s. His hair was imperfectly styled, just how he liked. Yor had molded with her own hands at his behest. 

He’d made an offhand comment about how nice her hair always looked, not a single lock out of place even with the free-flowing bangs she left out in the front. So, she did his hair for him. After a harrowing mission that left her unable to lift her arms for a week, he began doing her hair in return. Granted, he thought she’d injured herself lifting a box that was too heavy at work, but still. He accepted his role as an interim hairdresser with muted enthusiasm, and eventually, Anya joined the train. 

Every morning that they had enough time, they’d sit in the living room and help get one another groomed for the day. This morning was one of those mornings, and he looked every bit the polished handsome husband who knew how to treat his wife and child as a result.

He must have felt the weight of Yor’s eyes on him, even from across the room. He glanced over to meet his wife’s subtle stare, smirking with a slight nod in her direction before he turned his attention back to the man in front of him, listening intently as he droned on about the Eden Academy director’s love of fine suits.

Camilla’s eyes followed Yor’s line of sight over to Loid, and the woman stepped closer into Yor’s space until she was close enough that Yor could easily snap her n—touch her.

“Yes, a second. Well, a first for you, I suppose but a second for Loid. A baby is necessary at this point, don’t you think?” Camilla said, a coy curl at the corner of her lips as she moved her lithe hands animatedly to match her less-than-quiet words. “I assumed, with Loid’s previous entanglement, you’d want to lock things down as soon as possible. Sure, you got a ring and some useless paperwork, but any man who’s had a child with another woman will never truly be yours until you give him something of equal value.”

Yor furrowed her eyebrows, turning her attention to the blonde looking up at her with fire in her eyes as she sipped her wine.

“Equal value?” she said, glancing down into her glass and contemplating the odds of drowning someone in the liquid left in the cup.

“Yes, yes. Equal value. You see, dear Yor, his precious little girl will always take priority over you, and so will the memory of his wife. His real wife, not the placeholder that you’ve allowed yourself to be,” Camilla said, venom laced in the tip of her tongue. “You’re understandably replaceable until you give him something that makes you seem… well, a little less useless. Granted, he could always take the new baby and the old one and leave you by the wayside in the end. But, I’d like to think he would finally care about you if you gave him a child of your own. It's been over a year since you got married, love. Even the dead one would've managed to give him a kid by now. I’d hope you could do better than someone who’s not alive anymore.”

Hot blood rushed into the high points of Yor’s face, bathing her pale skin in a flush that she knew looked embarrassing from Camilla’s pleased expression. She got off on this—seeing Yor uncomfortable—and Yor hated that she’d allowed the woman to pull her in.

“That’s—that isn’t true,” Yor said, though her words lacked conviction, and Camilla jumped on the display of insecurity like a starved rat coming across a fromagerie in the heart of France.

“I’m glad you get to call him your husband, even if it’s just a title. It’s evident that he does not take you seriously if you’re not talking about having more kids. I wonder if he would still want you if his old wife were to walk amongst the living again.”

Yor felt her hand shaking around the stem of her wine glass, threatening to shatter the “shatterproof” glass into pieces. Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade rosy red, and her eyes pricked with heat that felt unnatural on her face.

She opened her mouth to speak and no words came, only the beginning of what felt like a wretched sob that felt so jarringly alien in her throat. Yor didn’t cry. Not really, if ever. But still, there the tears were, threatening her with the weight of a loaded gun as they edged closer to spilling out from her eyelids.

“We’ll be going now.”

Yor sighed, releasing a breath she didn’t realize she held as Loid sauntered up to her side, placing one hand on her lower back while he motioned toward the door with the other.

“You were listening?” Yor said, blinking the wetness out of her eyes as she turned her head inward toward Loid’s shoulder. She used his body as a refuge to wipe the remnants of the tear trailing down her cheek in peace away from Camilla’s gaze.

The blonde fixed her stare on Loid instead, a blatant scowl on her face even as her boyfrie—no, fiancé now—walked up defensively behind her.

“Leaving so soon?” she asked, shaking her fiancé’s hand off of her shoulder when he attempted to touch her.

Loid scoffed, helping Yor into a lined faux fur jacket that hugged her nicely where the fabric was sleeker in the middle and accented her beautifully as the fur framed her face. He kept a pleasant smile as he grabbed their things—his wallet and Yor’s purse—from the closet behind them and he took Yor’s hand in his easily as he pulled her toward the door.

“Camilla, it’s truly remarkable to behold what deeply rooted inferiority looks like in human form. You exemplify the word in every way.”

The blonde huffed and Loid slinked past her with Yor tucked close to his side, keeping his eyes trained on the exit as they walked away from the growing scene.

“I only meant,” Camilla said toward their backs, hesitating for only a beat before steeling her resolve and speaking loudly enough that everyone could hear her. “I only meant that any man worth his salt would have already proven his love to his new wife. From what I've seen, you two act like roommates who co-parent. Maybe they’re secretly celibate, and that’s why they aren’t interested in more babies, huh, everyone? Why marry a woman you’re so obviously disgusted by, Loid? I have plenty of friends I’m sure would be willing to give a widower a chance. Anything would be better tha—”

“Camilla,” a voice said so darkly that both Loid and Yor stopped in their tracks. The sound of shaking breath became louder in the still air of the room as they turned around to see Camilla’s fiancé standing behind her with an expression so dark with shame that Yor found it hard to look at.

“I love you, and I’ve always loved you. I don’t think a universe exists where I wouldn’t fall in love with you, over and over, but that was foul, and I’m embarrassed by the way you just spoke to her. Loid, Yor,” he said, his eyes rimmed red as he looked at the couple stopped in shock, “have a good night. I’m sorry that our home hasn’t been a welcome place for you both. I hope you can forgive us.”

Loid nodded his head without a word, keeping Yor close to his body as he opened the door with her in front of him, and off into the night they went.

------------------

The sun shined too brightly in the morning, practically mocking Yor with the promise of a good day that her brain was not inclined to let her have. There was something buzzing within her bones, gnawing against the core of her being with dull teeth that made her feel uneasy. She floated around her home feeling like a stranger despite her year living there—making the space full of more than just a lonely man and his only child.

Making them a family, even if it was only for appearances.

Yor stood over the stove, stirring stew in a large pot, tossing in spices and aromatics she’d learned how to handle well enough over the past few months. The room was warm from the heat of the stovetop coils and bubbling food, while the dish's aroma enticed her stomach as she waited for the broth to thicken.

Anya sat in the living room watching her mid-afternoon morning TV, making little *pew pew* sounds as she watched the spy on screen after the dastardly assassin giving him chase. She sang along with the theme song as the title sequence queued on screen and she couldn’t contain her excitement as the spy showed up again.

Loid sat across from Anya on the home’s reclining chair, relaxing into the furniture with one leg crossed over his other leg’s knee as he scanned his eyes over the morning paper. His eyes drifted from it however to watch Anya watching her shows. His eyes grew soft as he watched the little girl imagine herself in that world of danger, and his voice was even softer as he replied to all of Anya’s comments and constant, “Chi-chi, did you see? Did you see it?” to which he replied yes, even if he hadn’t actually been watching.

His eyes found Yor’s then from her spot in the kitchen’s window panel, sending her a smile and an eye roll that she knew meant “god, this kid.”

Yor placed her hand over her heart, begging the organ to stop beating so violently against the cavity in her chest. It was just a smile. He’d smiled at her a million times, yet the feeling of fluttering in her belly never ceased. When his catlike blue eyes met her’s and he looked at her as if she were made up of everything good in the world, she couldn’t help but feel weak in the knees. That feeling always proceeded the heartache, and the feeling of her heart being crushed came in record time as Loid’s eyes left her own and focused on his daughter again.

The spot in Yor’s stomach that’d built up a lepidopterarium filled with the most beautiful winged beauties caved in then, sinking into a pit that reached her spine. Yor loved Anya, genuinely, as if she were her own. She harbored nothing but care for the child, and her father, but what if Camilla was right? What if Loid did want another child? What if that was something he needed to feel whole, but he hadn’t asked Yor out of… pity? Spite? Disinterest? Would he want to get rid of her when the urge finally bubbled up to the surface?

What did he want?

Then, it dawned on her. What did Yor want? After spending a year legally bound to the man, she and Loid had never consummated their union. There was a strange air of professionalism around their relationship that kept Yor firmly in check. This was for the progression of Anya’s school career, to make her life better. This was also to keep Yor’s brother off of her back and out of her business.

That was all. Right?

So, why did her heart hurt so much at the thought of their future? What was in it? What did they need to do to keep it afloat? To keep up their image? What lies would she need to concoct next? She could say they were trying for a baby, should anyone else be insensitive enough to ask. They’d been married long enough that most couples would at least be having the conversation, Yor supposed. But then Camilla’s words came to the forefront of her mind again.

“Maybe they’re celibate… Why marry a woman you’re so obviously disgusted by Loid? Anything would be better than…”

Me, Yor thought.

The stew bubbled over then, sploshing out in fat drops of boiling soup all over the stovetop and onto Yor’s hand. The yell had just barely breached her lips before Loid was there behind her, holding her waist with one arm will the other supported her wrist and held out her hand. He guided her over to the sink, having turned off the stove in a flash before he was back against her. The tap was flowing with cool water, but it wasn’t cold. Not like Yor needed against the incoming burn that pooled closer and closer to the surface of her skin.

Loid ran to the freezer, taking out ice cubes with his bare hands that he brought over to Yor. He cupped her hands in his own, moving the ice around constantly against her small hands to keep the burn at bay.

“Are you okay my love?” he asked, pressing his nose to the crown of her head as she let her neck relax and her head rest against the firm plane of his chest.

Yor nodded her head, saying yes without words even as tears began to pool in her eyes. She’d never pegged herself as a crier. It never felt necessary to cry in the face of pain. The pain was just an emotion like any other that would eventually pass, so there was no use in falling into it and letting it drag you down and away from yourself. But as she stood there will the prickling heat of a shallow burn on her hand, she realized she’d felt this feeling before in her heart. Every time she questioned if Loid wanted her, if Anya liked her, and if they were really meant to be a family. 

She’d felt this deep in her chest a million times.

So, she cried. So restrained that her shoulders shook and her lip felt as though it would tear under the pressure from her teeth, but she cried. Soft little hiccuping sounds came out of her mouth as she brought up her unburned hand to hold on to Loid’s arm that was wrapped around her belly, keeping her close and safe as she let months of feelings come out at once.

“Mama, Anya helps,” the little girl said, stomping her way into the room with an emergency kit she’d seen both of her parents grab and put away in secret many times throughout the months of their employment excursions.

Loid grabbed it from the girl, rubbing her head with his hand before asking her to go to the downstairs neighbor’s house for the afternoon to give Papa some time with Mama, alone. Anya nodded her head eagerly, excited to play with the neighbor woman’s dog that always thought about the sky outside and the birds in the trees.

The front door slammed as Anya left them alone, the house notably quieter since the girl changed the television channel to something less rowdy before she left.

“What’s wrong Yor?” Loid asked, turning the tap down to a trickle. He looked intently at his wife’s hands once the extent of the burn had developed.

Yor shook her head, wiping the tears away roughly before moving to remove herself from Loid’s hold.

“Wait,” he said, pulling her back against him to hold her close.

They didn’t speak for a while. Loid moved Yor’s weight with his own as he guided her to the dining room table without a word, taking out the creams and chilled menthol bandages meant for burns as Yor’s tears subsided. The only sounds shared between them were Loid’s small huffs of concentration and Yor’s sniffles before she found a napkin to blow her nose.

“Sorry,” she said, mumbling the words as Loid finished the bandage around the side of her hand where the stew had gotten her the worst and put one last layer of burn ointment on the top of her hand to keep it from scarring.

He laughed, putting away the first aid utensils where they belonged before standing up to wash off his hands in the now icy cold stream of water in the sink. He walked back to his seat in front of Yor lackadaisically, looking so soft in his cotton t-shirt and loose-fitting dark green sweatpants—the same color as his favorite working suit.

He looked so handsome like that, Yor thought, sinking into her thoughts more when Loid scooted closer to her, slotting their legs together so he could rest his forearms on her thighs.

“Is this about what Camilla said yesterday?”

Yor’s eyes snapped up to meet stormy blue irises, darker than usual at the mere mention of her coworker’s name. Loid looked… upset. Did that mean Camilla was right? Had he been mad at Yor this whole time for not being “his” enough to have a child? Had he thought their engagement was so meaningless that he couldn’t tell her his dreams for another child? Was he afraid she didn’t love him too— oh.

“It… no,” she said, the lie coming out unconvincingly in a hushed tone between Yor’s clenched teeth. “The stew just hurt a lot. I wasn’t prepared for that type of pain. I don’t like being in pain.”

Loid’s face fell, the little scowl on his brow turning into burning empathy as he looked at his wife. His stare was so heavy she felt herself cower beneath it, not ready to confront her feelings yet as the man searched her face for answers. She wasn’t ready to hear that he still only thought of their marriage as a sham. That only she had developed these feelings and that Loid was using her as a placeholder until he found someone else. Someone who he found worthy of carrying his second child, and sharing his bed, and the rest of his life.

Anything better than… Yor.

“Hey,” Loid said, brushing a stray hair out of Yor’s face and sliding his hand across her cheek to place the hair behind her ear. “Your hair’s falling out of your headband. May I?”

Yor nodded her head, sniffling away the tears she felt bubbling beneath the surface again as the man moved to take care of her further. His hands worked easily as he undid the messy remnants of her hairstyle, removing all the accessories in her hair until the black strands were free-flowing and light as they cascaded down her back and fell into her face.

“You look beautiful with your hair down,” Loid said, running his fingers through her hair to expose her face again. “I think that’s why Camilla is so ugly towards you. She’s jealous, understandably so.”

Yor scoffed, reaching up her hand to wipe away a stray tear before Loid caught her hand in his, wiping the tear away from her cheek with his index finger. The digit lingered against her skin even after the moisture had been wicked away. Yor couldn’t help but lean into the touch as his hand cupped her jaw, and his finger traced the line of bone there beneath her skin.

“No one’s jealous of me. They’re jealous I have you, but they don’t know the truth,” Yor said, the words coming out of her mouth so soft that she hoped Loid wasn’t able to hear her despite the stillness of the apartment.

Loid furrowed his brows, hooking his finger beneath Yor’s chin to make her look into his eyes. The deep blue felt fierce as a storm brewing on the horizon as he tried to read Yor’s expression, so broken in a way she’d never let herself show outwardly. Even now as she tried to reign it in, she couldn’t.

‘What truth Yor? That you’re my wife? That we take care of a child? Are both of those things not the truth?” he asked, his eyes pleading for something that Yor couldn’t understand.

She sighed, running her hand over her face which knocked Loid’s hand away. She sat back in her chair, putting more distance between them even though their legs were still touching, and Yor could see it in Loid’s face that that hurt him.

Why was she hurting him?

“The truth is that I’m your wife. But, we both know what our agreement was. I have set myself up for failure because I—”

“You what?” Loid said, holding his hands on the closest part of Yor’s body that he could touch. His hands rested on the exposed skin of her knees as her dress rode up her leg, making those same little soothing motions with his thumb.

She could see it in the depths of his eyes then. That desire to make her happy. Not only to keep her around for his child, but for more. Despite the distance she could tell they’d both placed into their relationship intentionally, she couldn’t help but allow one of the many walls built up in her mind to crumble as she looked into those pretty blue eyes. They’d grown closer over their year together, there was no way to deny that fact to herself.

Every dinner spent at the table together with Anya talking and laughing and forming their own inside jokes. Every night spent helping Anya with homework and talking over wine after stressful days when the little girl went off to bed. Every time they’d spent soothing Anya down from a crying fit together on the rare occasion that the girl got upset, every outing spent holding hands and swinging the child between them to make her squeal, every polite kiss they’d exchanged in public to hush rumors and whispers. It all led to this.

To Yor accepting that their relationship with Anya wasn’t the only thing that had grown, but each other too. From sharing a bathroom to co-parenting to all the times they’d had alone to learn more about each other. It all felt… right. So achingly right, and he was all she really wanted. She couldn’t stand how badly she wanted…

“You. I’ve set myself up for failure by falling for you, Loid Forger. Despite everything within me screaming not to cross that line, to respect our agreement, and maintain my place in our little arrangement. I screwed up. I did the one thing you aren’t supposed to do and fell in love with you, and it’s killing me because I’ve ruined it all. You can just… go find the woman you’re meant to be with now. The one you’ll want for real. To have more babies with and marry for love, not whatever we’ve agreed to here. And I, I’ll go on my way, and leave you and your daughter be. She deserves a real mother, and you deserve a real wife and a loving, passionate marriage. I’m just… sorry I can’t give you that. I know I’m not what you want.”

Her eyes burned as she looked down at her lap, fiddling incessantly with the skin around her nails as she fought more wretched tears. It shouldn’t have felt so good when Loid’s chilled hand touched the warm skin of her face, shushing the avalanche of words trying to become coherent sentences as they poured out from Yor’s mouth.

He grabbed the legs of her chair beneath her, pulling her in closer to him until she was practically sitting in his lap, balanced on the crack between the chairs as they touched.

“I’m the failure,” he whispered, resting his forehead against Yor’s as she let one last tear fall. “I’m the failure for not making you see how much I care for you ages ago. I was so caught up in my own feelings and desires that I wasn’t even seeing you for the woman you are—who you could be to me if I allowed it. Who I could be to you if you let me. I’m a failure for not showing you how much I want you. Need you, really. You’re all I could ever ask for.”

She squinted her eyes in confusion as she leaned back to look at Loid’s face, searching his features for the slightest hint of insincerity. She found none, and the shattered shards of her heart began to stitch themselves back together. She felt warm all over. So warm as she took in the placement of Loid’s hands on her body, trailing up her thighs and pulling up the fabric of her dress with it.

“You want me?” she asked, looking every bit as insecure as Camilla made her out to be.

Loid’s eyes darkened to navy, filled with a fire she’d never seen directed at her before. He wet his lips with his tongue as he moved his hands to Yor’s knees, hooking them underneath to pull her up and into his lap, holding her flush against his body as he held her tight with his arm secure around her back.

“I want every inch of you, Yor Briar Forger. Inside and out, body and soul, to death do us part. Those were the vows we took, weren’t they?”

Yor nodded her head, too breathless to speak as Loid grabbed hold of her hand and lifted it up to his lips. He kissed every digit, trailing his lips down the line of her arm until he reached her elbow. He pulled her in then, wrapping her arm around his neck so they were impossibly close. Yor breathed in his scent, dizzy from the heady mix of her hair products and his cologne.

He smelled like home, her home. The home they were working on building stronger, together.

“Those vows we said when you were bleeding from the head?” she said, the tease coming easily from her lips as she settled more comfortably in his lap.

He hummed, the sound rich like honey in his throat as his lips touched her skin again, this time against the column of her throat.

“I was of sound mind even though I wasn’t of sound body,” he chuckled, the vibrations tickling Yor as he kissed the sensitive skin across her neck. “I haven’t taken the vows back.”

Yor nodded, arching her back as he found a sweet spot beneath her ear, kissing up to suck the lobe into his mouth with the slightest bite of pressure from his teeth.

“Neither have I,” she said, leaning into his hands as they worked their way around her body.

He grabbed the bottom hem of her dress where it pooled in his lap on one end and draped over his legs on the other. He pushed the fabric up so that all of it was loose and not caught beneath Yor’s body, then his hand snuck behind her back, trailing up the length of her spine until he found the zipper there, then he pulled back down.

“It’s a husband’s duty to make his wife happy. ‘Happy wife happy life’ is what all of the academy husbands say when discussing their wives. Do you want me to make you happy, Yor?”

Yor sighed as the red fabric of her dress fell off of her shoulders, the biting chill from the apartment shocking her system as she caught it before it exposed her chest. She searched his eyes as he looked up at her from below, touching her chin with his nose before he moved up, capturing her lips in a breathtaking kiss that made her hold on to him for balance.

His lips felt soft against her’s as they moved, the moment feeling too slow despite the rush of want coursing through Yor’s system. Everything in the world was pinpointed to him. His hands on her back, his tongue licking into her mouth, his warmth against her as he caged her in. Everything Yor didn’t know she needed was all encased into this moment, with Loid—her husband, in more than just name.

“Make me yours,” she said, her voice sounding more like a whine as she rolled her hips against the hardening length in his lap.

She removed her hands where they’d caught her dress from falling and she let the garment pool down to her waist, exposing her breasts still trapped in the confines of her bra. His eyes trailed down the valley of her cleavage, and that fire in his eyes turned into an inferno.

“Gladly.”

He got up out of his chair with Yor in tow, letting her dress pool onto the floor as Yor wrapped her legs around Loid’s waist to let him carry her. He wrapped one arm underneath her ass, holding her steady in his arms as his fingers played with the thin fabric of her panties that hugged her waist. The other hand held her jaw, pulling her down to meet his lips in kisses interlaced with his tongue.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as he carried her through their house, stopping in the living room only because something—no, someone—instantly came to mind as they passed by the floor full of Crayola drawings and Spy Detective merchandise.

“Anya.”

Loid stopped in the living room and sat them both down on the couch, having Yor stand for a moment so he could ogle her ass before having her sit down in his lap again, only this time her back was against his front.

“I’ll call Mrs. Bustelo. You lay there and look beautiful as always, darling,” Loid said, digging his phone out of his pocket to call their neighbor, the sweetest old woman who had grown to look after Anya often, given the sporadic nature of both Loid and Yor’s schedules.

Yor relaxed in Loid’s lap, tilting up her head to nose along his jaw, placing a trail of kisses as she impatiently waited for the phone line to connect. Her hips shifted side to side, causing Loid to bite down on his bottom lip to stifle a groan as a cheerful voice came down the line of the phone he had in a death grip in his hand.

“Hello, Mrs. Bustelo,” he said, his voice pinched as Yor whined her hips in tight circles as she kissed the sensitive point she’d found on Loid’s neck.

He looked down at her, nuzzling their noses against one another as their neighbor rambled on over the phone line. Yor’s eyes were filled with a mischief Loid would have never thought her capable of, but Yor felt as if her insides were on fire. Slick moisture pooled within the folds of her cunt as she inhaled Loid’s scent, kissing every part of his face and neck that her mouth could reach. A year’s worth of yearning brewed in her belly and she no longer felt as if it could be contained.

Loid wanted her too, and she needed to see all that desire brought to life with their bodies.

His cock throbbed against her where she sat in his lap, angling her hips to rut against his length through the thin layers of clothing keeping them apart. His light hold on her jaw tightened, just enough to convey the warning that was reflected in his eyes.

“Quit it,” he mouthed, making asinine conversation with the woman as Yor grew more and more restless in his lap.

She pouted, feigning innocence as she reached her unharmed hand back between their bodies. It’d already been a year, and all at once, it felt like a year too long.

“Or what?” she mouthed back, curling her lips into a smile that made her husband bite back a groan.

His eyes snapped shut as Yor ran her hand along the outline of his cock, applying pressure that made him clench his jaw in an effort not to make any noise. Yor should have felt some shame, toying with him like this with someone able to hear. Maybe the desire within her for someone to know he was indeed her’s—truly and only her’s—spurred on the act of dominance, but she wanted him now. She wanted to touch him and feel him inside of her. She needed him to make her whole in a way her soul hadn’t yet known.

“Please?” she whispered, her voice so light she wasn’t sure if she’d actually made a sound, but Loid understood, He heard her and sought out her lips as he leaned in to kiss her, putting his phone on speaker—and muted—before sitting it down on the back of the couch near his head.

“Anya’s being such a darling this afternoon. She and Bond are having the best time outside catching crickets, I’d hate to break them up. I’m assuming you need me to keep her, yes? Do you both have extra work hours again tonight or—oh! That reminds me. Have I told you two about—”

Both of them blocked out the voice as Loid dipped his head down to kiss Yor’s neck, trailing his kisses up before sucking a deep bruise into that spot beneath her ear. Her mouth fell open, desperate to make noise before Loid’s hand came up to place his thumb against her lips.

“Don’t make a sound,” he said, his voice fighting a tremble as Yor pressed down against him with the heel of her hand.

She kissed the digit keeping her lips closed, then in a spark of mischief she knew her husband noticed, she sucked his finger into her mouth, lapping her tongue across his fingerprint as a deep, maddeningly desperate sound got caught in his chest.

Yor giggled around his finger, pulling it out from the wet cavern of her mouth to intertwine their hands.

“Looks like I should be the one saying be quiet to yo—oh.”

His hand trailed down the tight plane of lean muscle that made up her abdomen, all smooth pale skin that begged to be bitten and marked by his teeth. He kissed her cheek as his hand breeched the lining of her panties, his fingers sliding into her slick folds with ease. He toyed with her clit, rubbing the swollen bud in tight circles as he bucked up against her hand.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so wet,” he said, burying his face in her hair as she nuzzled against his neck.

Yor giggled, having never heard the man curse that strongly before since most of their life was spent around a child. The word “baby” coming from his lips was the only thing that could top that little slip-up.

“Baby. You called me baby,” she said, a smile on her face as she ran her hand down the length of his cock trapped within his sweats to squeeze the tip. “Loid, I want you in me. I need to feel you, it’s been too long already.”

They moaned softly into each other’s mouths, soft pants and heated kisses making them breathless as they ground against each other’s hands. The months of not engaging with anyone in that way—their needs only being taken care of on their own—had taken its toll. Every nerve in Yor’s body felt raw and exposed beneath Loid’s touch, yearning for him to do something—anything—more to tip her over the edge.

“More. I need more,” Yor said, sucking her own bruise against Loid’s neck. “I need all of you.”

He groaned as he picked her up, the last bit of his sanity snapping as he lifted her out of the seat. He began to walk them back towards his—their—bedroom, but before they could make it even two feet forward they were brought back to Earth in a second.

“Loid? Loid, are you there?”

“Shit,” they said in tandem, falling all over each other as they stood in the middle of their living room and Loid rushed to clear up the situation over the phone, making up some excuse or another about why they needed a babysitter in the middle of the day on a lazy Saturday afternoon.

Yor wrapped her arms around his neck and let him hold her as he spoke, the deep baritone of his voice loud and muffled inside of his chest where Yor rested her head. His chest was so broad, firm yet soft in a way that felt comforting as Yor relaxed in the safety of his arms.

“Yes, thank you for taking her. We appreciate it. I—yes. Hi Anya,” he said, kissing Yor’s hair as he listened to the child speak. “Yes, Mama’s right here. She can hear you now.”

Loid flicked the speaker button on again, letting Yor hear Anya’s excited yelling about all the crickets she and Bond caught and her ‘harmless’ plans for them against one annoying, pig-faced, silver spoon-eating Damian Desmond when she returned to school the following week. All Yor could do was laugh, telling her that the best course of action for revenge is to not get caught.

“If you aren’t confident in your abilities Anya then don’t do it. You need plausible deniability, an escape plan, and you’ve already messed up by telling us the plan before it’s happened. Polish your skills and wait, my love. He’ll get what’s coming to him. Don’t worry.”

Anya sighed, groaning about the crickets before deciding to let them free into the yard again.

That definitely wouldn’t be a problem for their pest control later. Nope, not at all.

“Be good for Mrs. Bustelo, Anya. Mama and Papa will be here when you’re ready to come home in the morning.”

“Okay, Chi-chi. Have fun Mama!” Anya said, hanging up the phone before any of the adults were able to say goodbye.

Loid sighed into Yor’s hair, tossing his phone onto the couch before his cock twitched with interest again as he looked down at his wife’s face.

“You’re so good with her,” he said, scooping her back up into his arms. “I couldn’t have dreamt up a better mother for her to come into our lives.”

She fell into his kisses, letting every gasp and moan she wanted spill from her lips now that they were truly alone. She felt dizzy with lust as her back hit their mattress, seated near the edge as Loid lowered himself down on one knee to kiss down her body.

“I never tell you how grateful I am for you, for all that you do for us,” he said, sliding his hands beneath her back to rid her of her bra. “For me.”

Her breasts dropped out from the material easily, and Loid didn’t hesitate to show his appreciation for her body. His tongue was warm against her nipple, while the other was pinched with just the right pressure between his thumb and forefinger. He sucked, slotting his leg between Yor’s thighs as he flicked her nipple with his tongue.

“So good,” Yor whined, sliding down just enough to press her cunt against the firm muscle of his thigh, grinding down on it in an unabashed chase for her pleasure.

“We never christened our marriage bed. We’re overdue for that, don’t you think… Mrs. Forger?” Loid said, grinding himself against her hip as she chased her first release.

“Yes, please, Mr. Forger. Make me yours.”

Her orgasm bubbled up to the surface soon enough, guided by Loid’s whispers of sweet nothings and his mouth against the sensitive tissue of her breasts. As the high muddled her brain, Yor absentmindedly thought about how Loid might feel about her body if she were pregnant, swollen and full with his child—their child—with breasts developed to provide sustenance for new life.

Camilla’s words came flooding back then, chasing away the pleasure that had managed to momentarily flood out her constantly working mind. The frustration at that must have shown on her face, since not a moment later Loid was back in her space, kissing her cheeks to soothe what felt like incoming tears again.

“Where did you just go?” Loid asked, sliding his hands along the soft fabric of their sheets to grab Yor’s elbows, pushing her arms up above her head so he could get as close to her as he wanted.

She shook her head, her mouth fixed to say “nowhere” before the seriousness of Loid’s gaze crashed down on her. Yor was glad he didn’t give her that look in their day-to-day life, when she was lying to him about other things—more trivial things. But now, she couldn’t lie to him if her life depended on it. She felt naked as she saw herself in the light blue of his eyes.

“I—I let what Camilla said get to me,” Yor said, trying in vain to avert her eyes despite Loid being mere inches from her face. “She—I—god. I don’t know what we are, and when she poked at that, and brought Anya into it and our baby into it I didn’t know what to say I just—”

“Our baby?” he said, a million questions popping up in his eyes as he racked his brain for details of the night before, and then it clicked. “Ah, because she assumed we must be sexless losers who only co-parent? She had no basis at all for assuming that. She just said it to hurt you. So why should what she says matter?”

Yor chuckled, smiling as she pressed a kiss against Loid’s lips that he happily reciprocated. “I just mean that… she made me wonder what it is that I want, and I let her make me assume what you want. That you must want a second baby and that I’m not the woman you want to do it with, because of how this all started. It wasn’t fair to let her put words in your mouth.”

“But?” he said, seeing easily that there was more on his wife’s mind.

“But, I do wonder now if she was wrong. I just… don’t know what you want. You say now that you do want me but what does that look like? Do you only want my body? Do you want more kids? Do you intend for this to last?” she asked, searching his eyes for the answers. “We don’t have to decide anything right now, but what she said made me wonder if I’m what you want, for yourself or Anya or this… hypothetical new child. I’m just confused, at you and myself.”

Loid nodded, taking a moment to process everything Yor said before taking in a deep breath and exhaling it out with renewed energy. He slid his hands down Yor’s legs as he kissed her, dragging her ass as close to the edge of the bed as he could get without her falling off.

“I want you, for as big of a role as you’ll allow me to have in your life,” he said, kissing down her body again but not stopping until he reached his intended destination. “I want you in sickness,” he said, kissing her inner thigh. “I want you in health.” Another kiss. “I want you pregnant and happy with my babies, if that’s what you want. I just want you happy, light of my life. I wouldn’t have the life that I love without you in it, so whatever you want me to be to you is what I am. Your husband, in every sense of the word.”

Yor may have yelled when his mouth made contact with her clit, flicking the sensitive bud with his tongue while his fingers prodded her entrance.

“Please. In! In, in in,” she said, trying to fuck herself down on the digits despite Loid holding her waist down on the bed with his arm.

He listened well, inserting one finger into her tight heat before sliding in another easily with how much natural lubricant was soaking her inner thighs. He groaned when her cunt tightened around his fingers, no doubt feeling that sensation in the depth of his stomach as he longed for her to be around his cock instead. Still, he waited—ignoring the pulsing length smacking impatiently against his thigh. His arousal stained his boxer briefs as he got his wife off again against his tongue, sucking her clit with gentle tugs into his mouth as she rutted against his face.

“Loid, please,” Yor said, near tears for a different reason as her cunt spasmed around his fingers. “Please, I need you in me. Please. I want to cum with you in me.”

Yor tugged his head back with her hand fisted in his hair, crunching up to meet his lips in a sloppy kiss as she dragged him up to lay against her body.

“If you don’t fuck me like you mean it in the next ten seconds I will lose my fucking mind.”

He chuckled at that, standing up to free his cock from the tight material of his boxers. Yor couldn’t help but giggle when she looked at Loid’s hair, noting how messy it looked from Yor’s fingers running through the strands, gripping them for dear life to keep his mouth on her for as long as she needed it, but now she needed something else. More of him—all of him, every inch he had to give.

“Condoms,” Loid said, his eyes growing a size wider than Yor had ever seen them when the word was said out loud.

Yor’s mouth gaped open as she wracked her brain for an answer. They hadn’t done anything so there was no use for them in the home, at least that’s what Yor thought before every time she’d pass by them as she went down the aisle to purchase her own personal items. She mentally thumped herself on the forehead for not having the foresight for this. Now Loid would have to leave, go to the corner store, stand in line, get out their reward number, talk to the cashier, help th—

“We don’t have to use one, really, if you’re okay with that.”

Yor will never understand where the words came from, but once they were out of her mouth and into the air, she couldn’t hope to take them back. Loid looked contemplative, wrestling internally with himself about something before he looked down at Yor’s body. The peachy-pink flushed all over her warm skin, the weight of her breasts, the soft features of her face still relaxed with post-orgasmic bliss, awaiting another one.

Whatever struggle he had inside ended as he fisted his cock, jerking the length only enough to bring him back to full hardness before he leaned over Yor still perched on the edge of their tall bed.

“If it’s too much, you need to tell me. If you change your mind, tell me. I meant every word that I’ve said today. Every word, so whatever comes of this will be okay. I just want to feel you.”

He swept her up in a kiss and she nodded as she licked into his mouth, letting him push her legs up by the knees to rest her ankles on his shoulders as he stood over her on the bed, using the edge as leverage for his hands.

“Make me yours.”

“You already are, and I’m yours.”

There was a sheen of cold sweat on the surface of Yor’s body as Loid pushed into her, bottoming out and filling her to the brim with a groan so deep it sounded wrong coming from him. Her sweet, stoic, hardworking husband was a goner from the moment he entered her cunt, and she knew she looked no better as she fucked herself on his cock.

“I’m fine,” she said, knowing he was waiting for her to say something. “God, you’re perfect. So perfect. Please, Loid, move. Use me, I can take it.”

He nodded, pulling out until just the tip was inside, then he crashed back down. Once they found a rhythm, the deep strokes he was making into her cunt felt like music, the way something melodic and beautiful felt inside of her ears is how his cock felt inside of her body. So perfectly sized, moving with such fluid motion that Yor would have never pegged that the man—her husband—was capable of. The lower muscles of his abs pressed against her clit, sending sparks of pleasure so visceral up her spine that she feared the sensation may never stop.

Part of her hoped that it wouldn’t.

"Tell me,” Yor said, gasping desperately as his cock stroked all the right spots inside and out. She felt so full, delirious with pleasure as his hand went between their bodies to rub at her clit. “Tell me how you feel.”

Loid groaned, one long airy desperate sound as Yor clenched around him so tight, so perfect, as her high neared the tipping point again. Everything in the world felt right for them both at that moment, connected on the most intimate level with someone they’d not only chosen to be with out of circumstance but now by choice. It was everything and so much more than a man like Loid Forger imagined himself to be capable of. To feel, to want, to yearn for.

And it all came to a head just as they did.

“I love you, Yor Forger. I am blessed to have you as my wife and the mother of my child. I’d be honored to father your babies if you’ll have me. I—fuck. I love you. Yor, I love you. I—”

“Me too. I love you too. I want more, with you and for—our kids. Please, I want you to make me all yours.”

They came in quick succession after each other. Who came first? Yor couldn’t tell. All that mattered was the overwhelming joy she felt as Loid came inside her, joining them together as he reached his arms around her body to hug her with no intention of letting her go.

For as long as they both shall live.

-------------

“Mistress. Mistress!” you yelled, your voice shaking. “There are two crows here requesting access to the home.”

The crows flew overhead, squawking their message down at you on a loop as you waited for the head of your household to dismiss their alarm. The small middle-aged woman appeared soon after, walking up from your left on bare feet in a perfectly wrinkle-free yukata. Her feet thudded lightly against the wooden flooring as she approached, sliding beside you to look up at the birds.

“So?” she said, scrunching her slim upturned nose in annoyance. “We’ve housed more than two guests at a time, and we have no visitors here for the night. Let them come. There’s plenty of space and I hear some of the girls preparing things already.”

Though your Mistress happily did her duty without complaint, you could see that the woman was irritated at the early-evening interruption. Her long dark hair was loose from its typical bun, and the late-spring air moved the pin-straight strands around her face beautifully, though it didn’t hide how sunken her light amber eyes looked with exhaustion against her pale skin.

In the wake of the last large fight with a higher-ranked demon, your home had been void of visitors for the first night in ages. All was quiet as mostly all of the home’s inhabitants—girls and young women, just like you, plucked from the streets and taken in to support and build up the diverse home—were also excited to have some downtime, so they’d all planned to turn in a bit early as well. Alas, as you both basked in the moonlight’s glow from where you stood in the open doorway, that dream was quickly dashed. The words interlaced within the crows' caws rid all thoughts of sleep from your mind.

“Mistress Miya, the crows both belong to a hashira—two different hashira,” you said, widening your eyes to punctuate your words.

The woman was speechless for a moment as she processed what you’d said, but sure enough, her tired eyes took on a soft sparkle under the night stars, and her dull skin regained its flush of rosy-pink color. “Two?” she said, placing her hands on your shoulders. “For nearly a year, there hasn’t even been one, and now there are two?” She nearly yelled the words, her breaths growing quicker as she turned around to face the crows.

She kneeled, whistling up at the crows to dismiss their loud caws. She guided them down to the sizeable station made for them to rest their wings beside the home’s large shoji doors. Both birds landed gracefully, fluffing their wings and dipping their bodies in the wide bird bath imbued with lavender-scented oils and wisteria blossom petals. The Mistress shuffled her feet, squatting in front of the onyx-feathered birds’ perch to put her body at their eye level.

“Can you tell us your names?” she asked, her moderately age-withered skin stretching and exposing fine lines as she broadened her smile. You stood behind her in the home’s doorway, looking fondly at the birds as they balanced on their sturdy wooden perch beneath the wisteria vines.

*caw caw* the birds sang, notably speaking over each other as they rushed to tell you their introductions. You focused in your ears on them both but caught more of what the smaller crow of the two had to say—which was plenty.

“Child, what did this little one say?” she asked, beckoning you forward to polish your skills with decoding the crows’ language. “Every word.”

You giggled as you approached the birds, crouching down like your Mistress to put yourself at their level. You glanced at the larger bird before speaking, but the tangibly humanlike irritation radiating from him had already commenced due to what his counterpart had to say.

“Okay, every word.” You cleared your throat, looking politely at the bird as you repeated her statement. “Well, this one on the left is called Manju,” you said, motioning to the petite crow with a smile. “She said first and foremost that her master, Rengoku Kyojuro, is mostly unharmed—having only suffered some mild bruising despite multiple days of battle. She wanted it to be known that she is a lady, wholly unlike the tacky brute perched next to her, and that she would appreciate it if we added seeds mixed with dried corn to the feeder for her tonight, as she hasn’t had the chance to eat in two days due to their tumultuous schedule.”

As you wrapped up your summary of Manju’s introduction, you noticed the larger crow of the two shuffling closer to her, not so subtly attempting to knock her off of their perch while he said his peace in retaliation, though Manju elegantly dodged the petty swipes at her feet that the other crow made with his talons.

*caw caw caw caw caw* he said, so loudly in the still night air that you heard the last of the girls housed on the second-floor stirring, triggered by the second wave of loud birdsong that made them get up out of bed. You sputtered, an unladylike laugh escaping your lips as you processed what the male bird was saying. Not only taken aback by how loud and brash the jewelry-laden crow was but also how much petty malevolence the small avian animal managed to pack into mere sounds.

Your mistress turned her head, looking at you with eyes that would have marked you dead had they physically been able to shoot daggers. “Mind your manners,” she whispered, nodding her head towards the crows as if she were completely unphased by their bickering.

“Sorry, Mistress Miya,” you said, wiping the budding tears welling along your lower lash line as you stifled your giggles. “Do I have to translate everything he said or only the important bits?”

The older woman shook her head, motioning for you to continue with her hands. “ Every word. I can’t judge your accuracy if you don’t repeat it all back. Besides, we can’t miss a single thing regarding their messages for everyone’s safety, no matter how many curses the messages contain. Go on.”

You nodded, clearing your throat as you recounted the crow’s words. “This dashing, handsome, flashy crow on the right is named Nijimaru. He says that his superior master Uzui Tengen is also unharmed besides a few minor cuts and scrapes. He would like nuts and berries cut flamboyantly for dinner, if possible. He also says that “useless bitch Manju” should watch her words since his crown’s jewels have more value than her “full of shit” existence. Also, he said she wouldn’t know fashion if a demon sliced her down the beak with it, so we should disregard her childish, shitty insults.”

The female crow made a high-pitched squawk, insulted again after hearing the words through your mouth. Then, she extended her wing in one swift movement, hitting Nijimaru hard enough to disrupt his balance on the skinny wooden landing pole, knocking him off.

*caw caw caw* Manju said before flying after the retreating male bird, following him into the bath as he tried to escape her presence—muttering something along the lines of, “stupid pea-brained woman, besting me? Ha! Never.”

Your Mistress whipped around toward you in surprise, panic blooming on the delicate features of her rounded face as you both processed what Manju said. “They’ll be here in twelve minutes?” she yelled, corralling you into the house while shouting for all the other girls to make haste.

Once you entered the genkan—the home’s large entrance foyer—you were met with the pleasant sight of all of your housemates already busy at work, tidying and cleaning whatever their hands could reach. The smell of freshly steamed rice, grilled meats, and cooked vegetables wafted up into your nose, and your mouth began to water. The youngest of the girls walked around the home, skipping and holding hands as they hung talismans for good fortune and flowers for both virility and muliebrity all over the place; while the older girls who were outside of the kitchen took charge of dressing and grooming each other, while simultaneously darting around to get the items sorted and prepared for their hallowed guests.

You couldn’t help but smile watching them. You took a moment to pat their heads and place quick kisses against their cheeks as you walked by, whispering ‘thank you’ in each of their ears as you did so. Your household had done this a million times, but seeing the girls get quicker and quicker with it every night felt rewarding—to see your small family coming together to make your home a safe space for the men and women who kept you alive made your heart swell.

“Ayra!” your Mistress yelled, snapping you back into focus as she called out for the second oldest of the girls—at nineteen—under you.

“Back here!” she yelled, her voice carrying into the home from the spacious forest-protected garden nestled beyond your back porch.

You walked around the side of the large house, careening down the long stone pathway, until you felt the temperature in the air shift where the path forked. Both you and your Mistress easily navigated yourselves down to the trail's end, stopping once you reached the sizeable hot spring shrouded thinly in dense steam.

Ayra was there kneeling, hunched over with her arm plunged into the lantern-lined hot spring. Had her soft grunts from her efforts not been louder, you might have missed her slim figure hunched over into the large spring of water. It was half-hidden by the home's awning and the immaculately gardened flowers and shrubbery and could only easily be seen when the wind blew south, and the steam cleared.

“Is it hot?” the Mistress asked, squinting her eyes to look on as the olive-toned young woman fiddled with the thick layer of rocks on the very bottom of the spring, using—what you could only assume—was a very long stick.

“Yes,” she quipped, groaning as she flipped over what must have been a hefty rock, “it is now. I just need to move a few more stones out of the way to make the temperature perfect. Did I hear the crows correctly? Are we hosting two hashiras? Master Tengen and Master Kyojuro?”

You nodded, though you quickly followed with verbal confirmation. “Yes, you heard right. I wonder what sort of temperament they’ll be. Normal men find it within themselves to be cruel and flippant. I can’t imagine how men with their power will be.”

You heard Ayra chuckle before the water sloshed violently again as she moved another rock.

“I’ll be frank; I do wonder the same. I’ve never met these two before,” your Mistress said, pursing her lips. “Though, the corps soldiers do tend to be pleasant enough to us—some a little more fervidly than others,” she said with a knowing hint to her tone that you ignored. “It’s true that men with power seemingly can’t help but abuse it; however, you will give them your grace. Maintain your self-respect, but be kind to them. They deserve that much from us.”

You nodded, a hushed ‘yes Mistress,’ leaving your lips as the tall girl removed her arm from the hot spring—along with her stick—and stood, straightening her back to wipe her damp hands and dust off her knees.

“The last hashira we had was a woman,” Ayra said, hiding her stick in the nearby bushes as she jogged up to you from the cloud of steam. “What a curious thing she was with that wild watermelon hair. I wonder if the men will differ much from her. I’ve heard all the hashira are strange in their own ways.”

Your Mistress tsked, darting her arm out quickly to smack Ayra firmly against her forehead with the small fan she kept hidden in her kimono sleeve. Then she turned on you, popping you swiftly on the arm by proxy of Ayra’s comment. “Mind your tongues,” she warned, staring at both of you sternly. “Every person has their proclivities; the hashira are no different. If you notice anything off about them, at least have the good sense not to mention it.”

Your Mistress rolled her eyes, ignoring your giggles as she turned on her heels. She yelled into the side corridor of the house, telling the other girls to make sure they were doing their best work since your guests were especially superordinate.

“We have nothing if not our good sense, Mistress. We take care of our guests just fine,” Ayra teased, sharing a look—and a wink—with you. “I’ve heard the town girls speaking about that ‘Master Tengen’. Allegedly, he’s dashingly handsome and courted three wives.”

“Three?” you asked, fiddling with the sleeve of your yukata. “And what of the other one? Rengoku?"

Ayra pouted, huffing in frustration as she shared her knowledge—or lack thereof. “I’ve heard no rumors about him that will do us any good, unfortunately. He deeply loves gyunabe bento, and his hair looks like a sunset. That’s all I know.”

Your Mistress rolled her eyes again, sliding her arms back into her sleeves. “Ayra, you should focus more on your chores or reading and less on gossiping.”

“Oh, please, Mistress. As if my gossip isn’t why you came running back here as soon as you got word that the men were hashira,” Ayra said, mischief alight behind her hazel-brown eyes. “Besides, I made sure the girls are on it. Sopheary and Yua are putting down all the bedding for the men in the big guesthouse. Prisha and Lucía are getting fresh samue for the pillars to wear once they’ve bathed, and they’ve already heated the bath meant for cleansing. Himari and Dorothea are cooking up those premium meats that charming hinoe-ranked boy dropped off last week. I smelled sukiyaki nabe, sashimi, aloo gobi, kafta, plenty of rice, and…” she hummed, placing her hands on her hips as she let the train in her brain run. “I think that’s it. That should be enough for just two of them. Don’t you think?”

You smiled, pleased with your friend’s leadership and efforts. “You have no idea how much I appreciate you, Ayra,” you said, scooping her up by her waist into a crushing hug. “That should be perfect—and if it isn’t, we’ll just have to make do.”

Once you placed her back down, you found yourself sniffing in her direction, realizing that her scent slightly mirrored the weight of her efforts, and you told her as much.

“Gods, Ayra. Bathe. And take your sister with you,” your Mistress said, scrunching her nose even though she was too far away to smell the girl. “Dunk into the lake behind the treeline with soap and haste! You have eight minutes. Ayra, coil your sister’s curls with pomade and let her do braids in your hair once you’re finished with hers. I’ll arrange the crows' food and double-check the children’s work.”

With that she turned on the balls of her feet, leaving the two of you alone under the bright glow of the moon. Ayra sprinted behind her into the home, coming back to you with supplies in hand. She cradled a wooden pail filled with a boar's hair bristle brush, soap, cloth for cleansing and drying, two beautifully detailed kimonos, and a small chest that housed all the tools and accessories for your hair balanced on top. You reached for the items as she walked up by your side, but the younger girl refused, shaking her head softly before she started walking down the stone path.

“Hey,” you whispered, leaning in close to her ear, “let’s use the stream on the west bank. The water is so much warmer there at this time of night you know, and it’s closer,” you said, placing your hand gently on her back to guide her down the warmly lit pathway.

Ayra chuckled, her mischievous smile coming back full force due to your words. “I thought the Mistress said we had to bathe behind the treeline, sister. What should happen if a demon were to see us? Or, worse, a man—or two?” she teased, feigning horror—much to your humor. “Our propriety would be ruined if we were seen in the nude. What would dear mother Miya say?”

You rolled your eyes, continuing down the path lined with large coniferous trees that kissed the clouds in the sky. “Wisteria lives abundantly in these woods and along the water’s shores, and bushels of the stuff steep the water’s whole body. So, there are no demons out here to spy on us."

“And the men?” Ayra smirked, holding on to you tighter.

“Should the hashira come from the west, then I suppose they’ll get an intimate peek into our preparations for their visit. But, of course, what the Mistress doesn’t know in detail won’t hurt her.”

“Oh really?” Ayra chuckled, shoving you gently with her shoulder. “I suppose that’s true. I suppose it is better that she not find out just how much of a salacious trollop her second in command is. For shame, dear sister—her heart couldn’t take the knowledge of all your “tending” to our frontline soldiers.”

You shoved Ayra back, taking the wash pail from her before skipping a few steps down the pathway. “Boo. You make me sound like a whore. I only entertain the soldiers I see fit, not just any old mizunoto who thinks himself to be a hero simply by existing and holding a sword,” you said, tilting your head back to look at her. “We are a rejuvenation home, not a brothel.”

Ayra grinned, skipping to catch up and stand by your side. “Yes, yes, my apologies. I did not mean to insinuate anything of the sort, sister. Besides, if I were to call you a whore, I would be pointing one finger only to have the rest pointing back at me. I’m still too sore to retake a man after that hinoe-rank,” she smirked. “I didn’t know men from the city could be so… hung.”

You smacked her arm, laughing off the ridiculousness of your conversation. “Gods, you’re so crude. Who’ll marry you with that mouth?”

“The same type of person who’ll marry you with yours.”

The sound of your laughs echoed through the dense trees for a while as you neared the edge of the forest—the chirps and caws that resounded alongside them were clear indications of the animals lurking around you.

“You don’t think Mistress would actually be mad if she knew what we get up to, right?” Ayra said, glancing over at you. “With the slayers, I mean.”

You hummed in contemplation, though the answer came to mind quickly. “Frankly, no, not really. I’m sure she’s heard some murmurs about our occasional activities by now, and we aren’t exactly the most subtle about it. The Mistress is a lot of things, but being clueless is not one of them. If she had a problem with either of us having fun with the men, you know she would’ve said something about it by now.”

Ayra nodded, sighing deeply as you continued down the wooded path. Although to be fair, your Mistress had never genuinely seemed concerned for your purity. She nagged, and fussed, and sang her woes often about the lack of a permanent male fixture in the home and her hopes and dreams for her girls, but neither of you truly aspired to be docile, submissive, untouched wives, and despite her hopes for you all, she seemed aware of that fact. Still, despite her goals for all of you to be given away eventually, she never took on requests from your guests that demanded any of her girls perform sex for any man, primarily when their requests targeted the youngest of your home.

She’d worked hard for many years to provide you with an environment where you could embrace the fun of your youth without having to play ‘oiran’ like the less fortunate girls did in the cities. She gave you a space to enjoy the small moments of passion and joy that life offered amid all the chaos beyond your wisteria-filled trees. You had a secure—good—home and family that filled your hearts to the brim. In the times at hand, that was all you could hope for.

“Fair point, harlot,” Ayra said, blowing raspberries at you before taking off in a sprint. “The last one to the lake has to clean the baths tomorrow.”

Your protests rang through the night air as you picked up your pace, holding the wooden bucket tight to your chest as you skipped to catch up with Ayra. You met her at her side as you reached the end of the path, skidding to a halt once you cleared the lining of the trees and looked out at the vast lake before you. The lake’s noise met your ears as the steady tide rolled on, lit well by the shining full moon peeking over the backdrop of tall winding mountains and the scattered lanterns glowing along the water bank.

Neither of you dawdled then; you undressed from your garments quickly as you walked down to the lake’s edge—laying your kimonos down neatly on the dry rocks away from the calm waters.

“I’ll never get tired of seeing this,” you said, looking up at the full moon in the sky. Nude and warm from the late-summer air blowing against your bare skin.

Ayra hummed, reaching out her hand to grab hold of yours as you waded into the calm waters—going deeper into the lake until the water wrapped around your hips. Ayra was taller, but she stayed near you in the shallower end to keep you from slipping on the smooth rocks beneath your feet. You kept your hold on her hand as you dunked your body beneath the surface, dousing your skin and hair in the lukewarm stream. Ayra did the same, not letting go of your hand for a moment as she laid herself backward to soak.

“This is lovely, sister,” Ayra said, closing her eyes as her body floated on the surface. “We should come out and swim more often. During the day next time, maybe? It’s beautiful here.”

You chuckled, splashing water in her direction, which caused the brunette to shoot up onto her feet in surprise. “Mistress is more patient than she lets on, but she would hang both of our heads out as snacks for the demons if she found us nude in the daylight—for any lowly passing merchant or coal miner to see.”

Ayra scoffed, splashing water back at you and landing a big smack against your face with the waves. “Okay, you make a fair point. Now hush up and bathe,” she grinned, rolling her eyes as she walked you back into the shallower end.

She reached up to the layers of rock where you left your bathing items stacked around the lake and grabbed a small bottle from the open chest that housed your hair products.

“Here you go,” she said, squeezing some of the cleansing funori mixture into her hands before handing it over to you.

You both quickly scrubbed your scalps, pulling apart any knots you felt tangling around your coily strands, while Ayra did much of the same—running her fingers and a wide-toothed tokigushi comb through her lengthy, thick, wavy locks.

“How much longer do we have?” you asked, joining hands with your friend again as you shuffled back into the deeper section of the water. You plugged your nose, dunked your head beneath the surface to rid your hair of the cleansing balm, and came back up with a small gasp.

“Not long,” Ayra said, swapping out the cleansing balm for some soap.

She gave you a towel and the bar made from milk fat and rice bran to cleanse with while she turned your back to face hers. She tilted your head slightly to ring out the excess water in your hair while you scrubbed your skin, scrunching the curls from the bottom to solidify the shape. She rubbed some pomade into her palms and raked her hands through it, twisting the messy small sections with her fingers to define the strands.

You closed your eyes and leaned into her hands, pressed against your scalp to prevent pain from her tugging. Though she’d done your hair a million times, she always ensured that the process was painless for you. Her years of practice with your locks showed, since she finished your hair in less than three minutes. She scrunched again with her slightly sticky hands, then clapped down on your shoulders.

“Gross,” you giggled, scrubbing where her hands had touched before rinsing the soap mixture. You tossed the towel you used away into the wooden bucket nearby, then repeated the same process with Ayra. The tall, tanned girl squatted to accommodate your height, her muscular thighs and long limbs sliding into the position easily.

In comparison, doing her hair took no time at all; your hands were practiced too—not only from doing Ayra’s hair but also from helping the younger girls with their myriad of different hair textures. First, your fingers moved quickly to form two thick braids that met in the middle of the back of her head, laying down flat against the loose bottom section of her dark—nearly black—hair. Next, you lifted her hair from underneath to allow the girl easy access to her own back, not wanting to get the soap into it as she rinsed.

“You’d make a great mother one day,” Ayra whispered, the words nearly lost over the sound of the water.

You chuckled, cupping water in your hand to rinse the stray suds off her torso's slightly fuzzy expanse. “Gods. Between you and the girls and Mistress? Please. You all keep me busy enough!” you said, softly smacking her back. “Copulation is fun, very much so, but I have no intentions of being anyone’s mother soon. I have you all. My heart’s full enough.”

Ayra grinned, turning to face you again now that she had thoroughly cleaned the soap. “Fair point. Copulation with no consequences it is,” she said, holding her hand in the air as if she were holding a glass to cheers.

You rolled your eyes but mimicked the c-shape of her hand anyway. “Hear-hear!” you said, smacking your hand against your friend’s.

Ayra threw her soiled towel into the bucket with yours, then grabbed your hand again to pull you both out of the water. You jogged up over the bank of the lake back onto dry land, beelining over to your clean clothes and dry towels that were safe and untouched by the water.

“I got the white kimono for you and a black one for me,” Arya said, giving you a dry cloth to pat down your body as she smoothed the clothing. “We can at least attempt to make you look the part of virginal innocence. Men as strong as they tend to have quite the thing for dominance.”

You rolled your eyes at the young woman, smacking her backside with the towel. “Hurry and dry so we can get dressed. The wind is starting to bite and the smell of the food is starting to entice my stomach.”

Ayra heeded your words, quickly drying her skin and slipping into her own kimono with ease. She took a small jar out from the little chest she’d brought and waltzed over to you, looking down at you as she dipped her finger into the pot.

“Don’t forget this,” she said, running her lithe finger down the line of your neck, leaving a light trail of scented wisteria oil on your skin as her hand moved downward; across your collarbones, down the line of your armpits, and around the swell of your breasts. “There,” she said, eyeing her handiwork. “Now, if you decide to play with the hashira—should they be handsome and worthy of you—they’ll be just as intoxicated by your scent as they will be by your beauty.”

The warmth of a blush bloomed beneath your skin, goosebumps rising on your arms as you slipped into your kimono.

You grinned, pulling your friend into a tight hug. “You flatter me, Ayra,” you muttered against her chest. “Are you sure you don’t want to engage? What if the rumors are true about that Tengen? Do you not wish to see how he managed to woo three wives?”

Ayra sucked her teeth, scrunching her face in contemplation before she shook her head, pulling away from you as a quick “no” rushed from her lips.

“And why not?” you scoffed, looking at the admitted harlot in surprise.

“Well… because there’s one more little rumor I’ve heard about him that I dared not mention in front of Mistress… and a rumor about his dear comrade Rengoku.”

You stared her down as you tied the large sash belt on your outfit into a bow—cinching in your waist and giving the look of definition in the shape of your hips.

“And what might that be?”

“Well,” she whispered, leaning in close to your ear despite no one around you besides the squirrels in the trees. “I hear they’re both huge men, in both height and in length, so the rumors say. Even more so than that hinoe fellow, who I fear may have ruined my insides.”

Your mouth fell slack, gaping as you blinked incredulously at your housemate. “What?”

She laughed, waving her hand in the air as if it could dissipate your worries. “Oh, don’t fret dear sister, you’ll do well. I’ll be there in spirit, living vicariously through you. You’ve taken more than one man before, have you not?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts! It will be fun, and you will live to tell the tale. Besides, rumors passed through grapevine after grapevine are almost always exaggerated. The girl at the fruit stall couldn’t possibly have meant ‘cocks like horses’ literally.”

“Ayra!”

The girl ignored you, giggling to herself as she gathered your things, rushing you along to start your trek back up to the main home.

You bent down to grab your wooden pale off of the rocks, and a ping of something rang in your heart that made the muscle’s pace quicken. You turned, squinting your eyes as you looked out past the water, and up into the mountains. The cloud cover was low, and the mountains were tall and sturdy, nearly touching the sky. Still, there in the distance were the faintest dots of yellow and pink, shining as they reflected the light from the moon.

“Come on, slowpoke!” Ayra yelled, distracting you. “I hear the crows cawing. Their masters are close. We need to be there to welcome them.”

You nodded, turning your head quickly to look up at the mountains again, but there was nothing. As quickly as you thought you’d seen something, it was gone.

Ayra groaned, complaining about the heavy weight of the items balanced in her hands. You sighed—exhaling the breath trapped in your lungs as you turned slowly away from the lake, shaking away the thought of those intense blurs of color that glared predatorily at you from off in the distance. You grabbed hands with your friend, dashing back down the path through the trees again with smiles on your faces as you went to welcome the two men—the two pillars of hope for your futures—into your home.

“Okay, good,” the woman says, scribbling her initials across the side margin of the document sitting on the table before her. “Now, last thing. I have to ask… are you confirming that the intimate nature of the relationship will continue? Even if it isn’t, we still need to go over our next steps, but it’ll help me out a ton going forward if we’re all on the same page about this.”

You can feel Sukuna’s eyes fixed on the profile of your face, and when you look over to meet his gaze all you see within his eyes are questions. Does this mean we’re meant to be mated? Do we even like each other outside of the hormones and hedge fund conferences? Is this worth our careers?

Your mouth falls agape, opening and closing with a mumble of words with no meaning. What if you weren’t on the same page? What if it meant more to you than it did to him? What were you, exactly? The questions swirled in your brain, trying to seek refuge in memories of words spoken between moans, and sweet promises made over the sharing of meals. Still, when faced with the question in such a clinical way — even after the long two days of non-heat conversations the two of you had and the years you’d spent knowing him prior to this — the answer was still somewhat hard to find.

“I think it’s fair to say we have some things to figure out,” Sukuna says, his eyes not leaving yours as he takes the reins, “but, the chemistry is there, and to be completely frank, it’s way too strong for me to ever look at her as just an employee ever again. I don’t think I’d have an easy time following any of our employee ‘harassment’ clauses with her around and I definitely don’t think I could go the whole workday having to pretend she’s anything less than my — well, like I said, I think we still have some things to talk about. Still, unless I’ve misread something, I think it’s safe to answer that question with a yes. What do you think?” he asks, passing the question back over to you.

You grin, drinking in his words and all of their implications — along with the passing thoughts of the days worth of merriment you spent shacked up in your home together. You feel your cheeks and neck growing warm, and your mouth going a bit dry. You clear your throat, trying and failing to hide the train of thought your mind has wandered down.

“I think… I agree. We have a few years worth of familiarity and we now have some… experience with each other outside of that, but there’s still plenty to learn. Lots of dates to catch up on, lots of questions to ask, lots of likes and dislikes to be learned.”

“Lots of long nights we’ve missed out on to make up for,” he teases, uncharacteristically quietly for him, though his words are still very audible in the close quarters around Iori’s desk space.

“Ryomen,” she warns, her eyes serious, though the smile on her lips is soft. He apologizes, squeezing your hand gently again as Iori fixes her gaze back onto the paper. You smack his arm softly, though you’re unable to hide the growing smile blooming on your face as you do so.

Iori scribbles down more words and signatures across her paper, quickly typing up something on her computer in tandem with her notes. She clicks a button on the screen and her printer comes to life, popping out a few sheets of white paper covered top to bottom in black ink. She reaches back her arm to grab the sheets from the device, turning them around and placing them in front of both you and Sukuna on your shared side of her desk.

“So, this top sheet is for both of you to sign. It’s just an acknowledgment of the disclosure about your relationship, budding as it may be, and it summarizes the order of events. It also has a confirmation statement from the employee relations department acknowledging their clearance of both of you from any wrongdoings. Please sign that, after you both read it. Your signature on top,” she says, motioning to you, “and your signature on the bottom,” she says, placing a spare pen down on the solid wood of the desk beside the papers.

You both read through the document quickly, nodding towards each other once you’re done. Sukuna signs across the dotted line first — his signature and printed name done in handwriting so pretty that you’re always a bit shocked to see his words written down. He hands the pen to you, holding the top of the paper down flat with his palm to keep it from moving while you scrawl your own signature above his.

With that, Iori takes the top sheet away, quickly shifting the papers so that they’re only sitting on your side of the table. “Now, for this next part, I need to speak directly to you. I’m assuming you’re familiar with our chief operations officer, Mei Mei. Correct?”

You nod, staring at the fair-skinned woman in wait for further explanation.

“Well, funny timing. She has officially extended an offer for you to come on board as her executive officer of operations — slash, head project manager. We haven’t exactly figured out the terminology of the role completely yet. I apologize,” Iori chuckles, twirling a Santos De Cartier rollerball pen between her lithe fingers. “But, anyway, this decision shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone; truthfully, we’ve been debating on who should fill the position for a while and you were at the top of the list long before this little ‘situation’ came to light. The final pick, being you, was made well over a month ago, but Mei Mei hadn’t been sure when to extend her offer. It would’ve screwed us if we had to let you go too soon. But now, all the associate executive training is done, and — after some internal review —we concluded that nothing unsavory was happening between the two of you prior to this past week. So, all the loose ends are tied.”

You look over at Sukuna, a grin curling the corner of your lips as you take in the smug smile painted on his. “Wait… Mei Mei wants me to come work under her? So… that means—”

“Congratulations on the promotion, and the six-figure raise,” Iori winks, placing her pen down beside her computer’s keyboard. “You’ll have to report to Mei Mei in her office on the flip side of downtown starting on Thursday, should you accept the offer and if the immediate start date works for you. This change in position will remove you from Sukuna’s direct subordination, so you two can continue whatever this is that you have going on, and we don’t have to lose either of you. I think they call this a… win-win?”

You chuckle, though the expression doesn’t stay on your face for very long. “But,” you hesitate, exhaling a slow stream of breath, “I don’t know if I’m ready for this. I mean, I’ve only been here two years, and the company is still so new relative to that, and I’m sure there must be someone else with more experience or know-how than me that would have been a better fit. I just… I gave myself time to mold myself for this role that I’m currently in. I wasn’t really prepared to jump up to third-in-command overnight. I just — it feels sudden. And, won’t people think it’s a bit fishy that I was gone for a week — so was my boss — now we both come back, at the same time, and all of a sudden I’m changing locations and working a new position that makes triple my old salary? I just… I don’t want anyone to question how I got this.”

Sukuna shakes your hand a bit, drawing your attention.

“Bunny, isn’t there a saying about this? Something like… ‘don’t look a gift horse in the mouth?” Sukuna says, his voice teasing. “Listen, I need you to understand that you aren’t being given this opportunity. I had no pull on this decision at all, this all came down to Mei Mei and Nanami’s final deliberation. You fucking earned this! We’ve tripled our profits annually every year since you’ve stepped into your position. You’re quick as hell at the mouth and we’ve doubled our clientele base because of it. I mean, you talk circles around these guys we deal with every day and you make them see things your way. Not only that, but you make them think it was all their idea in the first place. It’s insane, and very… interesting to watch, to say the least.”

Iori clears her throat, a very knowing look on her face as she stares Sukuna down.

He grins, taking the opportunity to kiss the top of your hand. “Sorry, I’ll stop. But, [y/n], the only thing you need to be worried about right now is what color you want the walls painted in your corner office. You were great in your position here — amazing in fact, and everyone knows it. Now, you get to show off your shit at this new job. You’ll be great at it. I wouldn’t have pitched you for it all those weeks ago if I didn’t genuinely think it was true.”

You look into his eyes, the ruby-red sparkle in them calling out to yours. You feel your heart swell as you take him in — all of it in, really. It’s just… so much, so fast.

“Well, to be fair,” Iori quips, bringing you both back down into the moment, “Mei Mei was prepared to wait on an answer anyway, so you don’t have to decide on the offer right this second. It’s a big jump, I can’t fault you for being a little hesitant. However, I do have to explain that — given your position in the company — there’s not much else we can do with your employment here if you don’t want to move up. Unfortunately, you can’t work here and stay on as Ryomen’s direct report, but you’ve climbed the ladder here so quickly there’d be nowhere else for you to go, at least in our location, should you not accept the offer,” she says, her top lip curled down towards her bottom one. “Likewise, Sukuna is our chief information officer. So, to say the least, losing him in that role would also fuck us. But, [y/n]... you are nothing short of brilliant in your role. You’ve made us millions in profit, you’re constantly innovating new things for our customers, and investors, and overall… you’re a superstar. It’d be a huge loss for us if you decided not to stay. But, you’re free to do what you want in your personal life. Neither I nor Sukuna can, nor should we, make that decision for you.”

The alpha nods, squeezing your hand one final time before letting it go. “You heard her angel. The decision’s all yours.”

“Yeah,” you nod back, sitting up straighter in your chair as you reach over to grab a pen from Iori’s desk. “It sure is.”

“Alright, your paintings are officially bubble-wrapped and your coffee mugs are safe inside their padded box. Is that everything?”

“Almost. I still need to clean out my desk drawers, rehome these last three plants — but honestly, I think I can just leave them outside the door and someone will take them, then… I think I’ll be done.”

Nobara hums, loitering beneath the doorway of your nearly empty office. “It looks so weird in here without all your stuff,” she says, looking around the almost empty room. “However, you do realize that the whole point of your boss arranging a moving company for you is that you don’t have to do any of the packing or the moving… right?”

You chuckle, popping open a new moving box and sitting it on top of your office desk. “I know,” you groan, plopping down into the desk chair, “I just… wanted to go through my stuff to see what was a keep and what was a toss, but then I started really going through it all, and getting memories behind a lot of it, and I couldn’t help myself. At least now I know it was all packed with love.”

Nobara rolls her eyes playfully, walking into the room and sitting down on the newly exposed and vacuumed carpet. “I get it. This was basically your second home for the last couple of years. I imagine it’s a little hard to leave.”

“A little,” you scoff, a sad smile crossing your features. “I really am gonna miss this place. The catered food, the second-floor espresso machine, casual dress, ‘bring your fur child to work’ day, bar crawl night, the food delivery discounts, the weekly massages, the office parties…”

Nobara smirks, her eyes trained on you as she watches you dwindle down the list. “Oh please. Mei Mei’s office has everything we do, plus: comped hair appointments, makeup and skincare consultations, financial advisory, and I’ve heard rumors that she gives you a company credit card that rewards cashback and airline miles that she lets you keep. Frankly, I don’t think you’ll miss it here too much once those perks start rolling in.”

You chuckle, drawing your legs up to cross them in your lap, looking fondly at the beta woman. “Fair point. She does love making sure her people are taken care of and on her level. Still, it won’t be the same. The people there won’t be… well, you guys. Can’t replace that.”

Nobara rolls her eyes, rocking back onto her tailbone with her face towards the sky. “God, stop it. You were sappy enough during your going away party yesterday. I can’t handle it again today.”

You tease the beta, imitating her poor attempts at concealing her sniffles when you’re interrupted, the last person to stop by your office on the ‘office goodbye tour’ peeking into the doorway.

“Hey. Am I interrupting?” Maki says, poking her head into the room. You shake your head no, waving her in through the agape door of your office.

“Wow, I came to help out but it looks like you two got all the major packing done,” she says, looking around the barren room. “Well, not to add to the pile but I come bearing gifts. The whole department chipped in and got you one last thing as a ‘final goodbye’ present.”

She pulls out a wide black box from the large pocket in her briefcase, sitting the package down in front of you on your desk.

“Oh, what’s all this?” you say, your voice light as you stand up to open the box, eyeballing the myriad of items tetris'd neatly inside: a miniature Dior perfume, a labelless golden pendant necklace, Clase Azul Reposado Tequila, macarons, and a candle with a custom “good luck finding better co-workers than us” label with all of your associates’ names listed in tiny font.

“Aw, Maki! This is so sweet,” you say, the tears left unshed threatening to spill over in your eyes. “Thank you! God, you didn’t have to. This stuff is expensive! How did you even get all this?”

The older omega chuckles, crossing her arms across her chest. “Ryomen pays us all pretty well, you know. Also, Miwa down in sales has a connection that does VIP gift boxes at a big discount so we didn’t break the bank too much. Besides, you deserve it, and this promotion.”

You round your large desk, pulling the fellow omega into a tight hug. She tries to fight it, but after a few seconds, you feel her sigh in relentment, wrapping her own arms around you in a loose hug. “I should’ve let Itadori come give this to you instead before everyone left. Of course, I end up being the last one here to see you off. Well, and Nobara I guess,” she huffs, absentmindedly tightening the hug. “As the French say, ‘tant pis.’ I guess I’ll accept this on everyone’s behalf. You’re lucky your hugs feel nice and your hair smells like grapefruit.”

“Oh, whatever Maki,” Nobara interrupts, hopping up from her place on the floor to bounce up to you two, wrapping her arms around you both to make the hug a group affair. “You love this. Wouldn’t be rambling so much if you didn’t.”

You can’t see the juniper-haired girl roll her eyes, but you can feel it in the way her shoulders slump. You chuckle, rubbing both of the girls’ backs with the flat palms of your hands. “I’ll miss you both. I literally wouldn’t have made it last week without you so… thank you. I can’t think of the words to say other than that, and that I appreciate you both. I’m glad I met you.”

Nobara groans, her sounds muffled by the fabric of Maki’s sleeve. “Please, why are we acting like you’re moving to Timbuktu? You’re just going to the other side of downtown!” she laughs, lifting her face to look at you directly. “You’re not even moving! Just changing work locations.”

You giggle, leaning back with your arms still wrapped around the other girls’ waists. “You’re right. I won’t be far away, and I promise I won’t be a stranger. We can have our own little bar crawl night once I’m settled in with the new gig! How about that?”

“I’m down,” Nobara says, a smile beaming on her face.

“I’ll show up,” Maki smirks, pulling you back in for one final squeeze.

“You better,” you quip, looking behind Maki’s head to glance at the clock still fixed on your wall. “Oh, guys, you should get going. Traffic’s already bad but if you don’t go now then you’ll get stuck in peak rush hour traffic — aka, hell.”

The two women both turn their heads, looking up at the clock and prickling at the time.

“Shit, we probably should. Are you not coming with us?” Nobara asked, walking back over to where she’d left her purse on the carpeted floor. Maki sauntered over to her, not really doing anything, just hovering around in the beta’s space.

You shake your head no, scrunching your nose in protest. “Nah. You two go ahead. I want to get my desk packed and I have some paperwork to square away, then I’ll go.”

She pouts, jutting out her bottom lip and squinting her amber-colored eyes in contemplation.

“Don’t make that face,” you chuckle, corralling both women towards the door. “I’ve been staying here late for years. Security will still be here for a few more hours and I parked in the keycode garage so… I’ll be fine. Hurry up and go or it’ll take you an hour to get home.”

They both looked at you with dejected expressions on their faces. Maybe because this felt like a goodbye, even though you all knew it was more like a “see you later.” This was really it. The next time either of them saw you in a work setting again would be a conference, or maybe an office party you’d be invited to by proxy of Sukuna — if that continued — or maybe Nobara would invite you herself, or maybe Inumaki would extend the invitation via email with a cute little flyer he’d have made himself on Photoshop. Who knows.

It just felt a little strange to say goodbye, even with the little time you’d spent getting to know them both. But, sometimes friendship feels right like love at first sight. The two women were great humans, and it did hurt a bit to be abandoning the blossoming friendships. Physically, at least.

“Go, go,” you say, shooing them both towards the hallway, waving down at them as they finally pivot on their feet and move towards the elevators — mainly Maki, sort of pulling Nobara along with her hand on the beta’s lower back.

“Text when you’re home, please! And don’t drink too much of that tequila, it’s really strong! And it sneaks up on you!” Nobara yelled once they’d made it, leaving the office hallway in stark quiet once the elevator doors closed in her face.

You turn, sighing to yourself as you move back into your office, closing the door behind you as you make your way back to your desk, plopping back down into your large office chair. You dive into sorting through your things, turning on soft music over the speaker of your phone while you work on filling the last box. Admittedly, there was quite a bit of stuff in your drawers, but only so much of it served an actual purpose. You had typical office things of course: your pens, your stapler, highlighters, etc. But there were also plenty of knickknacks and other personal items you’d collected over the years: a fuzzy headband for nights where you’d stayed in the office late enough that you did your skincare routine, a few room temperature sodas, aforementioned skincare routine set, a metal scalp massager for when you got headaches, Tylenol for when you got headaches, socks for when your feet got cold, a heating pad, loose change, candy, and —

“Oh. I thought I took you home,” you mutter, digging around in the middle drawer of your desk until you unearth a little pink bullet vibrator. To be fair, the nights at the office were long, and the days could be stressful. The week leading up to your heat had you even more on edge than normal, understandably. Lingering thoughts about one tall, tattooed, rosey-haired alpha didn’t help the matter much either.

You smirk to yourself as thoughts stir in your brain featuring the man, heat rising beneath your collar as memories of the week that you’d spent together cross your mind. His scent — a heady mix of honey, pine, and peppercorn — still lingers in the back of your throat. His hands left imprints you can still feel on your hips. Your scent gland still throbs dully from the healed puncture marks carved delicately by his teeth, and your lips still feel numb from the weight of his kisses.

Your hand follows down the line of your jaw, mimicking the motions of his blunt nails tracing the smooth edges of your face. You lower your hand down the front of your shirt, cascading down the slope of your breasts over the peaked buds straining hard from the slightly air-conditioned chill of your office. You pinch them, groping your own chest with hands that are too small to imitate the alpha’s but feel good nonetheless. You lean back in the chair, forcing the top of the seat to recline. You take off your shoes, pulling up your knees and placing your feet flat near the edge of your seat while your hand moves further, trailing down your stomach before you find yourself stopping, lingering the touch above your womb. The absentminded thought of “what if” crosses your mind in a flash before you quickly shake it away, going down further to rest above your sex through the fabric of your bottoms.

Your office is secluded enough that, even if someone else had been present on your floor, no one would have been able to see you with your door closed, and you were always quiet enough that they definitely wouldn’t have been able to hear you if you made a little noise. In the two whole years you’d spent in your position, you’d never worried about anything more than the occasional janitor coming by, knocking lightly against the thick, heavy, wooden door before peeking in to ask if they could clean. An executive or two might have stayed late like you did but you were always aware, so your noises stayed hushed and your door remained closed. This would be your last opportunity to do this in the comfort of your own office. One more orgasm for the road couldn’t hurt.

You keep that in mind when your hand breaches the band of your underwear, sliding down into the wet slick leaking from your slit. The tip of your finger slides against the puffy lips, dipping down into the slippery warmth to rub circles around your swollen clit. You sink deeper into your seat, thinking desperately about the way Sukuna’s hands felt when he did this to you. Sitting you down in his lap, your back against his chest, rubbing lazy little circles against your clit while you watched TV on the couch during a moment of partial lucidity — lapping his tongue against all the nips and bites littering your skin to accelerate the healing simultaneously coaxing you into what must have been your seventh orgasm of that day to distract you from the contraction of your scar-devoid skin.

You lower your hand gripping the vibrator down to meet the other, replacing that hand with the soft vibrations from the toy. The sensation is inherently very different from your fingers, but the increase in pleasure is instantly palpable. The heat that’d built within your chest moved down to shroud your sex, tangling and pulsating within the swollen bud until you feel something akin to what lightning might taste like. Building and building until —

*knock knock knock*

The quick tapping of knuckles against your office door startles you, causing you to jolt upward as your heart rate skyrockets.

“Who is it,” you yell a touch too loud, stopping the vibrations from the toy.

“Housekeeping,” the person says, though you can tell from the coyness laced into the baritone voice that it’s definitely not housekeeping.

You remove your hand from your pants, tossing the toy into the box on your desk before wiping the wet digits on a company t-shirt you had stuffed in your desk drawer. “Come in.”

The alpha opens the door, sliding into the room dressed in casual clothes — very casual for him, actually. The alpha’s wearing a fitted black t-shirt, athletic pants, and sneakers which is a nice contrast to his normal (laid back) business attire, and a wonderful reminder of the sort of clothing he’d worn on the last day of your heat — when the temperature outside dropped thus increasing the need for warm clothes, and cuddles, which the agency preemptively provided.

He looks cute.

“I—” Sukuna starts, though the words get stuck in his throat as he inhales, sniffing the pheromones saturating the air. He looks down at you, his eyes trained on you with that look you’d spent the last week getting used to. “Were you just…”

“Yes,” you admit, too self-aware of the smell — the smell that you normally would have dispelled by turning on your air purifier… the thing that Nobara had so kindly packed for you first as you’d cleared out your things. And you — stupid, horny, post-heat you — didn’t think to crack a window or something.

Your natural scent was more prominent than it normally would have been, since you’d foregone wearing the intensely strong blockers you’d used before. You made the switch to a more neutral brand, like the kind most omegas in your country chose to use. Still, the scent of arousal was not mutually exclusive to your omega scent, so… it could stand out on its own even through blockers. Obviously.

“What were you thinking about that got you horny enough to touch yourself in the workplace, huh?” he asks, sauntering towards you, watching you like a lion stalking prey through the tall elephant grass of the savannah. He grabs the arms of your chair once he reaches you and leans down into your space, his nose mere inches from your own.

“How’d you know I was still here?” you ask, meeting his gaze. “Stalking me?”

He chuckles, running his tongue across his bottom row of teeth. “I asked you a question first bunny.”

“I asked you second Ryo. I got the last word, so you have to answer me first,” you tease, running your sock-covered foot up his torso, pushing up the fabric of his shirt.

The alpha tenses his jaw, turning his head slightly to the right like he might kiss you, but he doesn’t. “I came to get some papers from my office. Asked Aoi why he was still in the security station and he said he was waiting around since you were still up here… and because Yuki isn’t here to switch shifts with him yet.”

You smile, lifting yourself up enough to trap his bottom lip between your teeth, soothing it with a soft kiss. “She’s something else. Gotta love her.”

“Mhm,” he hums, deepening the kiss as he sinks down to balance on his heels. “Answer my question, kitten.”

You giggle, the sound coming out more breathless than you meant for it to. “Well, I was packing some things.”

“Go on,” Sukuna coaxes, lifting the fabric of your shirt to expose the soft flesh of your tummy, kissing and nipping the skin above the band of your bottoms voraciously. He grips the fabric there, sliding down the material —and your underwear, by proxy — until it's pooled on the floor and your legs are exposed to the chilled air of your office. He kisses your skin — all over your hips and lower belly as his eyes look up at you expectantly.

“I, uh, while I was sorting through everything — I found a little toy I’d brought to keep me company on late nights, and I started thinking about some things and I thought… well, no one’s here. Might as well have one last hurrah in my office while it’s still mine.”

His eyes pop open wide, the kissing ceases as the alpha stares at you in unabashed bewilderment. “I’m sorry,” he scoffs, standing up in an instant. He moves his legs to balance one knee on your seat, situated between your legs and forcing them open, while he brings up his free hand to grip your jaw firmly.

You smirk, the little laugh that escapes your lips followed quickly by a groan when his fingers dip down to wrap — less firmly — around your throat. A gentle threat, but not enough for you to lose your ability to speak.

“You mean to tell me… that all those long nights we were working together —just a floor apart — you were in here touching my pussy right under my nose?”

You chuckle, lightly scraping your nails along the span of his muscular forearm to wrap around his wrist. “I don’t remember saying it was yours, and it definitely wasn’t yours then,” you tease, lifting your hips to rut against his thigh placed perfectly between your legs. “I was playing with my pussy, in my office, thinking about how badly I wanted my boss to come down here and fuck me so hard I couldn’t remember my own name.”

Sukuna grins, placing his left palm flat on your lower belly to stop your movements. “Funny you mention that, bunny. See, I remember you screaming for me while I fucked you for five straight days, with two extra thrown in for good measure — even after the heat stopped. You let me, and all of your neighbors, know whose pussy this is — over, and over, and over again for 168 hours. Every time I filled this tight little cunt with my cum and stuffed you full with my knot — you came, and you cried, and you begged me to do it all over again. ‘Til you were so full of my cum that you couldn’t even keep your eyes open, and you couldn’t remember your name ‘til day six.”

He leans down into your space again, so close you can taste the peppermint on his breath from whatever brand of gum he must have chewed before coming into your office. “The heat must’ve made your memory a little hazy, baby” the alpha coos, placing a ghost of a kiss against your lips, “that’s okay. I think you just need a little refresher, huh kitten?”

You nod, twisting your hips side to side beneath the pressure from his hand, groaning when he tightens the pressure on your neck, enjoying the lightweight feeling that envelops your brain for a few moments, his gaze intense as he looks down at your face to gauge your reactions. He kisses your chin and your cheeks as his hand on your throat relaxes, moving it back to cradle your neck. His fingers spread, gliding along the surface of your scalp before he grabs a fistful of your hair there near your nape. He yanks back your head, pulling you into a searing kiss that steals all the breath from your lungs. Then, the alpha's tongue pushes into your mouth, the sound of your kisses loud in the empty room even over the sound of your music.

You revel in the taste of him on your lips, falling into the push and pull of his mouth on yours easily as though you’d never left the comfort of your queen bed. Sukuna groans as he takes in a deep breath, separating his lips from yours to suck the pulsating scent gland on your neck. “How long were you touching yourself before I walked in?” he murmurs, relaxing the hand gripping your hair to cradle your head in his large hand.

You moan, straining the tendon housed between the muscles and bone there to allow him utmost access to your throat. The submission crashes heavily on your senses, and the fervent swirling of “want” brewing beneath your skin comes bubbling up to the surface. “Too long,” you whine, your chest rising and falling rapidly as the pressing need for him grows, “please, alpha.”

The alpha's scent flares — that signature mix of woodiness and sweetness you craved so deeply flooding into your nose and dulling your senses. The music is silent, the ambient light from your last remaining lamp dims, and the only scent in the office belongs to the man above you.

“Alpha?” he mimics, moving the hand on your belly down, slipping his fingers into the dripping wet heat of your cunt. “What happened to Ryo angel? Losing yourself already and I haven’t even given you my cock yet.”

A moan spills from your lips — a loud desperate sound as he curls the digits, pushing against the spongy patch of nerves along the top of your walls. He's kissing you wherever he can reach: your jaw, your ears, your collarbones… anywhere. The alpha's mouth explores further down while his fingers work, eventually stopping when he’s situated above your breast. His teeth graze over your nipples still covered by the pesky layer of your clothing, biting the little nub before placing a soothing kiss there in vain. He reclaims the hand that’d held your head up, letting your upper body relax against the leather of the chair so he can remove your shirt — making quick work of untying the little decorative ribbon in the middle and unbuttoning the snaps, exposing you fully. “So pretty baby,” Sukuna coos, leaning down to suck the bud into his mouth, moving his thumb against your clit in maddening circles.

“Please,” you sigh, a sharp intake of breath quickly following when he adds slight pressure from his teeth. “Please, ‘was already close. Just… more. A little more.”

He hums against your breast, sending vibrations down into your chest, resonating in your heart. “Say it, and I’ll let you cum.”

“Say — oh — what?”

Sukuna looks up at you, his fiery red eyes alight with mischief. “Tell me who’s pussy this is, and I’ll let you cum.”

You scoff, looking down at him through squinted eyes as the spirit of mischief makes its way into you. “Keep dreaming,” you tease, tilting your head back to break eye contact, not allowing the incoming flood of endorphins tip-toeing around your brain to make you break. “You only heard me say that because you caught me in a heat. Now — fuck — I’m lucid, Ryo. You have to earn it.”

His muscles stiffen, the motions of his fingers against your clit coming to a halt. He pulls out the digits and unlatches his mouth from your breast, sucking your essence off of his fingers as he moves, sauntering over to the couch teaming with pillows you’d gotten to accent its forest green color.

The man grabs four pillows and a blanket from the small pile of (decorative) bedding, walking back towards your desk on the side opposite of where you’re sitting, touching yourself again to replace the alpha’s larger, more flexible, fingers.

“Whatcha doin’?” you ask, your voice still heavy with arousal as you watch the alpha move around the room.

He drops two of the pillows onto the surface of your desk, sliding one of them close to the edge of the table, while the thick blanket is spread onto the floor in front of your couch, and the other pillows are scattered around the area. He ignores you — the only indication he’s even listening to you, and what your hands are doing, is the sharp spike in that honey undertone in his scent that alludes to his growing arousal. That and the outline of his cock jumping a bit under the loose fabric of his Nike running pants.

The alpha walks over to you again, his eyes trained on you like a lion once more as he stops in front of you. He leans down, smacking your hands away from your sex as he slides his arm around the center of your back, hoisting you up and out of your chair with that arm while the other comes up to support you by holding your ass. He gives it a squeeze, followed instantly by a loud smack.

“I’m earning it.” The man carries you to the other side of the desk with ease, laying you back on the wooden surface with one pillow beneath your head, and the other slid underneath your tailbone.

He kneels, his face level with your cunt nosing the soft patch of hair above your sex before moving his mouth further down, kissing the puffy lips of your cunt before he dips in his tongue, sucking and licking the swollen bud with a fervor you assumed was isolated in those last few hours he’d been in his rut. Part of your brain thanks the gods you were wrong.

“More, Ryo,” you cry, the sensations shooting up your spine like little shocks, tingling along the nerves branching off from the bones. Your orgasm comes up to the surface again so quickly, right on the edge of your tongue when the alpha pulls away, landing a firm swat against your pussy when you whine. “What the fuck!” you groan, your mouth falling slack in confusion.

He chuckles, moving his head to kiss your inner thighs. “Be patient. I’m proving a point.”

“You’re such a dick,” you snicker, lacing your hand through his hair to tug harshly on the pink locks, drawing his attention back up to your eyes. “Make me cum, and maybe I’ll let you fuck me.”

Sukuna didn’t respond to that verbally, but the glint in his eye made your flushed skin shiver.

Your head knocks back down towards the desk when he places his tongue back onto your clit — flicking the tip just how you like until that same burning heat is back, licking at the core of your stomach from within. He inserts his fingers, adding more stimulation that turns the flame into a fever pitch of pleasure that nearly drives you over the edge. But, it doesn’t, because he pulls away again. “Sukuna,” you whine, aching for release.

Your skin burns — the surface warm and wet with sweat while crackles of electricity run haywire underneath. You feel him laughing against your skin where he’s kissing you, notably not where you need him to be, and you feel something within you snap.

“Fine,” you challenge, sitting up enough to stretch your arm upwards, feeling around inside the moving box not far from your head. You find what you’re looking for instantly since it was right on top where you’d left it. “It’s the 21st-century love, I can do it myself.”

You click the vibrator’s “on” button making the skinny, finger-length, textured bullet hum to life. The alpha's eyes grow wide as you trail the device down your stomach, getting it all the way down to the top of your slit before the alpha catches your wrist, a low growl rumbling from the depth of his chest.

“Oh, it’s like that?” he says, raising his eyebrow.

“Yeah, it’s like that,” you say, breathless and impossibly turned on.

His eyes grow darker — the characteristic persian red looking more like the finest Chateau Margaux red wine. The vibrator is swiftly plucked from your hand, though the man doesn’t turn it off or put it away like you thought he might. No, instead, he runs the toy down the valley of your folds, not stopping his descent until the toy is pressed against the slick-slippery hole below your cunt. “Say yes or no,” he coaxes, his voice frighteningly deadpan.

“Jesus,” you jump, your hips bucking against his forearm that’s placed against your lower belly as the vibrations flow through you. “I — I haven’t done it t-that way since —”

“I know baby,” he coos, not pushing the toy any further but not pulling it back at all either. “That was in the heat of, well… your heat. Say no and I’ll stop.” The vibrations from the soft touch echo into your pussy, just barely kissing the tips of the nerves that go up to the button that craves the alpha's touch.

You nod, a firm, “yes,” escaping your lips before your mind has time to process it. A smirk crosses his face then as he moves, running soothing circles with his fingers on your hips as the the toy pushes forward — breaching the puckered hole easily before stopping at the slightly flared base.

“Good girl,” Sukuna coos, untying the little band of fabric keeping his pants snug on his waist as he lowers his face again, this time not teasing at all with the precision of his tongue on your clit. He slips his fingers back into your walls, massaging the inside in tandem with the vibration pattern of the toy in your ass. The toy’s placement inside you — only separated from your cunt by a thin layer of muscle — sparks gleam behind the lids of your eyes.

Your mind goes blank — only Sukuna and the tangled mess of your scents bleeding into the symphony of pure bliss resounding in your brain. “Ryo,” you cry, gripping the back of his hair with your hand, keeping him fixed in place with his tongue flicking with fervor against your clit. He hums, sucking the bud into his mouth while his tongue keeps the same motion. He adds suction, physically coaxing the pleasure from your core. “God. I — I… please don’t, again,” you cry, your words a jumbled mess as the heat turns to open flame beneath the tight knot settled in your belly, growing larger and taller until it’s burning the rope, puffing up angrily as the band melts away, singed and weak as the coil snaps and a wave of relief pours over you like summer rain — warm and wet with remnants of the fire.

You cross your feet at the ankles, keeping them firm around the man's back as your orgasm washes over your body, radiating from the crown of your head down to your toes. The vibration of the toy is still going, and his fingers are still plunging inside of you, even as the waves settle down and the lightness in your head starts to feel grounded again.

“Too much,” you whisper, your eyes rolling towards the back of your head when Sukuna puts his mouth back on you, sucking — albeit more gently — at the throbbing, overstimulated, bud.

The alpha hums, using his thumb to turn off the vibrator as he stills his hand, though his mouth stays in place for a few more seconds, sucking your clit slowly to keep it engorged and sensitive before he moves, taking off his shirt to expose his toned abs. “Keeping your promise?” he asks, licking your essence from his lips.

You smile, grabbing your knees to spread your legs apart, exposing yourself fully for the alpha. “Take me however you want me. You earned that,” you say, a coy smile on your lips as he scoffs, understanding the implication in your words.

“Okay,” he says, jutting out his chin a bit as he nods his head, standing up straight and grabbing your shins, “we’ll see how long that little attitude lasts.” You look down, pleased to see his cock out and standing at attention as he grabs it, fisting the length and giving it a few tugs before pushing himself up against your entrance. He removes the toy and tosses it back to land on the blanket — then, he’s in you, filling you up and forcing the air out of your lungs.

“Fuck, Sukuna. So — god, you’re big,” you groan, your pussy squeezing around him as you adjust to the length. It had only been a few days since the last time you’d had the older man inside of you. You weren’t as tightly wound as your body could be, but he was an alpha — a very well-endowed alpha. The only reason he hadn’t been so hard to take during your heat, your first time, was because — well, your body was ready for it on a biological level. Your omega body was made to fit and accommodate whatever size your alpha presented with. Still, he was blessed in the width department more than the length (though that was perfect as well) so it took a moment to relax enough for him, even as turned on as you were and no matter how many times you’d done this before during your week together.

Calloused hands rub up and down the back of your thighs soothingly, kissing your legs in the spots he could reach while you panted, placing your hand on his lower abdomen to prevent him from moving (even though he wasn’t making any move to do so yet). “If you can’t take it this way we can move, bunny. Don’t force it.”

You look up into his eyes, still deep and dark but with a soft edge to them that looks so childish on his otherwise sharp features. You try to relax more, shimming your hips this way and that to see if any slight movements can make the position more manageable, but it doesn’t. “Fuck,” you huff, wiping your hands down your face, “I think I need to move.”

Sukuna chuckles, sliding his hands under your back to scoop you up into his strong arms, the tip of his length still inside of you as he carries you over to the blanket in front of your couch. “On top or from the back?” he asks, gently wiping his hand through the sweat-damp hair sticking to your face.

“Back,” you grin, kissing him as the alpha lowers your bodies down to the floor. He sits you down, pulling you into a searing kiss as he lowers himself down to his knees. One of the pillows he’d taken earlier is handed to you as you scoot backward towards the couch — not stopping until your back hits the upholstery. Your hands find the sides of his face, holding him close to keep him kissing you as you turn around to bend over the cushioned edge of the furniture. He adjusts with your body, turning his head to the side to keep your lips connected as he slides up behind you, wrapping one arm around your waist while the other rests on the couch in front of you — level with your breasts. He pinches your erect nipples as you wiggle the pillow beneath your knees, giving you more leverage against the alpha’s tall height, and keeping the poor bones there from getting sore too quickly.

“I want you,” you purr, slowly fucking yourself back on the tip of his cock as the stretch transitions to pleasure, and the slight sting from his length holding you open blossoms into warmth. “Please Ryo.”

Sukuna pouts, sliding his cock into you slowly until his hips are flush against your ass. “Ryo… Ryo… Ryo,” he tsks, tilting your chin up so he can look at your eyes, “am I making you feel good bunny?” he asks, his voice sounding too firm for the words to be a question. "Good enough for you to be a good little omega and submit for me?"

You nod your head yes — the weight from the edging and the burn left wilting on your skin in the race towards another release making your resolve wain. All thoughts of stubbornness level your brain as you crane your neck more, coaxing the alpha — your alpha — back in with a kiss. He moves his hand away from your breast to grip your jaw — sliding his hand down to your throat again which stops your movements. Red eyes bore into yours, asking for your permission and accepting your consent when you nod, grabbing the alpha's wrist gently as he increases the firmness of his hold on your neck. He kisses you then, letting pressure go then applying it again on your throat as he starts to move against you, fucking into you torturously slowly as the blood flow is tampered with in your brain.

“More,” you moan, using a lull in pressure to sigh out the word, pushing your own hips back to fuck yourself harder on his cock. “I can take more, alpha.”

He groans into your ear, readjusting your bodies just enough for his leverage to change, and he lets go. His hips snap against your ass, fucking his cock into you so deep and hard that tears form on your waterline from the sudden increase in stimulation. His length rubs every inch of your insides — the alpha towering over you fucking into you with a precision that shouldn’t be possible with so much girth inside your slick walls. The angle of his hips is perfectly fixed towards the sensitive spot within you and the lack of oxygen just adds to the stimulation. You nearly pass out when he moves his hand down between your body and the couch, placing his digits there to toy with your clit.

“So fucking wet and tight baby,” Sukuna moans, a low groan that sounds more like a growl in his throat coming out as he uses his knee to push yours out, opening you up a little more for him, “Fuck, your pussy’s so perfect. Tight and hot and so—so fucking wet angel. Just for me.” His hand relaxes enough to give you air again, and the blood rushing back to your head triggers the same sensation in your cunt.

“A—Alpha,” you sputter, your eyes shut tight as you freefall into the pool of pleasure Sukuna has built for you. The edging made your clit so sensitive; more sensitive and responsive than you’d ever felt before your heat — before you’d first let Sukuna have his way with your body, and you, his. “Feels so good. God, you fuck me so good. No one else w—will ever have me like this. Just you, alpha. Ryo.”

A low sound — unmistakably a growl — rumbles in his chest and the speed of his hips increases. The alpha fucks you like he wants to imprint himself into your cunt forever, to mold you around him so no other man would ever have a chance of feeling you the way he does. He lowers his head to the scent gland nestled at the base of your neck — a harmless little spot that meant nothing in regards to mating but served as a landmine for scenting — and he bites, drinking down the strong scent of peaches and white wine that radiates from it.

“Oh!” you cry, the orgasm sneaking up on you with a punch that knocks the air from your lungs again, even more than Sukuna’s hand had been capable of around your throat, and the tears fall — hot and wet as the two trails travel down your cheeks. “It’s yours! Fuck, it’s yours. I’m yours.”

Sukuna groans against your neck as your walls cinch tight around his cock, milking it for all he’s worth as his orgasm washes over him as well. You feel his cock twitch harshly inside of you, fucking you full of his cum that mingles with the flood of slick dripping from your cunt. “Fuck, bunny,” he moans, rubbing his hand along your jawline as his kisses pepper your skin. “You’re amazing. So smart, and kind, and beautiful. Fuck, you’re beautiful.” He kisses your hair, wrapping his body around you — essentially hugging you from behind — as his high descends down towards the baseline again, and you get pulled down to the blanket with him — both of you cuddled up on your sides.

You let him stay inside of you as you lay together, catching your breath and kissing as his cock weakly spurts the last of his seed in you. Eventually, you find yourself glancing at the clock on the wall, lazily tracing little figure-eights on Sukuna’s arm as you count the arms to read the time. “Hey,” you whisper, looking over your shoulder at Sukuna. The alpha’s eyes are shut, though you can tell he’s still awake. His cock is half-hard inside of you, twitching as if the length could be enticed into another round.

“Yes?” he says, smirking as he curls up closer to you, kissing you deeply.

You find yourself smiling against his lips as he pushes your hair out of your face, dotting your cheeks and your nose and your eyes with little pecks as well. “Sukuna, we gotta go.”

His eyebrows furrow, looking down at you like you’d grown a second set of eyes. “Rushing out on me already baby?" he teases, pouting his lip dramatically like you'd truly hurt the alpha's feelings. "Damn. Here I was thinking we’d go have a nice dinner, maybe even get a dessert, but you’re already doing the morning after dash... while we’re still on the night of! You wound me,” he says, putting his hand over his heart as if it will alleviate the pain, scrunching his face like you’d kicked a puppy in his presence.

You roll your eyes, kissing him again through your little laughs. “No, dumbass. It’s already after 9:00. Yuki, or Todo — depending on how their shift switch went — will be doing rounds in a bit. I’d rather not have them see my tits or their boss’s dick. I think they’d have a hard time respecting either of us after that.”

He chuckles, removing himself from your body to sit up on the blanket, extending his hand to pull you up with him. “Oh, that. You’re right, maybe we should head out of here. What about your stuff?” he asks, motioning towards your desk.

You giggle, getting up with a wobble in your step as you approach the desk, removing each drawer and dumping the remaining contents into the moving box you’d left on the already cleared surface, putting a haphazard layer of tape over the top. “There, done,” you grin, sliding your discarded clothing back on as you move around the room. “All my other stuff is in the conference room for the movers to grab in the morning and I’m sure they have their own stuff to move the couch. I’m all set.”

The alpha nods, siding on his own clothes and grabbing one more box — the last, actually — from the floor by the door, using it to quickly pack all of your couch accessories for you as you hop on top of your desk.

He approaches you, slotting himself between your dangling legs, kissing you once more — softer, slower — before Sukuna pulls away, grabbing your hands in his own and bringing them up to his chest. “One chapter closed. On to the next one, huh?” he says, glancing sideways to motion at the room.

You know he means more than just the room — it’s the job. It’s your entire life under him in your career coming to an end, but you’re on to bigger and better, hopefully equally as fulfilling, things. With new friendships, and a new role for Ryomen in your life all leading you into the next portion of your adulthood.

“You know something I’d love to write into this next chapter for myself?” you say, wrapping your arms around the alpha’s shoulder, scenting him as you rest your chin against his chest.

He looks down at you with those soft persian colored eyes, wrapping his arms around you to keep you close. “What’s that?”

“I’d love to go to dinner, if you were being serious. Just us two — getting to know each other better, “learning each other” as you put it, sounds like fun. I —”

“Think this could be something good?” he says, flashing his pretty white teeth at you as you smile, nodding your head in agreement before pulling him down to kiss him again, this time with more heat.

You feel his cock harden to fullness against your inner thigh, and a small moan escapes your lips as you lower your hand to palm the length. The noise of the elevator dinging draws you both out of your little bubble, making both of you turn towards the door, then each other with a look of humored panic on your faces.

“How about we decide on that restaurant in the car?” he suggests, loosening his grip on your hips.

You hum, grabbing his waistband and pulling his crotch against yours before the alpha can move away from you. “Maybe we stop by your place first and finish this, then we go to dinner?” you tease, your voice and scent dripping with arousal again at the sight of his cock.

The elevator dings again, this time emitting a longer chime that means it’s stopped on your floor. He grins, kissing you deeply before lifting you off of the desk, grabbing the moving boxes for you, and sliding them into the conference room housing your other things just outside the door.

“Ready when you are bunny,” he says, grabbing your hand as you walk out of the office together, your gift box and your bag the only things you’re carrying.

You linger in the doorway for a moment, looking over the interior before you turn to Sukuna, a sad smile on your lips. You sigh, sitting down your bag and dropping his hand to open the gift box, taking out the tequila bottle and accompanying shot glasses to pour a shot for both of you.

Sukuna takes a glass from you, helping you balance the large alcohol bottle by holding up the bottom end as you top off the drinks.

“Okay,” you sigh, thinking over your words for a moment before deciding. “To new beginnings, and the start of something great,” you grin, tapping your glass against the alpha’s when he agrees, knocking back the smooth shot of liquor with ease.

“To new beginnings, and earning your love.”

you get caught because you can't sit still.

in the midst of trying and failing horribly to complete a simple game, you can't stop writhing around. you sat back on your heels on the mystery location's dust-covered floor, the room around you filled with items and games from your childhood.

you feel yourself rocking back and forth, rotating your hips in tight frantic circles to get the package to move around inside, rubbing incessantly at that special spot connected by nerves to your clit. a handsome man beneath a triangle-shaped mask would come over to snatch you up aggressively, taking you down the labyrinth of colorful hallways until you reached the bathrooms that were intended for the myriad of worker bees.

he'd turn you around, pushing you harshly up against the pristinely white sink, forcing you to bend over a far as you can on top of the appliance. he'd hold you firmly by your hair, removing your turquoise blue track pants to reveal your white cotton panties underneath.

you'd try to yell, screaming at the mystery man that you'd sue him. that when you were rich and free from this prison, you'd sue him for every dime he was worth. slapping your ass with all the strength he could muster in his dominant right arm, yanking down your panties to meet your discarded pants on the linoleum floor.

he's spread your ass cheeks apart with both hands, inspecting your holes with his eyes. your leaking wet slit would immediately draw his attention

"what turned you on so much?" he'd say with his mask-muffled voice, using two gloved fingers to explore your fluttering hole "is it the adrenaline? is the thrill of winning and losing at the cost of your life that enticing for you?"

you can feel it when his fingers hit the end of the condom, the two digits swirling around in your slick to grab on to the twisted knot on the end. you expect for him to pull it out with ease, but he doesn't.

instead, you hear the sound of his jumpsuit unzipping, the frantic sound of latex against skin sounding throughout the quiet bathroom as he frees his cock from it's confines within his clothes.

"i won't tell if you won't tell," he says, removing his fingers from your tight walls, only to place his own member against your slippery wet entrance.

he rocks back and forth slightly, only enough to insert his length into you by a half of an inch. you can feel his cock kissing at your entrance, the medium weight parcel within you pressing firmly on the sensitive spot within you.

"i won't tell if you won't tell," you whispered, repeating the guard's words.

you rocked back onto his cock, pushing your hips backward until your ass was flush against his waist.

he moaned, a beautifully breathy thing behind his mask that you had no desire to remove. he stood still for a moment, savoring the firm grip of your walls tightening around him.

"what'd you come here for? hm?" you asked, moving your hips to force the man to move inside of you, "never got pussy in your life outside or something so you came here?"

you heard the man scoff behind the black mask. before you could move, he grabbed a fistful of your hair, gripping his other hand on your hip as he began fucking into you at a breakneck pace. the condom package moved inside of you like a perfectly molded jade egg with his untrained thrusts, pushing it in and out of you to add an extra few inches of length towards the already well-endowed man's efforts.

the walls echo the sounds of your skin slapping against skin, his voice carrying the sounds of his deep grunts within the space, while you're sure your moans were loud enough to be heard should someone be looking for the two of you outside.

the little parcel nestled it's way beside the man's cock, reaching deep enough inside of you to cause unparalleled pleasure.

"fuck, keep going," you yelled, feeling the guard's hips thrusts growing erratic.

he reached his gloved hand around your waist, while also using one of his combat boot heavy feet to slide your feet even further apart. he rubbed the surface of your sex, aiming to pull you under the same waves of pleasure about to overtake his own body.

you came with a cry, begging the guard to cum anywhere but inside of you as he reached his release as well.

you don't speak much when the man finally pulls himself out of you, messily grabbing a handful of paper towels from the dispenser by your head to wipe the evidence of his release off of your back.

"there, now it's in there nice and deep," he said, tapping at your entrance with his fingers, "do well in your game. i would hate to have to carry your body out of here after that."

you scoffed, pulling up your own underwear and track pants, adjusting this and that to look presentable once more.

"well, now that i've got my focus back, i can win this round easy-peasy. if you really want to keep me around though," you teased, putting your body flush against the guard's, grabbing his manhood in your firm grasp, "you could just tell me the rules for the next game. i could make it worth your while."

the man stood still, seemingly contemplating behind the shield for his face.

"i'll only tell you if you don't tell anyone else," he whispered, coming in as close to your ear as he could.

you smirked, your face not visible to him beside the lining of his mask.

"i won't tell if you won't tell."

“I already beat you to the lake, sister,” Ayra said, a few meters ahead of you as she skipped up the wide circular steps. “Should we make a bet about who makes it home first as well?”

You scoffed, jogging to close the distance between the two of you before stopping at the girl’s side. Your mind wandered as you went, preoccupied with thoughts of the night to come.

Ayra eyed you quizzically, looking down to steal glances at your face. “Are you alright? You’ve been dragging your feet since we hit the road’s fork. Nervous, perhaps?”

You looked up at Ayra, rolling your eyes in response to the very sly smile on the tall girl’s face. “When have you ever known for me to be the nervous type, sister?”

She hummed exaggeratedly, scrunching her face in that screwy—childish—way that your Mistress couldn’t stand. “Well… never. Still, I talked them up quite a bit with my rumors. They are hashira, after all—male hashira, too. They’ll be the first we’ve met since adulthood, hm? The thought of bedding men that strong can be nervewracking—especially if they’re as handsome as the rumors say.”

You hummed, sighing softly to yourself as you continued along the path.

“Don’t let your mind wander towards despair, sister; we haven’t even met them yet! The basket weaver’s daughter was the one who told me about the men’s beauty ages ago, but she very well could’ve been wrong. You know her eyes do go a bit wonky sometimes.”

“Ayra!” you said, smiling in disbelief at the girl’s words.

“What?” she said, her voice rising a few notches as she feigned innocence. “She’s a beautiful girl, but it’s true! I saw her mistake a pomegranate seed for a ruby once. So, perhaps we should not take her judgment on male beauty as gospel, hm? They could both very well be boorishly ugly—or not as experienced as one might imagine two well-traveled, highly sought-after, decorated men could be. Should that be the case, then all of your worryings will be for naught.”

“I’m not worried,” you said, though Ayra ignored your voice.

“And say they are handsome… who’s to know if they’ll desire to dominate you or mistreat you? Some men in power prefer the exact opposite. Or, they don’t prefer women at all—if you can believe it. Remember that kinoto-rank from the northwest that came by a few weeks ago? How he cried atop my breasts for hours because some swamp demon slew his mentor? They were lovers, I just know it. I guess it can’t be helped. Apparently, Samurai and demon slayers find solace in each other’s arms regardless of gender. Especially the more ‘laissez-faire’ ones who’ve lived in the populated districts in the south. So far, the men we’ve had aren’t as cultured as I would assume the hashira could be, but you’re no virgin. I’m sure you’ll manage to keep up with them someh—”

“Arya. Did you just say laissez-faire?” you said, a soft giggle following the word as it left your lips. “Wow, so you do read when you’re not busy collecting gossip like shiny new coins. I never would’ve guessed.”

Ayra sucked her teeth, knocking her arm against yours when she caught you smirking. You rubbed her arm soothingly, muttering soft apologies after you finished your teasing. Your laughs slowed as you exhaled a large huff of breath, and the path widened as you grew closer to your home.

“Truly, Ayra, I appreciate that you’re trying to perk up my spirits, but they’re not down. I was just enjoying the quiet of my mind before we host another night—nothing more. Suppose the hashira are indeed handsome and prove to be deserving of my time. In that case, I’ll indulge their urges just like the others who’ve shuffled onto their knees and begged for my affection, whatever that may entail. If not, I’ll do my required—professional—service thanks to their sacrifice, and they’ll be on their way in the morning. Mistress won’t force my hand either way, so there’s nothing to be nervous about. The night will be fine, whichever way the wind blows.”

You believed the words as you said them, but something deep in your gut stewed. Handsome men had come and gone as guests throughout the years you’d spent in the home, but none were as powerful as a hashira—not since you’d reached maturity and began your fun, at least. Nerves weren’t the right word to describe the feeling, but the anticipation lodged into your bones felt like magma along your veins; you felt yourself walking with bated breath to see what the night had in store.

Ayra made a jerky nod with her head, humming loudly in agreement with your sentiment. “Yes, my lady. The hashira will have a relaxing night—as will we. The involvement of semen in that equation will just have to be foreseen.”

You groaned, unable to stifle the gritty laugh that escaped your throat as you processed what your housemate said. “Ayra! Please—at least pretend to have some shame.”

The girl laughed, tossing her head back towards the sky. “Never. I will not be silenced,” she said, her giggles just as obnoxious as yours.

Any questions about nerves ceased after that, and you walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence—only narrated by the chirping of crickets and the crows chattering (loudly) to themselves, audible from your home’s entrance door back into the forest. You weren’t far, so the rear entrance of your home came into view before you knew it. Ayra sped up a bit, rushing into the house to sit down your used bathing tools in the washing bin, all of the items set aside to be cleaned sometime in the night or later in the morning. You sidestepped around her to sit on the bench against the wall in the wide entrance area—taking a moment to dunk your bare feet in the cleansing bucket by the wide-open shoji doors to scrub them clean before walking through the house.

The sound of sweet giggles filled your ears as you dried your feet with a towel and slid on your house slippers, followed by the incessant pattering of feet against the wooden floors. You tilted your head to the side, looking down the wide-open corridor to see all of your girls dressed and ready on the home’s main floor—all the girls situated into two even lines on either side of the plastered walls. At the head of the calvary stood your Mistress, flanked by the second youngest of your home—Sura—and her younger sister Sana—the sweet toddler holding onto your Mistress’s leg, half-hidden behind the skirt of the woman’s kimono.

“Look! See, Mistress? I told you they’d come back on time,” Sura said, stomping her feet in excitement as she held onto the older woman’s hand. Her rich chocolate brown hair sat in curled pigtails on the sides of her head, swinging along with the movement of her petite body as she swayed back and forth, pointing over at you with a broad smile as you threw your drying towel into the ‘soiled linen’ bin by the door.

You went up towards the front with Ayra in tow, touching the other girls’ hands softly as you walked down the path they’d created with their bodies—stood with their backs against the walls—out of the way, and prepared for the hashira to make their entrance. The only exceptions were the babies.

“Of course, we made it, cherub,” you said, bending your body at the waist to kiss Sura’s forehead. The young girl—only five years of age—swooned as you gave her attention. While Sana—only two (and a half)—was content, as always, with the soft touch of your thumb caressing her cheek as you spoke to her sister. “What kind of head maiden would I be if I were late to welcome such prestigious guests?”

Your Mistress scoffed, popping your arm with her free hand before softly nudging Sura towards Sopheary—aged twelve—and lifting Sana into her arms to hand her off to Dorothea—nearly sixteen. “You’re nearly late all the time. Don’t be a smart ass,” she said, with an eye-roll for emphasis, “that’s Ayra’s job.”

An affronted gasp came from behind you. Ayra placed her hand on her chest, feigning pain at your Mistress’s words. “She wasn’t being clever, Mistress. She merely meant she takes her duties seriously. Besides, you said she’s nearly late, but when is she actually late?

You stifled your laugh as your Mistress glared at Ayra, though the minor skirmish didn’t last long before the crows began their song and dance again.

*caw caw caw*

“Ladies,” Nijimaru said, seemingly clearing his throat—if that was possible for a bird, “my lord Tengen has arrived. Please welcome him in your home for rest and recuperation.”

*caw caw, caw caw*

“My lord Kyojuro has also arrived. Take care of him well,” Manju said, bowing her head as the sound of voices traveled through the air from just beyond your home’s large wooden gate.

The chimes attached to the wooden posts supporting your fence made light noise as the hashira knocked on the wood, shaking them and alerting you further to their presence.

“Okay, girls,” your Mistress said, turning her head to address the group, “best behaviors. Be hospitable. Mind your manners. Got it?”

You all nodded, a hush falling over the room as your Mistress walked down the entrance steps towards the gate. As head maiden, it was your duty to follow, so you did—padding behind the woman with evenly paced steps to greet the two men. Their silhouettes were visible between the thin slits in the woven pattern of the gate’s upper half. Even though the black of the demon slayers’ outfits made their torsos nearly invisible in the night, you could easily make out the bright orange and red atop one of the men’s heads, and the white hair pulled up into a ponytail on the other.

The two men were speaking to each other in hushed voices as you reached the entrance, though they stopped once your Mistress opened it and poked half of her body through the small slit she made to get through, checking to ensure that the men were who they should have been. You moved to the side a bit, coming up behind your Mistress to peek through the gate at the two hashira. The sound hashira—you could assume—was in front, speaking to your Mistress in a soft voice as he asked for clearance to enter, while the flame hashira stood beside him observing much like you were with your Mistress.

You couldn’t get the best look at them, given the low light of the forest-shrouded outdoors, despite the lanterns hanging near the property’s boundary. Still, from what you could see of the mens’ profiles—and the sound hashira’s arms— you knew the rumors the market girls spread had merit.

Ayra is going to have a cow.

“Thank you for allowing us into your home. I’m Uzui Tengen, the sound hashira,” the man said, confirming your suspicions, “and this is my brother in arms—Rengoku Kyojuro, the flame hashira. Please, use our first names and titles.”

The flame hashira smiled brightly, flashing both rows of his teeth. “We’re grateful for your hospitality!” he said, his voice confident and a touch too loud in the silence of the night air.

You giggled softly once before catching yourself, bowing your head slightly as the sound drew both of the hashira’s eyes. You waited a beat before glancing up at the men through your curled lashes, only to see a small smirk on the sound hashira’s lips as he looked at you curiously, and the flame hashira tilted his head forward slightly to get a better look at you from behind the fence.

Your mistress chuckled, subtly stepping to her left to shield you from view—not visibly shaken by Kyojuro’s enthusiasm. “Thank you for trusting us with your safety,” your Mistress said, with a pleasant smile as she spoke. “To ensure ours, you will have to place your weapons in the armory hold for the night—not out of reach but not in hand either—and of course, no shoes in the home. That being said, do come in. There’s a chill coming in; we should get you both fed and bathed inside.”

The sound hashira’s jewels jangled as he nodded his head, glancing at the wisteria crest on the fence as your mistress opened it wide. The two men looked ahead, walking in through the gate and surveying their surroundings. The courtyard of your home was spacious, with a large pond filled with koi fish and surrounded by trees that’d grown large and flower-filled with age. The wisteria vines hung from the branches in abundance, while petals fell and painted the ground purple due to the late summer wind. The large circular stones set into the ground made a path. The line of stones led into the open doors in the front of the minka, much like the ones in the back that created pathways to the various other parts of the property. You smiled softly with pride as the men looked impressed.

Your Mistress stepped around them to walk in front, followed by you, with the men following closely behind you. Her walk exuded grace as she took paced steps up onto the engawa—the wrapped porch wreathed around the entire property—before following you into the home’s genkan. The girls were in the room just past the foyer, hidden from view by wide opaque sliding panels.

The hashira sat down their weapons to remove their shoes, balancing them against the shoji panels of the doors to slip into the larger black slippers you kept for the men.

“May I?” your Mistress asked, motioning toward their swords.

“Of course, we understand the rules well,” Kyojuro said, picking up his sword to hand it over to your Mistress with both hands.

She accepted it with equal respect, then handed the sword over to you, jutting her head towards the grand armory armoire fixed into the wall in the home’s entrance area. You bowed, walking over to the dresser to unlock it—turning the nob on the dresser backward and forward in a pattern to expose the layers of compartments for swords inside.

“I’ll hang your sword here on the left, Lord Kyojuro,” you said, placing the sword on a mounted rack instead of one of the lesser hanging racks on the armory’s bottom half. “Lord Tengen, may we take your sword as well?”

The hashira smiled softly at you, sharing a glance with his comrade before speaking. “Ah, so the maiden does have a voice after all,” he said, his almond-shaped eyes looking at you respectfully. “Of course, you may.” He readily handed over his dual-wielded swords, the beginning of something on his lips as your Mistress took the weapons from him. She moved on reflex, taking the blades from him without hearing the last of his words.

She huffed as they reached her hands, attempting to stifle the slight tremor in her arms as she held on to the blades by their long handles. “Can you carry these, love?” she said, the question more like a statement as she pushed the swords out towards you. “You have youth on your side, and a much stronger back.”

You nodded, quickly walking up to her side to take the swords—black with gold embellishments and huge—from her. A deep huff of breath left your lungs as well as you slung the heavy weapons—safe inside of their thick cloth bindings—over your shoulder. To say you were unprepared for their weight would be an understatement.

“Careful.” The sound hashira appeared behind you, moving so fast despite the small space that you hadn’t heard a sound. “It’d be a great injustice to the world if such a pretty maiden were to lose her hands by accident carrying my swords.”

He held on to you from behind, supporting your forearms with his hands to relieve most of the sword’s weight. The man’s stature was noticeable from a distance, but up close, you were forced to acknowledge how large he was; his hands, his chest against your back, his large cuffed arms cradling your own as he pushed you forward with his weight; nothing about him seemed to understand the word “small.”

He walked in tandem with you as you shuffled toward the armory armoire and didn’t let go until the swords were safely contained inside the holder on the interior wall of the large dresser. “There we go,” he sighed, his voice light. “I’ve always heard the mountains bred strong women. It looks like there’s some truth to that, huh, Kyojuro?”

The flame hashira nodded, a firm “mhm,” coming out clearly behind his closed lips. “Both of you have great strength. It’s admirable.”

You swallowed hard, lowering your eyes as the warmth rose beneath your skin from the rush of blood just below the rich brown pigment. You glanced up at your Mistress through your eyelashes and saw her bow her head, accepting the compliment sincerely.

“Now then, let’s get you two inside. You’ve had a long journey; I imagine you must be eager to unwind.”

The two men agreed, standing respectfully to one side as your Mistress opened the genkan entrance panels. Both you and your Mistress walked up a step, standing on either side of the entrance. The hashira walked into the room, pleasant surprise on their faces as the girls—you and your Mistress included—bowed and said your welcome in unison.

“Wow, an assembly welcome. How flashy!” Tengen said, smiling as he scanned his eyes around the room. “We weren’t aware this was a boarding house. How lucky for you to have the help, maiden.”

Your Mistress chuckled, relaxing out of her bow to walk down the hall's center. The other girls stood straight as your Mistress tapped their shoulders, allowing them to stand up.

You do not miss the ill-hidden shock on Ayra’s face as she finally got to look at the men—especially not when her wide eyes flickered over to meet yours.

“We are, more or less. These are my adopted children—all saved from hard lives in some way or another. Still, they do work because they respect our home, not as a condition to live here. I am also not a maiden, though I have done a poor job at introductions, so I can see how the assumption was made.”

You giggled softly, knowing the smug smile on your Mistress’s face came from the hashira’s subtle assertion that she looked much younger than she was.

She cleared her throat, turning to face the men as she stood between the lines of her girls. “I’m Arai Miya—the headmistress and matriarch of this bevy of young ladies. I’m also the current sole proprietor of the estate, as I’m no longer married, and I lost my biological family to demons long ago. My head maiden,” she said, motioning to you, “is the eldest and my firstborn—so to speak. Ayra here,” she said, gesturing to Ayra (whose mouth was slightly slack as she blinked faster than you’d seen in ages), “is the second eldest. She often helps with affairs just as our head girl does. They’ll be around most often to assist you throughout the night should you need any assistance—though I’ll always be close by should you need mine specifically.”

The men looked between you both, nodding their heads in acknowledgment towards you with soft eyes and upturned lips. Your Mistress named all the other girls quickly, getting through the line of eight girls quickly before ending with the youngest—one of which was practically vibrating as she smiled at the two strangers.

“Now that that’s out of the way, I hope you find the accommodations to your liking. We’re honored to have you both,” she said, bowing her head deeply again in respect.

Tengen nodded, though the flame hashira was the one to speak.

“We’re honored to stay in such a lovely home,” Kyojuro said, bending his upper body in a surprisingly deep bow before relaxing again. “Your family has been the talk of the slayer corps for nearly a year. So we were delighted to find that our recent expeditions were so close. Knowing we’d be staying here once our missions were complete was a driving force in getting the work done.”

If you hadn’t known better, you might have believed your eyes when you noticed the rosy pink blush flushing on your Mistress’s pale cheeks.

“Oh, you must have learned young that flattery will get you anywhere, at least with handsome faces like yours,” your Mistress said, a look of unwavering confidence on her petite features despite the obvious effect of the hashira’s words. “Well then, come you two. The girls have prepared a hearty feast and heated the baths for you. Once you’re prepared to turn in, you’ll be staying in the east wing of our guest home for privacy. We also have our private onsen. It’s just a few steps outside of the guesthouse doors. Feel free to take advantage of that at your leisure.”

The men nodded, saying their thanks.

“Would you prefer to eat first or take a dip in the baths?” Ayra asked, joining your Mistress in the middle of the aisle. “We have leisure yukata should you want to eat first and samue for after you bathe.”

In unison, the men said, “food,” eliciting a giggle from the girls.

“Perfect. Then, Prisha,” she whispered, drawing the girl’s attention, “and Lucía will take you both to get changed and bring you to the dining area afterward.”

They both nodded, rushing words of thanks as the two thirteen-year-olds whisked the men away towards the side of the home into a tatami room meant for changing.

The rest of you dispersed, the younger girls plopping down to sit in the home’s living area adjacent to the dining room while your Mistress went deeper into the house. Ayra looped her arm around yours as you headed into the kitchen, barely containing her squeals as you walked into the warm food preparation area.

“What the hell,” she said, safe alone with you in the room. “I owe Yuri my deepest apologies. I will never doubt her judgment of men again. Should I ever decide to embrace blind dating, I will go solely on her recommendations.”

You chuckled, pulling out your best plates and bowls and placing them onto gold trays lined with ruby red details that matched the flame hashira’s eyes. “They are handsome, aren’t they? I kept my expectations low to avoid any disappointment but… wow.”

Ayra scoffed, spooning soup on top of various types of meat and vegetables in large ceramic bowls while you placed cooked food onto plates.

“Wow, is an understatement, sister. I don’t think I’ve ever likened myself to the petty town girls who thrive off of spite and jealousy, but I may envy you to a dangerous degree after the night is over. God,” she said, a rough sigh coming from her throat, “I should have saved myself. Was that hinoe boy worth it? Well—admittedly, yes. He was wonderful. Am I still sad to be missing out on the hashira? Yes, yes, I am.”

You giggled, bumping her thigh with your hip as you arranged more plates. “You’re presumptuous in assuming they’ll even want to bed me. They’ve had a long week; they may be tired. Men are also capable of abstaining, you know.”

Ayra groaned, waving the words away with her hand. “Oh, please. I saw the way they both looked at you, sister, despite Mistress being the one speaking. You just don’t pay enough attention in the moments where you’re not being spoken to. Half of all flirtations occur when one isn’t paying it any mind.”

You sucked your teeth, muttering “whatever,” as you floated around the kitchen to grab spoons and chopsticks for the men to eat with. “Set aside a bowl or two for us,” you whispered, pinching Ayra’s backside as you walked back over to the plates.

As you packed the last bowl with rice, you heard the girls clambering to get onto their feet, their low murmurs audible to your ears as they greeted the men who’d walked into the room. You peeked your head out to look into the dining room, only to see the hashira being guided to sit down at the large main table by Yua—age eleven—while the other girls stood to the side with bated breath as the men took their seats.

“Can you finish these?” you asked Ayra, taking her quick “yup,” in stride as you dried your hands and went out into the main room, taking the starter dishes you could carry on your own.

Your Mistress returned then, instructing Himari and Dorothea to assist Ayra in the kitchen with the rest of the food.

You approached the two men, being careful with the bowls of hot soup as you kneeled to place them down gently, along with two heaping bowls of white rice.

“Were you a barmaid before you moved into this home?” Kyojuro said, sliding the full soup bowl closer without spilling a drop. “You have exceptional balance, and very flexible wrists.”

You looked down at your own hands, having never gotten such a comment on such an inconsequential feature of your body. “Oh—well, no, I wasn’t, but thank you,” you said, a small huff of laughter accompanying your words. “I’ve lived here since I was a small child. I’ve learned how to care for guests well from my Mistress.”

You glanced over at your Mistress who was watching you fondly, rubbing Sana’s dark brown curls as the sleepy toddler cuddled against her side.

“That’s lovely—how she looks at you with pride,” Tengen said, a soft smile on his face as he tucked into his rice.

You smiled, averting your eyes from the men’s heavy gazes, then jumped, slightly startled as Ayra's voice carried loudly from the kitchen.

“Coming through!” Ayra said, announcing her exit as she walked out of the kitchen with the other two girls close behind—all carrying a tray or two filled with food.

The girls laid out the spread easily, having done it more times than you could ever hope to count. The distraction came at the perfect time, as the hashira’s eyes were drawn to the various food dishes instead of you. Their eyes grew wide as they looked down at their meal, and they wasted no time scarfing down this and that with muttered exclamations peppered between their bites.

Your Mistress eyed the group of girls, then the men—visibly satisfied that the hashira liked their meal. “If you’re settled, then we’ll leave you to your dinner. We’ve encroached on your peace for long enough.”

Sura detached herself from Sopheary’s side, soft whines spilling from her lips as she ran up to your Mistress.

“But, Mama,” the girl said, a prominent pout on her delicate features. “What about our gifts?”

Your Mistress sighed, hushing her tone to talk to the child.

“Can it wait until morning, lovely? I imagine they want to eat and rest.”

Sura pouted harder, her bottom lip quivering as if she meant to cry—though no actual tears were coming out.

“It’s no bother,” Tengen said, though he hadn’t looked like he’d been listening to their conversation. “We always have time for a gift, especially when such sweet little hands give them.”

Your Mistress relented, lightly pushing both Sura and Sana—who looked shaken to be moving closer to the men—forward, the two girls holding hands.

“You’re Sura, correct?” Tengen asked, his eyes soft as he looked down at the children, still multiple feet taller than both of them even while he was sitting down.

She nodded her head, a cheesy smile on her face as she attempted to maintain eye contact with the man. “This is my baby sister Sana. She has a talisman for you,” she said, her voice easily heard despite her shyly contained confidence.

A smile bloomed on Tengen’s face as he looked down at Sana, holding out his hands in wait for his gift. Perhaps it was merely because the man was so large, or maybe crushes developed earlier than you once thought, but Sana cowered even more than usual behind her sister as both of the hashira’s attention was drawn to her.

Tengen’s face softened even more at the child as he noticed her body shuffling farther away from him. He made himself smaller—turning away from his food to face her then leaning forward to rest his weight on his elbows, putting himself closer to the child’s eye level. “May I see your gift?” he said lightly, extending his cupped hands out in front of Sana directly.

Sana broke her eye contact with the man to look over at you, her big onyx-colored eyes round as saucers as she grabbed onto her sister’s dress.

“It’s okay,” you said, whispering the words as you nodded your head towards the man. “You’re a brave girl, Sana. You can do it,” you said, supported with small cheers for the child from your housemates.

Since your Mistress had taken both Sana and Sura in less than a year ago, the younger of the two was still remarkably shy—but you were slowly but surely working on chipping down her walls. It was a stark contrast to her sister Sura, who was so friendly to every person she ever met that you constantly warned her of strangers who would wish to take her away, just to avoid having her walk off with someone foreign. All of your girls were somewhere on the spectrum between the two youngest’s temperaments—some having been rescued from brothels, while others were meant to be sold off as property from poor parents who couldn’t care for them well. A few were merely saved from poor orphanages, like you, but you all came from different backgrounds and walks of life, and seeing each other be as well-rounded and happy as possible was your Mistress’s ultimate goal.

With your support, the tiny child flicked her eyes up towards Kyojuro, then Tengen, and after a moment of contemplation… she pushed herself forward, sprinting at the two men as fast as her tiny legs could carry her. The distance was very short, but she managed to skid to a halt before running into Tengen’s hands. Still, her coordination with her own hands was new. It thus wasn’t great, so when she (slowly) pulled the small omamori talisman out from the gigantic pocket in the lining of her kimono’s obi, she nearly dropped them. However, the sound hashira caught them so quickly they didn’t even have time to descend towards the floor.

“Wow,” the man said, turning the two brightly-colored shiawase talismans over in his hand, pleased to see that the prayers were full of “happiness” energy. “These are flashy indeed. You have great decorating skills, little one. You could be an artist.”

Tengen handed one of the packages over to Kyojuro—who’d moved by the other man’s side to sit with his legs crossed. The sunset-haired man’s smile grew wider as he bowed his head towards the child.

“These remind me of the talismans my little brother would have our father buy during the autumn festivals,” he said, his voice notably soft. “I will carry it on my person always.”

Sura practically beamed with excitement as she reached her hand down into her obi, fishing out two more omamori that differed significantly in color from the ones you had helped Sana make. “I made some too!” she said, a smile so big on her face that it crinkled her eyes. “Sana’s charms are for happiness, but mine are kaiun—for luck! It’s gold, like your hair.”

Kyojuro chuckled, taking the talisman from the girl and holding it up next to his head. “I think it’s a perfect match. Perhaps I will tie it into my ponytail from now on.”

That drew a laugh from the group, even your Mistress, before the hashira placed their talisman inside their yukata’s pockets.

“Wow. We thought we saw angels frolicking in the waters around the edge of your woods, but it looks like they live inside your home as well,” he said, his eyes finding yours for a moment as he turned back towards his food. “Thank you for your good fortune, little ones. We need all that we can get.”

Your Mistress smiled, beckoning the children towards her with her hand as Tengen lightly rubbed their heads. Sura beamed as she ran back to your Mistress, while Sana—surprisingly—ignored her, walking between the two hashira, rocking back and forth on her heels.

“Thank you for indulging them,” your Mistress said, scooping Sura into her arms. “Now then, girls—”

“Oh?” Tengen said, glancing down at Sana with a knowing smile on his lips. “I can hear someone’s tummy rumbling. Why don’t you all join us for dinner? There’s more than enough space for all of us.”

The girls giggled, lightly teasing Sana for trying to be mischievous.

“Well,” your Mistress said, the intent to decline already evident in her eyes, “we couldn’t possibly. The younger ones have eaten already, twice—for good measure—and this hungry one here is still taking milk from the neighbor’s wet nurse, along with peaches and rice. She can’t handle a pallet quite this large yet, but I do thank you for your kindness.”

The men nodded before the sound hashira looked over to where you stood beside Ayra near the kitchen’s entrance.

“Understood,” Tengen said, his maroon-colored eyes so deep and dazzling. “What about your eldest girls then? This one’s stomach is louder than the child’s,” he said, motioning towards you, “and her friend here has been inching closer and closer to the kitchen the longer we’ve spoken. But, of course, they’re welcome to eat; I’m sure they worked up an appetite preparing for our visit.”

You shrunk in on yourself, half hiding your face with your curls as Ayra stifled her laughter.

“Ah, well,” your Mistress hesitated, approaching the men to scoop Sana up with her other arm. “We typically eat in our quarters, but if you insist….”

“We insist,” Tengen said, eyeing both you and Ayra. “We’ve had no other company for over a week. So we welcome the opportunity to hear voices besides our own—or the crows. These two seem to talk quite a bit. They’ll make lovely company, if they’d like to eat with us.”

Ayra answered for you, a quick “yes, sure we would,” coming from her lips before you had the mind to answer.

Your Mistress nodded, ushering the girls into your communal space on the other end of the house. “Just yell if you need me.”

And with that, she was gone, and you were alone with the hashira.