loving jinichi is the best kept secret because he's an acquired taste; his beauty appreciated by a small audience. by those who notice. there's always the need to explain, as if he isn't the paragon of sex appeal in its crudest form. call it primal, instinctual. he's the picture of textbook masculinity after all. the strong silent type who embraces violence like a tool, like it's natural. how rugged and rough is he. a full beard and long hair to go with brawny and broad muscles. voice so deep as it takes shape, less to speak and more to strike, hewn from superiority complexes and power struggles true, made into a million fists covered in red and purple too.
it's the general consensus toji's got the better genes in that family. in more ways than one despite the disgust they feel or the fear to admit it. similar to watching a serpent slither, with face alike, toji sheds his name, his clan, and everything else that came with them, becoming ever more seductive. not even jaded demeanour or a scar to the lip—so obvious in it's attempt to mar the broody facade that it only appears more beautiful—could taint or tatter. not that you should compare, but sibling rivalry is ever-present and innate for a zenin. so it's expected to feel torn between two, especially when jinichi's starting to look a whole lot better now that he's revealed anew.
the hall is larger than you expected when you first arrive. banners lining the walls, hanging heavy with inherited pride, wood furnishings lacquered and shining, a family portrait framed dead centre as the doors are slid open. you keep your head bowed as you enter, veil drawn low and silk robe carefully pressed. it's not extravagant in its design but decent enough that your family could manage without apology. even so, you had a feeling they weren't willing to go the extra mile for an occasion like this. at least not for you.
as you're brought forward to kneel before a man—the one chosen after hardly any deliberation—you feel it immediately, the weight of being assessed.
the elders begin the ceremony by speaking your name, reciting your lineage, and then the terms of the arrangement. all from behind a sheer silk screen. to create distance and project authority. "she's less than ideal..." says one elder in a hushed voice. a fan opened and poised to cover their lips.
"that's what makes her an adequate choice," says another, but you manage to catch the corner of their lips twitching in amusement.
when prompted, you lift your gaze to him. peeking through the opening of your veil and making the first, most crucial of steps. hoping to impress and find approval in his eyes.
but you find none.
toji barely looks back at you, his expression bored, mouth set in a line that suggests he’s already halfway out the door. his attention drifting pass the ceremony of what should be the most important day of his life. to the trees outside, to the faint sounds of footsteps on gravel, as if this were a formality beneath him. when his eyes do land on you, it's brief. your breath almost hitches when noticing how dark and detached they are. measuring and dismissive, as though confirming what he's been told—an insult bride, a slight made flesh.
your fingers curl inside your sleeves, but you don't flinch. this is everything you've trained for, carrying the hopes of your family upon your shoulders. the zenin clan is renowned for its lineage, power, and the brutality with which it guards both. this was an honour reserved for the fortunate, the useful, a sign that one's bloodline has been deemed worthy of preservation within their walls. a union promising prestige and proximity to a legacy that stretches back generations, where tradition is law and strength is inheritance. a rare elevation. a life bound to influence, protected by the weight of an ancient name, and remembered long after lesser families fade into obscurity.
you knew you were never meant to be a prize. so unlike the daughters groomed to absolute perfection, paraded forward with dowries heavy enough to bend the floorboards. all so willowy and graceful. most could see curses and those who could not, still managed to bear children with the greatest abilities. you never did fit the criteria, still dont. but offering you up was easy, a gesture that cost little and signalled obedience all the same.
however, to be picked at all was a narrow mercy. better this than obscurity. better to be married into a great house, even as an afterthought, than to return home carrying the quiet shame of rejection. your future balanced on this moment, on your ability to endure indifference with grace and call it fortune.
it's why you make an assessment of him, learning people always comes naturally to you, honed through observation. your intuition never fails, not when politeness masks intent, when silence speaks louder than words. you tell yourself distance can be narrowed, affection can come later, that marriages like these aren't built on warmth but patience.
toji is a sight to behold. his face striking enough to belong on a movie screen, all clean lines and masculine angles. hair dark and soft-looking. not to mention how tall and toned he is, built with an ease that suggests strength without effort. you bite your lip in thought, given the nature of this arrangement, you hadn't expected someone so undeniably attractive.
nor someone so aware, he carries himself like a man who knows this marriage is a farce and refuses to pretend otherwise. there is no reverence in him, no anxious deference toward the clan he was born into. if anything, the air around him feels loose, as if the rules stop just short of touching him. judging by the elders' tone, the lack of ceremony, the way his presence is treated as an inconvenience rather than a prize, it's clear toji does not sit high in their esteem.
but regardless of the obvious disinterest and casual disregard, or the looming reality that this union is little more than a transaction meant to bruise pride on both sides—it's his brother who unsettles you.
not because he demands attention the way some men do, but because your eyes seem to land on him unbiddenly. jinichi stands apart from the others, taller than most, built solid in a way that feels earned rather than ornamental. there’s nothing polished about him, nothing that would earn the easy praise given to pretty men, but something in his presence catches you all the same. rough edges, robust stature. he and toji share the same brooding expression, the same heavy-lidded gaze that makes people step carefully around them. but where toji's comes from a life spent burdened by the weight of other peopless expectations, jinichi's feels different. his looks like restraint, like someone constantly holding back more than he shows.
and while toji barely notices you, jinichi makes no effort to look away. something about his attention feels deliberate, like he's already made a decision and is simply waiting for the rest of the room to catch up.
when the formalities conclude, toji turns away without a word, already bored of what he's been given and the elders exhale a breath of relief. hiding a sickening excitement, an anticipation for this to inevitably ruin both your lives.
jinichi steps forward but not too much, "grin and bear it," he says evenly and you know it was meant for toji. no congratulations for the newly engaged couple but a demand. the two of them don't even look at each other as he says it.
toji shrugs, brushing past you and bumping shoulders with jinichi on his way out, "if you say so."
what you don’t hear, what no one hears is the quiet calculus already at work in jinichiss mind, and when he finally lowers his gaze, it is only because he has memorized the way you look beneath the veil.
------
it hadn't occurred to you before how different they are. brothers, and yet nothing alike. not in temperament nor presence, not even in the way people speak their names. you’d always assumed brothers shared something invisible between them, easy conversation, private jokes, a closeness that survived even silence. but with them, there is only distance. they rarely speak, and when they cross paths, it's brief, polite in the stiffest sense, like men who happen to share a house rather than blood.
you think about jinichi first, because lately itss impossible not to. he moves through the compound like someone the world makes room for. skilled in every way that matters here. fighting, strategy, leadership. even when you don’t see him, you hear about him. the younger ones talk in hushed, excited voices about missions he's led, techniques he's mastered, things he's done that sound almost exaggerated in the retelling. and the elders rarely criticize him, albeit when they do, it sounds more like expectation than disappointment.
you find yourself piecing together a portrait from scraps of what little you know. they say he watches over the members of his squad, that he doesn’t leave people behind if he can help it, that he's the one they call when something difficult needs doing...that he always comes back.
but toji is different. people speak about him too, but never in the same way. his name travels through the halls in low voices, sometimes impressed, sometimes irritated, edged with something like disbelief. he doesn't lead teams and doesn't linger to be admired.
and he leaves. disappears for days, weeks, sometimes longer, returning with the same unbothered look on his face as if nothing in the world has the right to hold him. they wouldn't want to and he's accepted that, grown so used to it that it's become his identity. an outcast.
if jinichi is the sort of man people gather around, toji is the sort they circle warily. one builds a place for himself among people while the other seems determined to live outside of them. somehow, without meaning to, you've found yourself standing exactly between the two.
"your brother has asked to visit," you tell toji the moment he steps past the compound gates. he doesn't slow, cuts straight across the courtyard toward the house you share, ignoring the servants who instinctively step aside. they don't press him about the hurried way he kicks off his shoes by the doorway, or the loose bandages he unwraps from his forearms and lets fall carelessly to the floor.
you follow a step behind, as you always do. he moves through the room like he owns none of it and needs none of it. his training uniform comes off first, then the rashguard, both tossed aside while he digs through the refrigerator with one hand, finally pulling out a can of beer. the tab snaps open with a loud pop, foam fizzing up the rim before he lifts and drains half the can in one long pull.
you swallow, waiting for him to acknowledge you, to answer like a person should when spoken to. the can crumples in his fist when he finishes it, aluminium folding under his grip before he flicks it into a nearby bin without looking. you make a mental note to rinse the sides later on, toji doesn't bother with replacing the bags, or waiting for there to be one.
"what does he want?" he spits out, voice roughened by drink. now that he's standing under the kitchen light, you see it properly. the blooming bruises across his ribs, shallow cuts along his shoulder and collarbone. small nicks scattered across his skin. toji isn't weak, even without cursed energy, everyone knows he can more than hold his own.
still, the drinking tells you enough that he's in a worse mood than usual, and you think to mention the fact that he hates alcohol, but no one drinks because they enjoy the taste, and toji must be looking to numb the pain, take the edge off whoever or...whatever gave him such a beating.
"jinichi-san has requested a visit...here," you say carefully. choosing to opt out of calling it home. living with toji in this cramped, cold farmhouse on the outskirts has never felt like that. in fact, the longer you've stayed, the lonelier you've gotten.
"heard you the first time," he mutters.
"that's all i know," you continue, "i'm guessing he wishes to see you."
toji lets out a quiet, humourless huff, "you guess huh," he says sardonically, "since when did he need my permission?"
toji drags another can from the fridge, the door hangs open while he pops it with the same careless flick of his index finger. cold air spills into the kitchen but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. you watch him take another long swallow before he finally kicks the fridge shut with his heel. "well?" he presses on. the question sounded impatient, but you've learned that with toji, impatience is the closest thing he has to participation.
"he asked if he could come by this week," you say, "i told him i would ask you." the words sound more formal than they need to, but that’s how these things are done. permission has to pass through him first. but toji doesn’t react the way you expect, if anything, he looks faintly puzzled, like the extra step hadn't even crossed his mind and you wonder if he's simply forgotten the rule.
technically, you're not supposed to speak with other men so freely, not while you're engaged. the elders made that clear enough when the arrangement was finalized. visits require approval. private meetings are out of the question unless your husband is present. it was about reputation and appearances. all the things the clan insists on preserving. but toji has never seemed particularly interested in preserving anything and judging by the way he takes another lazy drink, the rule apparently matters about as much to him as the rest of them do.
still, the meaning behind his words settles slowly in your mind. if jinichi truly wished to see his brother, he wouldn't need to ask at all. the two of them could meet whenever they pleased. training grounds, missions, the clan estate. permission wouldn't enter the equation. which means the request wasn't really about toji in the first place. the thought makes something quiet and uneasy stir in your chest, because the only reason jinichi would bother asking is if his visit had something to do with you instead.
toji lets you come to your own conclusions. leans his hip against the counter with beer dangling loosely from his fingers as the kitchen light catches the dark bruising along his side again. but he doesn't seem aware of it, or maybe he simply doesn't register pain the way other people do. "did he say why?" he asks.
"no," you shake your head, adding quietly, "he doesn't visit often."
that earns a small snort from him, "yeah," toji says flatly, "that's because he has better things to do." it isn't entirely untrue. jinichi has never made a secret of the life he leads beyond the compound walls. lingers on him in ways the clan pretends not to notice. the faint scent of smoke and liquor that clings to his clothes, the murmurings about his latest earnings, the late returns from places only men visit.
there's a sharpness to him that doesn't belong solely to discipline or duty, something looser, more indulgent. the kind of man who takes what he wants and answers to no one for it. the drinking. the violence. the company he keeps. a life lived without apology. for all that talk, for all the rumours that paint him as excessive, there is something measured about him too. controlled in a way that feels deliberate, as if everything he does, every vice, every indulgence, is chosen, not stumbled into. nothing about him is careless. not even the parts people dismiss as such.
you hesitate, unsure if the next question is allowed, "should i tell him no?" as soon as they're spoken, a small, unfamiliar pang settles in your chest. you can't quite name it, only that the thought of turning jinichi away feels…wrong somehow. something inside you knows, with a quiet certainty you don’t dare examine too closely, that you want to see him.
toji looks at you then, properly this time. his eyes narrowing, travelling over your face like he's deciding whether you’re serious or just naïve. "you want him to come?" he asks.
the question lands strangely, like he sees right through you, "i only meant it might be rude to refuse," you reply.
"rude," toji repeats, the word tasting foreign in his mouth. he drinks again, the can empties faster this time. and he just stands there, staring at nothing in particular, then he shrugs, "fine," he says, "tell him he can come."
relief flickers through you before you can stop it. "but i'm not playing host," he adds, crushing the can easily in his hand.
you nod, "i understand."
the metal groans softly and collapses in his grip. he tosses it into the bin, the hollow clang echoing briefly in the kitchen like a final punctuation mark. it seems the conversation is over.
as you're about to turn away when he speaks again. "you know," toji says casually, like the thought just occurred to him, "none of this is gonna matter eventually."
you pause, "what do you mean?"
he scratches absently at the scab forming on his shoulder, "this place," he says, gesturing vaguely toward the compound outside, "the rules and all that, asking permission for stupid shit," his mouth tilts in something that almost resembles a smile, though there’s no warmth in it, "i'm gonna leave it all behind one day."
you blink at him, "leave?"
"yeah," he answers in the same offhand tone someone might use to talk about stepping out for air, the casualness of it unsettles you more than anger would have. "the whole damn circus," toji continues, "not my problem after that."
your voice comes out smaller than you intend, shaky, "what about…everything here?" what about me? stays trapped behind your teeth.
his eyes flick to you, an unreadable expression passes his face, something that almost looks like he’s noticed the weight of what you didn’t say, then it's gone. "to be honest?" toji says, shoulders lifting in a faint shrug, like the answer costs him nothing, "it never meant anything to me."
------
among the embers of an ancient hearth jinichi is hunched over at work, bathed in heat and firelight. spiked hair tamed and sticking to sweat-damp skin, strands dark as the steel he hammers into a blade. he's never relied on weapons beyond his two capable hands, but the work keeps him away from you. "avoiding me again?" your voice is barely heard above the echoing clang of metal, but it's time he admits the truth. that he finds you revolting and inferior.
you never asked to be his betrothed, but after toji left—abandoning the woman he practically shunned throughout his engagement—it was decreed that you'd marry jinichi instead. with a few words spoken and decisions made without your say, your life has irrevocably shifted a second time.
jincihi doesn't acknowledge your presence, or the question you're about to utter once again before it's bound to be drowned out by flame and even more clashing. besides, you don't talk to your soon-to-be-husband this way—or any male zenin really—if you plan to survive. you don't have their respect, only given the bare minimum amount of courtesy because of jinichi's standing. that thread of fate acting as a noose and lifeline at the same time.
despite the urge you have to make sense of toji's motives, you understood his feelings at least. what it's like to be unwanted and disgraced. at least he had the right mind to leave you and everyone else alive knowing he had full potential to do otherwise. but the decision to stay had been yours entirely, being passed on to jinichi isn't a punishment as it is a consequence of that.
it was the only option left to you. marrying into the clan was never about romance but the promise of a life that would be safer and more secure than the one you could have built alone. you chose stability over longing, certainty over hope, and now you have to live inside that choice.
you wonder about the times he'd been around toji's place, when he'd pass by and spare you a glance, as if he wanted to check up on you, as if he cared. he'd asked to visit and it was the only thing you looked forward to but he never showed. months of trying and failing at gaining his favour is what drove you here demanding an answer, all those futile attempts at forming a connection for nothing. being civil would be enough for you, all without expecting a lasting love or that he'd see you as more than a nuisance. if he will not want you, then you will be dutiful, uncomplaining.
for now, you forego your efforts to get answers, to make conversation. this flint will never form sparks. you were chosen to marry a zenin yet both toji and jinichi want nothing to do with you. 'less than ideal,' you remember hearing. the council saved the more cutting remarks to themselves, but you felt it in their stares. unfit to wed, to bed, with little respect for servitude and an attitude in need of adjustment. height too short, hips too wide, a mouth that runs, and a mind that races. no poise, no hint of perfection. you were just what they needed for toji, another insult thrown at him, only to end up as their biggest inconvenience. for what is worse than his brother jinichi, potential clan head and elite sorcerer, to be stuck with you. forced to settle or sever you out of the picture completely.
"you don't belong here," jinichi's voice reverberates low and steady, cutting through the fog of your thoughts like a blade through silk. it pulls you back into your body. back into the heat and smoke. he doesn't look for your reaction, taking off his working gloves and setting the tongs aside, metal kissing stone. leather creases as he peels them off one finger at a time. he moves with the ease of someone used to weight and silence, back muscles flexing under his soot-stained tshirt. when he turns around, it's not with anger but expectation. waiting for you to bare your teeth and hiss.
you save the snarky retort for a challenge, "so why don't you just kill me?" there's a silence save for the crackling flame, charcoal turning grey and wood burnt to ash.
jinichi steps closer, figure imposing and towering above yours. he doesn't rush, but simply occupies the space, presence pressing in. you don't back away, already at wits' end, steeling yourself and awaiting a worse fate, but he tilts his head curiously once he's close.
he bends to hold your gaze, observing. your eyes meeting his under a crossed forehead scar and furrowed brows. how thick and unruly they are. you've known him for years but it's the first time you're looking up close. the rumors had painted him as brutish, malformed. that he was more akin to a beast than man. they were lies, exaggerations meant to make him monstrous, less human. in this light, the truth you're faced with is a hidden beauty unearthed, one you can't look away from. eyes far more perceptive than rumour ever gave him credit for. his features severe in a way that demands attention, the kind of beauty that feels accidental, unrefined.
briefly, jinichi reaches out like he's about to pet a stray animal, to feel how soft the skin is. it hovers near your cheek, close enough that you feel the heat radiating from his skin, the faint scent of smoke and iron clinging to him. you hold your breath in anticipation, heart thudding, every instinct screaming at you to prepare.
but a second later, he withdraws, "if i wanted you dead, you wouldn't be standing," he says calmly. the words land heavier than violence ever could. "you don't belong here," he repeats, softer now, "but that doesn’t mean you're disposable." your heart stutters. that word pierces you through the heart like a stake.
he straightens, gaze sweeping over you, not with desire or disdain but calculation. as though you aren't a person to be dominated, but a variable to be accounted for. "they expect you to endure or break. either way," his jaw tightens, not with rage, but contempt, "i don't allow waste."
"so what," you ask hoarsely, "i'm to be spared out of convenience?"
"no," jinichi says as he turns away, already finished with the conversation, "you will survive this place," he adds over his shoulder, "whether you like it or not."
as he walks off, leaving you shaking beside the dying fire, amid ash pale as snow, you realize something far more terrifying than being hurt—jinichi has decided you are worth keeping.
------
the wedding is a small, sombre affair. there are no well-wishes or happy faces. grey clouds loom, and rain pours heavily before vows are exchanged, forcing an already quick ceremony to be cut short.
it's for the best. neither has anything to profess, no promise more true than the one made by the hearth. you will survive. back when the thought of being husband and wife felt like an eternity away, almost an impossibility—a hope that he'd do everything in his power to stop it—now feels all the more real.
looking from beneath the rim of your headpiece, you notice jinichi's cleaned up nicely. his black haori is pressed, silken sash decorated with the zenin crest embroidered in white. his beard is trimmed, hair brushed and tamer than usual, stray strands loose from mousse and framing his face in that messy, rugged way. he even smells of woody perfumed oils, complementary to the flowers scenting your own skin.
it's customary to exchange gifts during the ceremony, but no one sticks around long enough to realize you've come empty-handed or to see you resist the urge to cry when he walks you toward your new home. head bowed while watching his feet make footprints in the sand. his gift to you is big enough for servants, a chef, a gardener, and the picture-perfect family of four, but it's just the two of you here.
jinichi flips the switches and lights come on to reveal his life of solitude. you're struck by the space, the vastness of it, yet it feels like something lived in. like he's spent years making it his own.
he heads to the kitchen first, opens the fridge to look for ingredients and piles them on the island counter, then fills the kettle before setting it to boil. he washes the rice, dices the vegetables, beats the eggs...moving around with familiarity and routine.
it's jarring to see him this way, like he was just another man making dinner all on his own. it shouldn't be surprising, he's grown alot from the teenager you met all those years ago, makes sense that he'd know how to cook his own meals. not to mention that he'd already be hungry at this hour when he eats more than anyone you know. noting the large dinners you had with the rest of the clan where he's not shy to grab second servings of rice or that he scarfs down a mountain of meat like nothing.
it's no wonder his physique is incredible. if not admired purely for its strength, then for the sheer precision of it. the cut and curve of every muscle carved to unattainable standards. unlike toji, nothing about him suggests effortless talent. his body tells a different story. one of discipline and repetition, of hours spent lifting iron, sparring with trainees until sweat soaked through his clothes, hammering metal at the forge when no one was watching. he earned every inch of it.
which only makes it stranger that he doesn’t seem to care who sees.
he strips off his haori casually, draping it over the back of a chair before swapping his hakama for a pair of sweatpants he’d left folded over a bar stool. they must've been his pyjamas the night before, the fabric soft and worn, riding low and slung across his hips.
you force yourself to look away from the mouth-watering trail of hair dusted over his navel, the darker line climbing toward his chest and spreading across his pecs, his forearms just as thick with it. the veins along his arms stand out in clean, striking lines beneath his skin, twisting and branching in a way that makes his hands look even larger than they already are.
when he reaches toward the back of the fridge for a litre bottle of water, the thing looks almost travel-sized in his grip. his throat bobs as he drinks, taking several long swallows without pause. a stray drop escapes the corner of his mouth, sliding slowly down the column of his neck before he swipes it away with the back of his hand. he just stands there, shoulders rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breathing. utterly unaware, or perhaps completely unconcerned, that you're watching.
this was what they ridiculed? you search his face for the flaw everyone seems so convinced is there. there is no way this man could be labelled as ugly. it doesn't make sense.
he turns the tap on so it runs over a frozen package of fish and in those few seconds, he shifts his attention. your cheeks heat as you brace yourself when his eyes finally land on you, oogling him so shamelessly. you feel like a bystander gawking at him and awaiting instructions, but he should say something, if not then maybe help you out of your bridal kimono, unbinding your hair from its intricate do. sharing an intimate act of unravelling between husband and wife as he should, he could wipe the makeup off your face, wash the chalkiness off your hands with nails already prepped and cleaned.
but the tap shuts off and his gaze disappears. going back to dinner.
your shoulders slump, he couldn't be more disinterested. what kind of husband wouldn't jump at the chance to ravish their wife after a wedding. you decide then to fill in the blanks on your own as you take in the rest of the place. walking down passages while mapping out the house and jinichi's life. there isn't much to the decor but you can tell he has fine tastes. not too gaudy or extravagant. a nice mix of traditional and earthy touches to the furnishing. living room here, hall over there, but the bedroom is at the very best part of the house. facing a view that could tame the heart of any anxious bride. it's becoming clearer why he prefers to hide out here with only his company and no one else. this place is heaven. a few steps and you'd be dipping your toes into a lake so clear, watching snow gather atop slopes on a mountainside, there's even an onsen hidden behind trees and shrubbery.
the springs are at the right temperature, hot enough to ease the muscles and strip away the day's exhaustion. you make use of the salts for a soak, then peek into a bathroom that's surprisingly modern for a house this old. spotting jinichi's shaving kit tucked in a drawer, expensive cologne by the sink, an array of hair products lined in the shower. you tilt your head curiously as you read the label of the body oil he uses. smiling to yourself when you imagine him doing his skincare routine, how uncharacteristically cute it feels, jinichi looking moisturised and glistening.
when the scent of fresh rice fills the air, it's your cue to join him for your first meal as a married couple. setting aside your nerves, you kneel by the chabudai with a variety of simple dishes served. miso soup, grilled mackerel, steamed eggs with vegetables, and two rice bowls, one with just enough to meet the rim, and another that is piled high.
"i'm not a baby bird," you mutter under your breath, "why should i eat like one." as you reach for your chopsticks, jinichi suddenly grabs your bowl of rice and places it next to his own. side by side, he lifts his bowl and scrapes the rice out so it plops into yours.
you wait for an explanation, but you know better than to expect one. he simply drops your now overfilled bowl infront of you with a loud thunk before he starts digging into the mackerel. severing meat from bone, he breaks the fish apart into sections with his chopsticks, then places every piece into his mouth.
jinichi feels your gaze boring into him but ignores it. two could play this game you think. as he reaches for a sip of miso soup, you take it away from him. gulping down every last drop hurriedly, even slurping up the tiny bits of tofu and seaweed til there's nothing left for him but an empty bowl. once finished, you make an exaggerated 'ahhh' noise of satisfaction. to which he rolls his eyes at, "how childish," he says, fully intending that you hear it.
"you started it!" you snap, voice so loud it rings in your ears. to think you're already fighting. well, maybe this isn't an actual fight, more of a spat, but you learn jinichi's way of settlement is merely going back to eating the rest of the mackerel sans rice or soup because you assume he's too prideful to go get more. or maybe he expects you to do it for him. whatever the case, you're now a zenin, and if being around this god-forsaken clan has taught you anything, is that you can always get your way with a little bit of force.
thus, you reach for the last bits of fish, stopping his chopsticks with your own. nothing is said but he moves his chopsticks back, a sign of his surrender. seemingly to have lost this battle, but only you and a fly on the wall a witness to the slight lift of his lips. not a smirk or a grin, but something that could only mean he'd been amused by you.
------
"i’m sorry," the words leave you the moment he steps out of the bathroom, hair still damp and towel wrapped around his waist. "about the food. you spent time and effort preparing it for us, i should have thanked you."
you lay on the futon with your back against the wall, smoothing the sheets just to have something to do with your hands. you’re not even sure which side he prefers and you hadn’t expected him to sleep in the same room since jinichi has always been meticulous about distance, about boundaries drawn.
yet this is your wedding night. he doesn't look at you, doesn't answer, but you know he listens. jinichi never wastes movement or words. even now, as he walks to the closet with relaxed, heavy steps, searching for something to wear, there’s intention in it. he is not a man who does anything without reason.
you've seen him shirtless often, but tonight feels different. the quiet feels heavier, more fragile. as if every detail is intensified, the broad line of his shoulders, the deep grooves by his hips, making your pulse flutter. it gives you the courage to tell him "i'm still a virgin," the confession barely louder than the rustle of fabric as your fingers tighten in the bedding. "in every way if you can believe it, i've never kissed anyone. never even held hands with a man."
the words hang between you, not daring to look up at him. instead, you focus on the grain of the wooden floor, on the way the lantern light pools warmly across it. you had promised yourself you would do your best as his wife. that you would be composed, graceful, worthy of the alliance your clans have forged. but all you can think about is if he finds you appealing. if he regrets this arrangement. if you are already lacking in ways you don’t yet understand.
your voice softens, "i know i am not beautiful," you confess, "but i want to be good to you. for you. that is my vow." the words brittle but sincere, a fear threaded through it of disappointing him, of being too inexperienced, too naive even though you've learned about wifely duties and expectations in the bedroom. also because something else has been quietly growing. an awareness. a heat that spreads when he stands too close, when his hand brushes yours in passing, when his eyes linger a fraction too long before turning away. toji's eyes had never lingered, but jinichi always seemed to be watching, awaiting to be caught by you.
you risk a glance upward to find him stepping closer, slow enough to give you time to retreat, but you don't. it's too late to back out, but it never occurred to you that he'd hurt you. not even when the space between you feels charged, fragile, as if one wrong breath could shatter it.
"i don’t need vows or goodness," he says quietly, "i need truth." the words aren’t fierce, but they land with weight. jinichi moves onto the futon with care, knees sinking into the yielding fabric. you lean back without realizing you're doing it, body responding before your pride can catch up.
"then ask me," you say, voice thinner than you intend, but steady. eyes helplessly cataloguing him. the shadows casted upon his abdomen, the breadth of his chest, the promise of his arms. oh they look capable. ready to cage you in and keep you here. the thought startles you with its heat. recognizing this desire without pronouncing it, before you can talk yourself out of it. not fear, not duty, something more dangerous. the wish to be taken seriously, to be chosen with intent. this is where it begins, you think, something as uncomplicated as sex with your husband—reduced to whispered lessons and obligation in your imagination—now feels like a threshold instead. a moment that will change the shape of things. you realize...you want jinichi.
he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he watches you. eyes tracking every flicker of doubt, that doe-eyed gaze urging his unutterable thoughts. the kind that he wishes were made real here and now, but he resists, he won't persist, and when he finally speaks, there is no gentling of the words. asking, blunt and unadorned, "have you ever touched yourself?"
it surprises you, "of course not," you reply quickly, "i always thought my husband would take care of that..."
something dark crosses his expression, brief but unmistakable. "my brother is an idiot," he grits out.
you blink, thrown off by the sudden venom. "i don't understand." why would he bring up the subject of toji now.
"he had all of you, all of this—" jinichi continues, voice low, controlled to the point of strain. his hand moving around to clasp your ankle firm but not cruel. you feel a warmth blooming there, a rough hand trailing up and up, callouses and scars meeting the goosebumps on your skin for the first time. his palm cups your thigh, broad enough to span it easily, fingers splaying and filling his palm, he can't help but cop a squeeze. light but intentional. "—and did nothing."
your breath stutters when his hand doesn’t move away, when his touch lingers like it's making a point. "no he didn't," you agree softly, the admission slipping out with a shaky exhale. his fingers press in a little more, memorizing the give of your flesh beneath his palm, the heft of it. the pads of his fingers sink deeper as if to test the suppleness, relish in the smooth skin there. just an inch away from the softest part inside. "i'm not his type, he made it clear." not in so many words, but toji's actions were enough to tell. and you took the hint, always a big girl, no matter how carefully you counted calories, no matter how hard you tried to shrink yourself down to something easier to want, unable to keep the rolls and chubby parts at bay.
jinichi’s hand remains where it is unapologetically. "he wouldn't know what to do with half of you," he says, the words not cruel but edged with resentment maybe, or certainty. his thumb presses once, enticingly slow into the soft of your inner thigh, so close to where you're already aching in anticipation, not moving higher, not yet.
you feel seen in a way that leaves your chest tight, your pulse loud in your ears. "you think that makes you less," he says quietly, "but it doesn’t."
you shake your head, breath uneven, "it does here...it always has."
he says nothing, as if he’s weighing the truth you offered him against his own. then he exhales through his nose, something like a bitter laugh. "you were taught to wait," he says, "untouched and grateful for neglect, you call it virtue," his fingers flex again, firmer this time, as if grounding you, "and he let you believe that was all you were worth."
your throat tightens, how you longed for this, you hadn’t known how badly you needed someone to say it, to put a name to it, "i guess we just wanted different things." the thought is bittersweet, maybe it doesn't matter that toji never made a move, it would'nt have been as sure as jinichi's, so undeniable in its motives. if he were here, toji would only tell you it wasn't personal but it always is.
jinichi leans in, close enough you see the careful control in every line of his body. "that's the truth i needed," he murmurs, gaze holding yours, unflinching. "tell me," he says, "if someone wanted you, really wanted you, would you know how to let yourself be wanted?"
the question settles between you, heavy and risky too. for the first time tonight, you don’t answer right away but jinichi tilts your chin up so you know he means what he says, "you weren't wrong to expect care, you were only unfortunate in who was meant to give it," he says, "and i do not overlook what is mine."
"are you going to kiss me?" you whisper, lips already itching to feel his, even moreso now that you've discovered just how attracted you are to him.
he actually smirks, like he gets this question all the time. how many others have been in your position, practically salivating for him. wanted by him. "would you like that?"
you nod eagerly, "yes please."
when he finally kisses you, it's not hurried nor hungry but gentle, like landing a plane. a slow descent, a careful alignment, before his lips press against yours after he's sure you won't pull away. you do the opposite, rising to meet him with mouth softening and lips parting slow. fitting just right, as if instinct has always known how. this kiss, the first kiss, is more of a smooch, or at least it sounds like it. that perfect pop, resounding and rhythmic too when it just keeps going. one after the other, puckering up, drawing back, slotting his lips against yours with ease, you follow after his lead. committing the shape and feel of each other to memory.
you decide to try something else. tentative at first, letting your tongue slide forward and ease past his lips, not to take, but to learn. to taste him and feel the heat there, confirming that this isn't imagined. he's warm, absolutely burning up, and the small sound that slips from you surprises even yourself. a soft whimper born from how good this feels.
his response is immediate, hands settling at your hips, solid and anchoring, thumbs pressing in as if to keep you right where you are. they're so large, so hot to the touch. you can feel the tips of his fingers meeting at the small of your back. there are no downsides to this you think, only the sweet potential to discover, how else would they feel in other places? when cradling you, cuddling you, holding you tenderly or bruising.
his tongue barely brushes yours, a fleeting touch, and you find you like the teasing nature of it. when he finally licks you with the tip of his tongue, coaxing, nudging, a faint nip of teeth that makes your breath stutter, you feel it everywhere. he isn't kissing you like something precious he might lose, but like he intends to do this right. like there will be time for more kisses to come. like he wants it to be good for you.
it's why your hands rise to his face, cupping his jaw with fingers rubbing into the coarse warmth of his beard. the roughness under your palm grounds you, reminds you that it’s jinichi kissing you like this. no one else. you hum a long exhale through your nose, melting and moulding against him like putty. your thoughts blur, edges softening, time stretching into a feeling you could lose yourself in til dawn.
but there's more to be done. "easy now," he groans against your swollen lips as he pulls away just far enough to press his forehead to yours. eyes lingering on you as if it costs him something to stop. but your gaze stays fixed on his lips like a new obsession. half-lidded and unfocused. a thin line of saliva trails between you before it snaps, clinging to your chin, you don't wipe it away. pouting like you've had a favourite toy taken away. you open your mouth to object, say something sarcastic or snarky, but all that comes out is a whine high in your throat, a pleading, almost desperate sound.
jinichi watches you like he knows exactly what he's doing to you. there were times you thought about him as a lover, just to know what to expect, letting your mind wander around thoughts of his preference in women, if he'd like a slender figure compared to your fuller one with ample curves. if he'd be selfless or selfish. if he fucks with only relief in mind, just for that quick release. choosing some random woman he finds adequate enough lingering around the estate or waiting on him hand and foot at a club. as if sex were just another task, part of his daily routine, of clan life and the like. does he get it over with, no savouring of the flesh or face of whoever lies beneath him. that laying with him isn't anything to write home about, nor gossip in secret, in between breaks before meals and baths. not even while he's thrusting quick and rough and his rhythm uneven, uncaring. no praises are sung, and moans are practically non-existent save for the one, just one gasp when he slips out and finishes outside. both parties left unsatisfied.
but jinichi isn't impatient nor careless. it seems, foreplay takes precedence before fucking. he moves with control that makes the moment last longer than you can bear. lowering his mouth to the side of your neck, teeth grazing the tender skin there just enough to make you gasp. the sting fades quickly beneath the warmth of his lips, unhurried. down he goes, he lingers at your collarbone, kissing there before trailing lower, nipping the swell of your breast through the fabric of your nightgown. a modest thing made of silk and not much else, homely and unpretentious. something chosen more for comfort than allure.
soft fabric gathers beneath his touch as he moves, and from this height he studies you like something worth lingering over, like he's about to worship you. hands gliding up your thighs, pushing the hem higher inch by inch, revealing the softness of you beneath the thin cloth. a low sound rumbles from him, rougher than before. "look at you," he growls, breath hot against your stomach as his fingers catch lightly in the panties at your hip, tugging it aside as if testing the barrier, pulling it up against your clit with deliberate, delicious pressure, "you don't even realize what you do to me."
"jinichi..." you breathe, hands settling lightly against his shoulders as if to steady yourself. the faint pull sends a shiver through you. head tipping back as a soft sound slips past, hips shifting forward before you can stop yourself, rubbing against the taut fabric.
"use your words, tell me how it feels," he commands firmly. but the words are tangled in your throat, pulse hammering wildly where his thumb now presses against the frantic pulse between your legs. your lashes flutter open, vision swimming slightly as you look down to find him watching you, dark eyes fixed on your face as though every reaction belongs to him now.
you swallow hard, tongue darting out to wet lips gone dry from panting. "i—" your panties snap back against your skin as he releases it abruptly, stealing your breath mid-sentence. a small, startled sound escapes you instead.
for the first time tonight, if not ever, his smile appears. just slightly. then he laughs. a deep, velvety thing, his breath fanning across your inner thighs as his thumbs press into the trembling muscle there. not quite kneading, more like he was memorizing the way you shudder under his touch. "you’re drenched," he says, less matter-of-factly, moreso to tease. so you know he knows.
he drags the pad of his thumb along the soaked lace clinging stubbornly. with just enough pressure, your slit gives way, parting under friction, under the back and forth, and right there in the centre, a wet spot forms gradually. "c'mon," he urges you to speak, "didn't you say you'd be good for me?"
a whine tears from your throat as his thumb dips even further, touching your clit directly. words tumbling out in a breathless rush, "yes, yes, it feels amazing—" your hips move on their own accord, slowly at first in a grinding motion but soon turning into a blur as you practically hump his thumb, chasing after more.
"that's it," he stops, "i need to taste you." with quick hands, he tears your panties off easily, the fabric resisting for one exquisite second before he hooks his fingers into it and rips it apart with a snap. jinichi gently slides his hands underneath your chubby bottom and takes hold of both cheeks, giving them a playful squeeze as he leans in and prepares to feast.
then he's on you, hot breath rolling over your smooth, silky lips before his tongue darts out and drags the flat of it carefully from the bottom of your slit to your clit at the top. mouth hot and hungry as he licks into the divot there, a groan vibrating through your bones as he tastes the sweetness of you for the first time, lips curling around your clit, playing with it and swirling it around as he suckles himself like a vacuum to it a few times, releasing with lewd smacks.
he pushes you back so you're lying on the sheets, legs spreading for him naturally as he positions himself comfortably to eat you out. tongue alternating between quick flicks and broad strokes, all with the precision of a man who knows what he's doing, a man who loves eating pussy. he doesn't stop, doesn't pull away, just keeps his mouth there lapping everything up from your slick-stained thighs to the juices running down your taint. even going as far as to rub his nose in the mess you've made.
"you're perfect," he murmurs, words guttural and muffled as he devours you like a man starved. grip tightening on your thighs when you try to grind against his mouth for more. he lugs an arm around and pins you in place with a growl that sends heat flooding through your veins. not to mention the rough edge of his beard scraping the tender skin of your thighs—burning in that raw, scratchy way—only edges you closer.
a memory flickers through your mind, those women who had pulled you aside in quiet corners before the wedding was even finalized. their voices had been practical, almost bored, as though they were reciting instructions for surviving bad weather. "lie back and take it, don't expect pleasure, think of your husband first," they said, "and if it hurts, well...it will. just close your eyes and think of something else, endure it." as if a wife’s body were a tool to be used, something meant to withstand rather than feel. as if you were nothing more than meat placed dutifully on the table.
for a long time, you believed them, but jinichi doesn't move like a man claiming you like property—although you're more than interested to know what he's like when possesive and uncontrolled—he studies you instead, the way your breath stutters, the way your hands curl into fistfuls of soiled sheets, the way your body reacts before your mind can catch up.
your fingers scramble for purchase when you feel a tight coiling in your core. nightgown sticking to you and scrunching up. you moan his name now freely as the memory fades, replaced by him and only him, his presence, his attention. the old advice echoes faintly in the back of your mind, but it feels distant now. nothing but falsehoods.
there's a patience in him that feels almost dangerous and the realization unnerves and turns you on because he’s giving you time to feel every second of this, learning your desires, taking your pleasure. when you look down at him again, you see a terrifying conclusion, he doesn’t want you to endure this, he wants you to want it.
as you're close to coming undone, and there's no doubt you will, his lips seal over your clit, sucking hard. the sensation causing your back to bow as stars burst behind your eyelids. "jinichi!" his name shatters into a squeal as his fingers join his mouth, two slipping inside you with a gentle press, a steady slip, curling until your hips writhe helplessly in thrashing, uncoordinated thrusts against his face.
you babble incoherently, a mix of 'yes' and 'please' and 'don't stop' turning into a high-pitched whine as he drags his fingers against your inner walls, relentlessly lashing his tongue against your clit. "fuck! something's happening, wait, wait, daddy—" your voice cracks, hands fisting in his hair hard enough to yank, tugging and holding on for dear life, but jinichi only growls against your pussy in response, the vibration shooting straight to your core.
he tears his mouth away with a ragged gasp, breath hot and uneven against your slick and swollen pussy, but his fingers never stop moving inside you. prodding now against your g-spot, forcing you to clench and quiver, reduced to a whimpering mess with eyes tearing up and snot running as you tremble.
"daddy huh..." he says, watching you hide your face in reply, so shy and embarrassed for letting it slip but loving how he plays along, that he likes it too. your moans crescendo into a breathless wail as his filthy praise fills the air. "you love this, love the way my fingers feel, just look at you shake like that..."
it's all you need to yield to him, and your orgasm tears through you like lightning, a blinding spark shooting all over. your first out of many to come and it's a reality better than anything you allowed yourself to hope for. what bliss, this whole new feeling of ecstasy ripping a scream from your throat, your vision goes blank, your toes curl, and then, as if there weren't enough surprises, you start to leak uncontrollably, squirting all over his fingers and face.
he doesn't relent, jinichi's fingers fuck you through the violent tremors wracking your body, shaking like a leaf. his tongue going back to lapping your clit in slow strokes that draw out every last shudder, every drop of your release. "fuck, fuck, fuck" you cry out, thighs clamping around his head instinctively, but he's persistent even as you whimper from overstimulation.
even as his fingers slip free with a wet sound, he keeps your twitching legs apart, not letting you close them, not letting you escape the brutal ministrations while you descend from your high. before you could catch your breath, he hauls your hips forward and plunges his tongue deep into your still fluttering pussy. not to suck at your clit or flick at it roughly, but he drags his tongue slowly against your oversensitive walls, fucking you with his tongue and avoiding your clit entirely, waiting for that tightening in your lower belly again. it's not as jolting as the first one but it stirs from something deeper, almost like an ache, a pressure building leisurely. you can't think to stop it, all you can do is call out for him, "daddy, daddy..." you whine. half protest, half plea. and he answers by giving you a second orgasm. this time, in hypersensitive rapture.
when you're on the comedown, jinichi leans over you and supports himself with one arm on the pillows, kneeling between your laxed and splayed open legs. "you good?" he asks, like he didn't just make you lose your mind but there's a slight concern in his voice so you nod weakly in reply. he calms your sniffling and swipes at your damp cheeks, but something tells you he's not apologetic, in fact, you feel just how affected he is by your sorry and sated expression when you peek between his legs.
there between thick thighs the size of tree trunks, he's grown hard, bulge tenting, the fabric of his underwear pulls taut, betraying the unmistakable strain beneath. a darkened patch spreads slowly where the thin cotton has already begun to dampen, evidence he's clearly trying and failing to contain. jinichi, who moves through the world with such composure, who speaks with a temperate tone and looks at people like he’s already measured them and moved on. but here, his control looks…strained. your gaze lingers, tracing the outline through the fabric, the size and weight of it jutting out, throbbing with need. "oh," is all you can think to say, what words could describe how surprising it is, realizing that this, this reaction, is because of you.
he notices where your attention has settled. chest rising slowly with a breath, the faintest shift of tension moving through his body as though he’s suddenly aware of how exposed the moment is. "careful," he murmurs as you reach out, but there’s no real warning in it. no urgency to stop you. only the quiet acknowledgement that you’re about to unveil something he can’t take back.
your fingers hover for a second longer than they should. it feels strangely intimate, this small act, more daring than the kisses, more dangerous than the wandering hands. your pulse beats wildly in your ears as you hook your fingers into the fabric at his waistband, easing it down just enough to see.
the first glimpse steals the breath from your lungs. you had expected something…ordinary. something manageable. women speak of below average sizes and not much else, of something resembling a chore rather than mystery. making comparisons to fruits and vegetables, speaking of inches and intimates like it was more clinical than anything. but this feels different immediately. not frightening exactly, but startling in its reality, the showing of it, the undeniable proof of his want. it makes heat creep up your neck as the old advice echoes faintly in your mind, suddenly feeling thin and incomplete, like those women had only ever described the outline of something far more overwhelming.
desire curls through you as the band snaps, his cock releases with a smack against his abdomen at full height, balls heavy and sizable below. he's so long and thick. enough that you wonder how you'll ever fit him inside you as he continues to fill. you watch, mesmerized. foreskin pulling back when he reaches down to give it a squeeze, a stroke, easing the pressure and revealing a heavily veined shaft, blunt tip perfectly proportional and darker, slit drooling precum.
jinichi notices, jaw ticking slightly as he watches your expression change, dark eyes flicking over your face like he’s searching for something, hesitation, or maybe disgust. the sort of recoil he half expects when faced with something as blunt and brutish as this. he's always been a large man, built more like a weapon than anything graceful. strength that borders on savagery when he stops bothering to soften it. there's a flicker of something guarded in his gaze, as though he’s bracing himself for you to shrink away from it.
"not exactly delicate," he mutters, almost self aware in a way you didn’t expect from him, "might be a little much." but he's wrong about that, because you're looking at him not with fear or the polite tolerance you’ve practiced your whole life, but with a kind of open curiosity that makes something tight and unfamiliar twist in his chest.
your fingers remain where they are, as if the thought of pulling away hadn't even crossed your mind. curiosity warming into something bolder. your lashes lift, meeting his eyes again. whatever jinichi expected to happen, it clearly wasn't this. fingers wrapping around him, thumb swiping over the slick head in a circle that makes his hips jerk with a sharp grunt. the heat of him intoxicating, weight heavy as you stroke him once, twice, savouring the way his breath hitches each time your thumb drags over that sensitive slit. his thighs tense under your touch, but his eyes never leave yours. watching, waiting, almost dumbfounded at your boldness to take what you want.
you lean forward, panting breaths ghosting over his cock before your tongue darts out, tracing a long, wet stripe from base to tip. the taste of him, salt and musk and something uniquely jinichi floods your senses. parting your lips, you swirl your tongue around the swollen head, wrapping round and hollowing out your cheeks to suck, forming a tight seal. unable to go further past the head, his girth is a blessing and a curse, but you try your best to please him, to show him how quick you learn his anatomy. licking up the side and counting the veins, following a drop of precum down to his balls and breathing in, leaving a kiss there on his sac before giving him a light suck on the seam, hearing him groan in earnest.
his fingers reach for your hair, not guiding, just holding, as if he needed an anchor to keep from fucking your mouth right then. images of you taking him all the way to the base, nose pressed up against his navel. oh he can't bear the thought, a pretty thing like you getting throatfucked, gagging and slobbering all over, watching his balls smack against your chin, eyes teary and rolling back as you struggle to breathe through your nose, him holding you there til you pass out—"fuck!" he gasps, breaking from his thoughts as you flick your tongue against the frenulum.
"did i do something wrong?" you ask, a little too innocently, looking up to smile apologetically. he swears he's about to crumble when you tap his tip against your tongue, your eyes telling him there's more to you than he initially thought. going back to lightly sucking and drawing him deeper, taking at least an inch more this time.
jinchi's at a loss for words, his head tilting back as he's struck dumb. for once, he finds himself uncertain. uncertain if he misjudged the situation, if he truly anticipated what having you this close would do to him. he had known the circumstances, convinced himself he understood every possible outcome. but he hadn’t accounted for this, for the way his new bride studies him without flinching, for the intent gathering in your eyes, for the simple, devastating realization that you could unravel him just as easily as he ever believed himself capable of unravelling you.
he doesn't answer but he urges you on, "just like that, baby," he rasps and you moan around him, liking it way too much. the sound of a petname spurring you on, his gentle commands making you grow wet with excitement.
his fingers tighten in your hair like he would the reins of a thoroughbred, as if taming you. he's always been good with discipline, especially now as you're so eager for praise and direction, "take it deeper, yes, fucking choke on it," gritting past his teeth, hips twitching forward involuntarily as you finally take him all the way, swallowed around him with throat fluttering against the thick head of his cock.
he holds himself there for a few seconds, just long enough for you to feel the pulse of him against your tongue, for you to swallow and let your throat hug around him. throb, throb, throb. he drags your head back with a filthy, slick sound and a "holy shit," he huffs. syllables laced with awe as he watches the entire length of him slide out, tip popping free from your swollen lips. he brings a thumb to swipe away the spit smeared down your chin then gives you a moment to catch your breath, tapping his cock against your cheek as you heave raggedly.
now, sliding it back into your mouth, it's with much give, his cock presses down on your tongue as he fucks into your throat in shallow, relentless strokes, guiding your head back and forth like a fleshlight. every choked whimper, every nasally breath you struggle to inhale through your nose, undoes him further.
he doesn't stop, not even as your fingers claw at his thighs, head swaying with the force of him. he starts to thrusts his hips, hitting the back with a wet choke, urging tears to prick at your waterline, lashes clumping as your gag reflex flares. theres a tension coiling in his muscles, his abs flexing under your palms as he nears the edge. tap, tap, you signal for him to give you air, but it's then jinichi's hips pistons forward without warning and you gag, having no other option but to feel his cock go deeper down your throat as your nose brushes up the sweat-damp trail of hair.
his groans echo off the walls but he doesn't care that he'd be heard by everyone in the estate because they need to know just how well you "take it, take every fucking inch," he pants. hand wrapping around your throat to feel the stretch of him, thumb pressed against your windpipe, feeling him lodged inside. he squeezes and your vision starts to blur, lungs burning as he holds you there, his fingers pulling your hair so tight you feel it burn.
just when there's a ringing in your ears and spots dance behind your eyelids, he yanks you off. "not yet," he mutters breathlessly. a tad amused when he sees you swallow gulps of air, chest heaving. in your dazed state, you think he's stopped for another reason, unsure why he'd pull away right before he finishes. but as you reach out to try again, he pushes you back onto the futon, palm easing you down, "shh, it's alright, i don't want to come until i get inside that pussy."
your pupils blow wide, stunned, biting down on your lip you ask, "do you think i'm ready?" soft and a little shy. you spread your legs to accommodate him, also so he sees just how wet you are, how your clit throbs and pulses with need, peeking from those puffy lips. you can't help but reach a hand down to feel, rubbing it the way he's done earlier, mimicking the pressure and depth of his fingers.
hand splaying atop yours, he guides two fingers inside, letting you rub your clit while he feels the give of your walls, how deep the tightness goes, hearing for your reactions. you let out a whine when it starts to pinch, "we'll need some help," he adds, slipping his fingers free to reach for lube.
you're a little surprised he's prepared for the occasion, at least you hope it's for you. peeking at the bottle, it's clear that he's used it a few times. the level isn't full. the plastic gives slightly under his grip, evidence that it's been squeezed before. more than once.
your stomach tightens. of course it has. jinichi isn't a boy, and you’re not foolish enough to think he’s been waiting all this time untouched and preserved for a moment like this. waiting for you. the unwelcome thought creeps in anyway. fleeting images of women you'll never know, moments that belonged to someone else long before you ever entered the picture.
you should ask him, and you almost do, but now isn't the time and it would be futile to demand an answer you already expect. still, the question lingers at the back of your mind as he warms the bottle up in his palms and you're trying to ignore the strange knot of curiosity and unease curling in your chest. it feels childish to dwell on it, especially now, when he's right here in front of you. with you.
when you glance back up, it's clear he noticed. jinichi’s eyes flick briefly to the bottle, then back to your face. something unreadable passes over his expression, like he already knows what you're thinking and has decided not to comment on it. instead, he reaches out. hand settling over yours, large and warm, grounding in a way that makes the noise in your head quiet just a little. "it's just you and me," he murmurs. the words are simple but true, that whatever the past might hold, this moment is meant to belong to the two of you alone.
you nod then, swallowing the doubt, pushing away suspicion, and let him peel the dirty nightgown off, nothing but a ratty thing now. straps slipping down your arms, cool air hitting your sweat-slick skin, nipples pebbling instantly.
there's the sound of the lube cap popping open, then you see it pouring out into his hands, a clear dollop or two he rubs into his palm, lathering it over his shaft. he grabs at your legs, the excess already sticking and drying against your thighs as he holds them apart before letting his cock do the work. sliding over your pussy lips, he moves slow and steady, letting you feel the length of him, the weight of it atop your stomach, you shudder every time the tip catches on your clit, already so sensitive.
you roll your hips up against him with a broken whimper, chasing after the drag of his shaft as you plead, "kiss me," and his mouth crashes into yours with a hunger that steals your breath, tongue plunging deep as if he couldn't stand to be apart from you for even a second. this kiss is different from the first, so filthy too, all teeth and desperation, tongues swirling, moans swallowed, his groan vibrating against your lips as you arch further into him.
you whine when he pulls away with a final smack of his lips, already drooling out the side of your mouth. slick cunt fluttering around nothing, desperate for attention. jinichi doesn't shove or bully his way in, even with the mix of lube, precum, and your wetness saturating the two of you, he decides to spit where you two meet, a gossamer-thin line of saliva slathering all over. possibly for good measure, but more likely because he's kind of nasty. debauched really. alot of what he does isn't so much for functionality as it is satisfaction, a little dirty, a little depraved, and you've barely scratched the surface of how deep this iceberg goes. think of it as a ritual of sorts, these actions he must do before defiling. before he ultimately corrupts you you like a pervert would, but you won't see him that way, why is it wrong when it feels so right?
he presses his tip to your pussy lips, watching it part and slip past your folds, relishing the heat, the wetness, then surges forward without hesitation in one smooth thrust, plunging into you as you both gasp at the intrusion, at the feeling of your pussy enveloping him like a vice, not wanting to let go. he's so hot, so big, you think, clamping down instinctively while he stays there, not moving just yet, just so you get accustomed to his size, to the stretch of your walls and the heat of his shaft throbbing there.
bit by bit, he coaxes. watching his glistening cock slide out viscously as your swollen lips hang on, easing his way back in a little deeper each time. slow and gentle are his hips as he moulds your pussy to his cock, letting it take shape. his pride swells at the possessive thought of being your first. the one who teaches your body what it means to be wanted, the one who leaves a mark no one else could ever quite erase—even as you struggle, even as your fingers knot helplessly in the sheets for leverage, your whole body trembling with sensations you've never known before, hips shifting without rhythm because you simply don’t know what to do with all of it, because it's too much—he isn’t sorry. if anything, jinichi finds himself watching you more closely because of it.
your reactions are unguarded, instinctive, every shiver and breathless sound spilling from you before you can think to hide it. there's a sincerity in the way you cling to him, in the way your body tries to adjust around him, and it stirs something deep and fiercely satisfied in his chest. he'd wondered once if you might shy away from him. if the sheer force of him—his size, his roughness, the brute honesty of the way he wants you—might frighten you.
but you're still here. still reaching for him even as it overwhelms you. and watching you take him like this, struggling but unwilling to push him away, makes something dangerously pleased settle in his bones. like he's exactly where he was meant to be.
there's a pinch, a tense stretch, replaced by more heat and fullness, the most you've ever felt. losing grasp of what little control you had left as the pain subsides into a faint ache, moans turning high when he thrusts again, this time reaching so deep you feel him in your stomach. you sit up to ease the discomfort, only to notice you've only taken him halfway. "there's still more to go..." you murmur in awe, a hand reaching out to his stomach when your limbs start wobbling again. as if to pause him because you're actually stunned, unsure if there's any room left of you to accommodate.
dripping and dribbling, you throw your head back, gasping for air as he knocks the wind out of you with his next thrust. pulling out all the way and shoving back in. tip meeting the very back of your pussy and kissing that spot, that other opening you're too scared to even picture his cock barreling through. judging by the few inches you've yet to take, it's more than possible, inevitable even that you'd take him there too someday. maybe when he's not so careful and cautious, when getting your cervix beaten up and fucked through is not only unavoidable but definite.
jinichi huffs out a breath, you don't even know how turned on he is by your words, so eager with innocence still brimming there. grabbing at his pillow, he props your hips up and takes some of the weight off your back. "better?" he asks, but knowing the answer written all over your face as you melt back into the sheets, his thumbs holding you steady, rubbing featherlight circles on your sore spots.
"much better," you sigh, arching up while squeezing down on his cock and hearing his groan in reply, "i feel you here," you moan, hand moving to caress the doughy part right above your pussy.
"here?" he asks, pressing down on it as he thrusts again. his cock moves against your clit with so much pressure beneath the heel of his palm, dragging along a newfound spot inside, and then right there—you feel it, a jolting spark of pleasure riding up your middle. so good you think you might start to leak again, and you're afraid of mentioning just how badly you need to pee.
his thrusts are now looser, beginning to pick up speed, and you feel a new sensation tingling when he aims so precisely at that spot. "daddy!" is the only word that feels right as you call out to him, warning him, "it's-it's happening again!" but jinichi keeps at it, that incessant jolt lunging you straight toward another orgasm.
"that's right," he says, "squirt all over my cock, don't tense, just let it happen..." you feel that pulsing in your clit, the coiling in your stomach, the dam that's about to be inevitably broken. he feels it too, a smirk breaking out across his face as he watches it happen. your moans are caught in your throat as you brace yourself, lips parting around a scream that never escape. you tense up involuntarily, going rigid, but as you come, you relax at the very last second, holding onto his forearms and digging your nails in. anchoring yourself to him as your body trembles, your orgasm rising and rising, starting from betwen your legs, moving up your body, and all over. coming so hard til the very tips of your toes curl in and spasm. jolting as a gush of fluids spatters, shooting out and in pulses, landing against your joined hips, spilling onto the bedding below. for the first time tonight, you finally say, "thank you..." almost like a prayer. settling into a mix of garbled moans as you feel the aftershocks course through you.
jinichi grabs a hold of you now. you're not too heavy, not too big, not anything that he couldn't handle because he grips your hips harder and begins to fuck you proper. a steady rhythm that's resounding where you two meet, wet and noisy. you didn't think anything could feel as euphoric as finally taking his cock, but it's another thing when he moves, what else could he do, how much better could this get when it's already so overwhelming. thinking about it, something giddy and exciting shoots all over, you hold back a squeal. grinning like a lovesick pup as he rails you.
there's a closeness to sharing such an intimate connection with him. having him here, atop you, inside you, every night, for the rest of your life. his cock hitting you in places you’d barely been aware of, as if you'd been made for just this. just for him.
he must be thinking the same thing because "it's time—" he groans, adjusting his stance to bring your legs up, folding you and keeping them tucked close to your head before he leans forward to press down into the mattress, pressing his weight upon you, "—you took all of it."
oh fuck. your eyes roll back and you choke on a gasp, he feels your heartbeat when he bottoms out inside, the way he knows you could feel his through his pulsating cock, his dribbling slit spitting drops of pre against the opening of your womb. feeling it give just a bit when his tip nudges right against it. he's gotten bigger now in this position, driving himself deeper. your pussy milking him with every swing of his hips, his balls slapping your plump ass cheeks with sweaty, satisfying sounds.
you can't peel your eyes away from him, jinichi is half-shadowed by the moonlight spilling through the open doors, the pale glow tracing the hard lines of his shoulders and the rough angle of his jaw. the rest of him is warmed by the dim light of the bedroom, soft gold catching in his dark hair, turning the space around you into something almost unreal.
he fills the room, your husband rutting into you, these delectable, beastly groans laced with filthy rambles flowing out of him, a sign of his pleasure too, that he finds pleasure with you. "you're beautiful, always have been, such a pretty face, with your pretty little hands, your pussy's no different..." he praises, making you feel small in a way that isn't frightening. cared and held, like the world has narrowed to the space between you. his presence solid and immovable, as if nothing could touch you while he fucks you to your next orgasm. as if you could just let go and trust him completely.
his dark eyes look into yours and something passes over his face, something unmistakable. your heart stumbles when you feel it, a swell of emotion in your chest, a new thought bubbling up and breaking through your daze, arriving before you can stop it, trusted and terrifying all at once. there settles a truth undeniable, slipping into place with startling ease. the way he looks at you like you matter, the way he moves, as though he understands the weight of every touch and only wishes to give you more, how he fucks with you in mind, your pleasure first and nothing else. "it's so good," you pant as the scent of arousal fills the air. your fingers tighten slightly around his sweat-damp biceps, nails piercing and dragging down, scoring fresh marks into his skin as you cry out, holding back the words, i love—
"you jinichi, only you, it's all yours—" your tears spill forth, a thread snaps inside you, and you come undone around his cock. climax unravelling fast and wild, your body shakes as waves of ecstasy rock through you, crashing, building, then crashing again. pussy squeezing him tight, clit burning as he rubs you through the quakes. forcing you to squirt messily all over the sheets and his swiping fingers. your juices come out in spurts but he fucks you through it, hearing you scream when he slams in one last time.
jinichi roars loud, head tilting down to bite into your shoulder. he barely hears you cry out from the pain, growling and panting as he sags, unable to keep himself up as his limbs tremble. shot after shot of thick, potent cum pumping hot and copious into you, spilling and making a mess of both your groin and the futon below. since you were already full of his cock, it immediately gushes out, oozing down your crack and over his balls.
in your fucked out state, you kiss him. slobbering a little over his lips, clumsy and unpracticed, too exhausted to care whether you’re doing it right anymore. the careful composure you tried to keep earlier has long since melted away, leaving you soft and loose against him, breathing hard and chasing the warmth of his mouth like it’s the only thing holding the last bits of sanity together.
but he doesn’t stop you. jinichi still holds you close, letting your legs fall upon his shoulders and leaning into it, accepting the messy affection with a quiet patience that makes your chest ache. dipping his tongue inside while giving yours a long, and languid suck.
you feel him softening inside you, his cum cooling into a sticky wet mess, but he stays, remaining there like he never wants to leave, and the words almost slip out again. i love you. they rise suddenly, uninvited, catching in your throat before you can stop them. the confession sits there, fragile and terrifying, balanced on the edge of your tongue. you imagine how it would sound spoken aloud, too soon, too earnest, too much to place in a moment like this.
so you swallow it back down. your fingers curl around the nape of his neck, fingers brushing through the damp ends of his hair laid there, messy, rugged, so manly, holding him a little closer as if the pressure might say what you can’t bring yourself to.
somehow, when jinichi pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression stripped of its usual distance for once, and it feels like he might already know.
------
"oh look who it is, you're still here? thought this guy would've scared you away, just look at his face!" naoya perks up when the fusuma slides open. you're kneeling next to jinichi who has yet to greet or speak to you today but you don't take it too personally because he makes no effort to address naoya either. choosing to keep his eyes closed, posture still with arms crossed and hands tucked into his loose robe.
the meeting goes about as usual, there are talks of plans and updates—finances, management, alliances—news of gojo satoru and his whereabouts but no moves have been made to disrupt his life, mostly since it would be suicide to approach him so openly, which makes naoya grit his teeth.
you drown out the sounds of their voices after a few minutes, the council chamber smells faintly of incense and old paper while men speak in measured tones, sleeves folded neatly over hands that have signed away futures for decades. yet you still don't understand why you were summoned to sit in on this session. newlywed or not, women are rarely invited into these discussions. perhaps, you thought, it was ceremonial, a gesture of acknowledgment now that you are jinichi's wife.
"—fushiguro, he has taken her surname," one of the elders says, tone clipped with quiet disdain. forcing you to lift your head up at the mention of toji, "they reside in tokyo with a boy. their offspring." the words fall into the room with clinical indifference.
boy. he has a son.
if only you found out differently. by accident maybe, half-paying attention, scrolling past a photo you weren’t meant to see. or by running into him on the street. the universe cruel enough to stage such a collision. although, toji would be smart enough to avoid that, he had always been adept at disappearing while still living here. dodging conversations, dodging contact.
but he's married. with a child. the council aide slides photographs across the lacquered table as supporting evidence, proof that he's firmly severed himself from clan claim. he's smiling in a way you recognize, but it no longer belongs to you. never did. rare were his feelings of joy expressed, only ever a dark and brooding expression, but there's no ambiguity here. a ring glinting, an arm curved protectively around a woman you've never seen, his hand cradling hers, cradling their child.
the news lands quietly, almost politely. there's a brief, shameful tally of what she has that you don’t—a chosen love, a visible happiness, a child conceived without decree or duty—followed by an ache for the version of yourself who believed in forever so easily. despite the shock, something steadies. a hard, necessary clarity. no more half-believed what-ifs, no more soft lies about timing or fate. he's built a life elsewhere and you, you are here.
this is the reality you stand in now, unshielded. facing a grounding truth. a marriage shaped by duty, a future mapped out by necessity. you mourn what could have been with an ache that feels private and endless, the life you might have had if love had been enough. still, you feel torn because part of you wants him to be happy, to have the life you once imagined beside him, while another part aches at how easily he seems to have moved on, leaving you to carry both the consequences of staying and the quiet grief of a future that was never allowed to exist.
there's another photograph. toji stands in a sun-washed yard with one arm loose around a small boy’s shoulders. they are both facing the camera, unguarded. even here in still image, the resemblance is immediate, unmistakable. same dark hair, the same eyes that look as though they were born already measuring distance and threat.
"—the child shows early indications of possessing a technique," another elder continues, "though he carries the fushiguro name and will be raised beyond our supervision and doctrine."
your fingers clench the fabric of your robe, tightening in your lap. they aren't speaking of a boy. they are speaking of risk. their gazes tilt, not quite toward you, but close enough that it makes you go rigid. you sit straight-backed and silent while futures are arranged like pieces on a board. somewhere in tokyo, a boy with another name laughs, scrapes his knee, learns the shape of the world. somewhere in this room, men decide what will be taken from him.
"a child with zenin blood raised outside the clan may return without loyalty," one elder says, "or be used against us."
"and if he demonstrates capabilities in other aspects, he shall gain favourability," another adds, "public sympathy may follow."
it's all so clear now why you were summoned. not ceremony. not courtesy. this wasn't about toji or his son. a rogue and his heir, uncontrolled and unmanageable, a branch the council cannot prune. this was about the role you were always meant to fill.
you don't notice when the council shifts the conversation and only return to yourself when a voice bears down "—being said, by decree of the council and for the preservation of our bloodline, you are hereby bound not only in union, but in duty—" the room feels too small and your vision starts turns blurry as they're about to say it, "—within the turning of the year, jinichi zenin's wife will conceive and bear a child."
there it is. not a suggestion but a requirement. a countermeasure. tasked with producing political stability.
if toji's son continues to grow, now old enough to train, to fight. jinichi's son must stand taller—stronger, sanctioned, and undeniably loyal—one heir to eclipse another. one future positioned to erase a threat that has not yet learned it is one.
you do not look at your husband for fear of what you might see, but naoya is determined to make your life harder than it already is, goading you on further, "hey, i'm gonna be head of the clan so wipe that miserable look off your face, toji wouldn't have mated with an ugly thing like you anyway."
you narrow your eyes at him then, choosing to take the risk of offending him, you could take shit from the rest clan, but naoya's always been the worst of them. while his arrogance isn't unfounded, you've had enough of this scum and he should know better than to taunt you with jinichi beside you. "why, you wanted to take my place?" you spit out, hatred lacing your words, watching as naoya's face contorts into a sinister, dead-eyed look. as if he's lost all sense, taken over by anger.
a pain shoots through you when he decides to grip you by the collar, yanking you forward with quick force that your robe slips off a shoulder, exposing the marks left from the night before. naoya laughs sardonically, "how disgusting!" he exclaims, then gets right up to your face, his voice grating as he makes a threat, "i'll kill him, toji's kid, then yours too, or maybe i'll save us the wretchedness of you bearing that beast's mutt and kill you now—"
if only he would, you think. there's a moment where this all feels too normal and you remember thinking no one should see you like this as you cast your eyes away in shame. not the men in this room and certainly not naoya who only seems to be getting angrier. no one moves to save you or say anything in your defense, this is how it's always been, how it always will be.
but you notice jinichi's hand first, not the movement, just the stillness. fingers curled in, knuckles pale, and it happens faster than the thought to stop it all. swiftly, he moves to strike without warning, no shouts or dramatic wind-up, there's a sudden shift of weight and the piercing whistle of air being cut—woosh
—and then impact.
BANG!
jinichi's fist slams against naoya's face with a sound you feel more than hear. a sudden snap that sends naoya's head sideways. breaking bone, cracking teeth, and tearing flesh. the force so strong his body follows half a second later, dragging across the floor like it’s trying to catch up with itself. there's a flash of red before you, splattering across the walls, dripping into the mats below. the eerie sound of blood plopping and pooling deep makes you want to hurl.
you don't understand what you’re seeing. it looks painted there as it seeps into the panels. a long gash of red. naoya crumples, and the blood keeps pouring, bleeding bright against his pale skin. he makes a broken sound on the floor, not words, just confusion forced through blood. your ears ring as he coughs and spits. choking on loose teeth with his tongue lopsided and bruising. he must've bitten down on it, face now completely ruined, looking deformed.
the smell of metal permeates the air and bile comes creeping up from within you, it leaves you paralyzed in place while jinichi merely sighs when he notices his robe is covered with drops of naoya's blood as if it were a nuisance. seeming all too relaxed as he flicks it off calmly. your own hands are useless at your sides as your mind keeps insisting this is still reversible, that someone will rewind the last few seconds.
what just happened.
the air turns dense, viscous, as though every breath must force its way through it. a sleeve shifting, a chair creaking, hanging lights shifting from side to side. any small movement feels disastrous, the kind that might tip something already teetering into catastrophe. yet no one moves or does what they should.
that's when you realise why. they're absolutely petrified.
sweat beads along foreheads no one dares to wipe, hands tremble where they rest on the table, even one of the elders can't bring himself to look at the damage that is naoya's disfigured body, their eyes fixed instead on the far wall, as if distance could ease the severity of this incident.
they have witnessed jinichi's brutality before, spoken of it too, with a kind of detachment, as though violence were just a part of him, merely another tool he kept close at hand.
but it's different this time. jinichi's strike isn't excessive, he doesn't do it for spectacle. the horror lies not in the strike itself, but in what it proves. that he would not hesitate to harm his own blood if given reason, worse still, that he is never violent without one. the room understands this instinctively, which is why no one speaks. why not a single breath is released too loudly until he turns and leaves.
and all you can think, stupidly, helplessly, is that you're grateful for it.
------
the doors slide shut behind you with a muted finality, sealing the council chamber and everything decided within it away. jinichi doesn't speak at first. he walks ahead of you down the corridor with a measured, unhurried gait, as though nothing of consequence has occurred. it's only once you’re far enough that the servants won't overhear that he slows, hearing you catch up to him with those small pattering feet.
"your hands," you say quietly, reaching for them.
"i'm fine," he breathes out.
his skin is still warm, knuckles faintly flushed. you turn his right hand, over, thumbs pressing gently along the joints, the heel of his palm. twice the size of your own but he welcomes the pressure, the quiet focus you put into observing them.
he's still here, almost unscathed save for the shallow split across one knuckle, already beginning to swell, and a bruise blooming dark beneath the skin. it irrationally angers you despite that it's so small, costing him little, but it's proof that what happened was real, that he'd hurt himself. all because you talked back, made a stupid move to anger his cousin.
you sit him down, then clean the split knuckle with a poultice of medicinal herbs before applying an ointment, slow and intentional. "you shouldn't have done that," you murmur, though your touch is careful, reverent even. there's a tiny bit of relief in your tone too, one he definitely notices.
"he was out of line," he replies, immediately without hesitation, "naoya forgets himself when he thinks he’s untouchable."
"so was i," you glance up to find his face is composed, no longer dim with rage but control. barely feeling the sting of antiseptic. whatever fury existed has been tucked away with frightening discipline, leashed so tightly it might never bare its teeth again.
"are you upset?" he asks when he softens, but just barely.
you know what his question holds, what he means, and you hesitate to answer when it feels pointless, like asking the sea if it's wet. it seems you are never not upset. in one way or another. about the council, about toji, about the future that keeps narrowing its corridors around you. "i chose to stay," you say instead. i chose you, says the voice in your head, a reminder and also a tether.
"answer the question," he presses.
"i'm not upset!" you snap, too fast to be convincing and obviously lying. "you ask me about my feelings after i watched you beat your cousin half to death, and now i'm meant to… what? pretend that doesn't matter? that i'm expected to raise a child with someone capable of that?"
he bristles. it's subtle and you wouldn't have noticed it before but now that your hands are on him, you feel it. the slight tightening of his fingers beneath yours, the way his shoulders draw just a fraction straighter. something flickers across his face, quick and unguarded. not anger, but hurt.
it vanishes almost immediately, sealed behind that familiar, controlled composure. the version of him the clan knows. the version that does what must be done and does not ask to be understood for it. the silence that follows is different now, heavier. jinichi doesn't argue or defend himself, nor justify what you saw. instead, he watches you like he's weighing something far more important than the accusation itself. like your reaction matters more than the act.
"you think i don't know what i am," he says finally, voice low, but there's not hint of shame, just truth. your breath almost stops, because he doesn't deny it, his face solid with acceptance.
your mind betrays you then, conjuring a soft, rose-coloured vision against your will. a child with his eyes, dark and serious, small fingers curling around yours. a quiet home that doesn't echo with council chambers and whispered politics, but something warmer, lived-in. mornings where he lingers a moment longer than he should. evenings where his presence feels less like something to brace for and more like something to lean into. the image is fragile, almost foolish.
his gaze lands on your middle. hardening, hoping. resisting the urge to reach out and touch, the urge to wish for something that isn't there. a restrained desire he can no longer grasp.
"you want one," you say, not an accusation but a revelation.
"yes," he answers, his gaze and tone doesn't waver.
"with me?" you urge, "should i remind you that i'm not like you? i don't have cursed energy or a technique. i was betrothed to toji for a reason. nothing but an inconvenience dressed up as a solution. we're only together because he left, i probably wasn't even your first choice for a wife!"
"did you wish to have a child with him?" he asks. voice deep and cutting, you get the awful sense that you've touched a nerve. stepped into a private, hidden place he didn't mean to tread. does he think you still harbour that schoolgirl crush for his brother—if you can even call it that—or that your relationship with toji was anything remotely close to the one you shared with jinichi? one thing's for sure, toji never made you feel like this, like your thoughts were being peeled open and read before you could hide them. like every careless word might matter more than you intended.
"maybe," you admit after a beat, "at one time, but it was fleeting."
when you finish tending to his knuckle, sticking and smoothing the bandage into place, jinichi pulls back fully, and you realize how close you'd been.
"toji has chosen his path. i remain within," he starts, "unlike him, i value the continuancy of my clan." of course he does, everything about jinichi has always pointed to it. the way he carries the weight of expectation like it was forged into rather than placed upon him. he does not run from responsibility, he builds around it. where toji rejects, jinichi refines. one who abandons, while the other stays and reshapes what's left behind. it isn't blind loyalty, not quite, but something more deliberate. a belief that if this place must endure, then it should be made stronger, better, by his hand. you begin to understand, this isn’t just about legacy but about control over what that legacy becomes.
"if you become the mother of my child," he continues, "you will be unassailable, not by the council or anyone who still values breathing." there’s no embellishment in the statement nor sugarcoating to make it easier to accept, a promise built on power and protection.
your throat tightens, "what kind of mother would i be?" you choke up, "to bring a child into the world as proof of my own safety, while leaving theirs to the mercy of others?"
jinichi doesn't answer immediately, but when he does, his voice is definite. "then we won't rush, a child born of fear serves no one despite the future they're so desperate to control," he gets up, fitting his robe in place as he begins to walk away, stopping by the door to say, "that isn't the only reason you oppose it, i know you preferred toji as your husband. as much as you believe yourself an inconvenience, i wasn't your first choice either." without hearing your reply he leaves, but not before he graces you with parting words, "but know that you are mine by right."
outside, the compound hums on, unaware. and somewhere else, freedom exists in exile. but here, jinichi has chosen permanence. just as solid as the assurance you have in the knowledge that the world will never be allowed to touch you the same way again.
------
it's a nice day out today. the sakura trees are in full bloom, branches heavy with pale pink petals that drift lazily to the ground with every passing breeze. somewhere in the distance, cicadas hum, a steady, familiar rhythm that settles your nerves just enough.
the room smells faintly of steeped tea leaves, windows open just enough to let the afternoon air stir the curtains while cushions are arranged in a loose circle. wives seated comfortably, handmaidens lingering near the walls, and one or two women whose roles are never spoken aloud but understood all the same. someone pours tea while another laughs, soft and unrestrained. this is clan life at its gentlest edge. domestic and contained. as a new wife, you're now invited to these gatherings with the women of the clan. something once distant and exclusive is now expected.
"you'll get used to it," an older wife starts, waving a hand, "marriage, i mean. it's not all ceremony and tension forever. mostly it's… dull."
a ripple of agreement follows. shoulders loosen, backs relax. here, where no men are present, no one bothers to sit perfectly straight or speak too carefully.
"routine," another wife adds, "meals, obligations," her lips curl into something mischievous, "and you also pretend not to hear what you hear at night...when some other lucky couple is having more fun than you."
a few knowing smiles pass between them. they don’t say it outright, but it feels like the room tilts slightly toward you. like you've stepped into a conversation already in motion, one you don't fully understand but are somehow at the centre of.
"tell me about it," someone scoffs, "i can't remember the last time we even shared a room, let alone a whole night."
you listen more than you speak, hands folded neatly in your lap. they talk about schedules, about husbands who forget anniversaries but remember grudges, about how quickly passion gives way to expectation.
"men like ours aren't meant to be interesting at home," one woman sighs. "they're raised to be useful–not in bed for sure–but decent enough. everything else is a bonus."
then, inevitably, his name surfaces. "so...jinichi huh," someone says lightly, almost too casually. "you're brave, marrying that one." there’s a shift you can’t quite name. curiosity laced with a sharp tone. jinichi is not like their husbands. even here, among women who have seen everything, endured everything, his name carries weight. not exactly admiration but something closer to intrigue, edged with caution. he’s spoken of the way storms are spoken of, formidable, but impossible to ignore.
"he's…impressive," another woman offers, eyes glinting with something unspoken. "body like that doesn't come from sitting around."
a handmaiden snickers, "fun to sleep with, a pain to look at, and a nightmare to marry, that's what they say."
a round of laughter ripples through the room, unkind in the way only familiarity allows. how casual and cruel in its ease. your cheeks warm as you keep your gaze lowered to your teacup, fingers tightening slightly around porcelain. it feels wrong to listen to this. the way they speak about him, reducing him so easily. like he exists only in fragments they can understand. strength, vice, reputation. none of it close to the man you've come to know in quieter moments because they don't see the restraint or the deliberation. the way he watches more than he speaks. they don't see him the way you do. the way he cares. a man who touches you so gently, kisses so passionately, could never be the man they speak of...or so you think—
"and the clubs," someone else adds, voice dropping with interest, "the brothels. can't seem to get enough of them, i heard he doesn’t stay long, but he’s…thorough."
another one chimes in, "two, sometimes three a night."
"how greedy!" all the women exclaim, laughing all the more.
something twists sharply in your chest. jealousy, hot and unwelcome. it catches you off guard, how quickly it takes hold. how easily your mind fills in gaps. the thought of him elsewhere, with someone else, laughing maybe, touching—you hate that it shows, that your smile falters just enough for them to notice. the idea settles uncomfortably in you. that wanting him, wanting more, might be foolish. that whatever he does beyond these walls is not yours to touch. you think to ask but...it wouldn't be fair. these rumours are unfounded, you owe him your trust, you're made of stronger stuff, you could handle a few or however many past—present—escapades. it's fine. it's fine. it's fi—
"it's normal," the older wife says kindly, mistaking your silence for naïveté. "you can't cage men like that. best not to try."
"if you're worried," another woman suggests, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "take him out somewhere public, remind him he has a wife." a pause. then a grin, "men behave better when they're seen."
you almost frown at that. your husband isn't a dog in need of training. jinichi is not something to manage or parade for compliance. whatever he is—whatever the two of you are—it isn't something that can be reduced to tactics and appearances, offered up for discussion to be picked apart. the urge to defend him rises sharp in your throat but you hold your tongue for now. they wouldn't understand. they don’t know him, not really. and it takes everything within you to resist challenging them, acting out won't do you good here. if you've learned anything it's that the women here can be just as brutal, if not more than the man of this clan.
still, the suggestion lingers, a date. something outside expectations. no obligations or performances, just time spent together. something that would just belong to the two of you. like a normal couple. the idea suddenly feels extremely tempting. so much that you'd drop everything here to do it.
as the conversation drifts on, you sip your tea, letting their voices blur into the background while you think of jinichi. not as they see him, not as rumour or reputation, but as he is with you. it's not true, it can't be, you tell yourself, he's your husband. and that thought alone is enough to quiet the anxious thoughts.
instead, you wonder what it might feel like to step outside of all this—if he weren't a zenin, if he were just another man you met, if there were no expectations carved into your bones, no rules dictating where you stand or who you belong to. if you had met him somewhere ordinary—on a street, in a quiet shop, anywhere that didn't demand something from you the moment you arrived. if you could have looked at him without consequence, taken your time, if you could have wanted him and that he wanted you, all without it meaning anything beyond that—and still choose him.
------
the restaurant is quieter than you expected. low light pooling across warm wood tables, the soft clink of cutlery muffled by distance and expensive carpets. conversation hums gently in the background, the kind of place where no one raises their voice and nothing feels rushed.
there were no reservations needed. just jinichi and his presence. the maître d' had stepped forward the moment he rounded the car to open your door, already smiling and prepared to seat the two of you without question. jinichi offers his hand as you climb out carefully, balancing on your heels, and you notice again how large his palm feels around yours. even with the extra height from the shoes, you barely reach his chest. the realization lingers for a moment as he guides you inside, his stride slow enough to match yours without ever making it obvious.
"it's nice to eat out once in awhile," you don’t remember the last time you got a treat like this. a place that doesn’t smell like grease and street smoke, or requires you to stand in line, tapping impatiently at a kiosk. "thank you." you say, genuinely.
jinichi sits across from you without his robes for once, dark suit tailored close to his frame, the fabric stretching slightly over his shoulders whenever he shifts. the sleeves end cleanly at his wrists, a sliver of skin visible where the cuff sits. no tie, no pocket squares, just the open collar of his shirt and the quiet confidence of a man who doesn’t feel the need to decorate himself.
he looks strangely out of place in a room like this at first glance, too rough around the edges for soft lighting and polished silverware. but the longer you stare, the more it feels like the room has simply rearranged itself around him. like he’s no stranger to the finer things in life, only uninterested in advertising that fact. clan life, after all, comes with its privileges.
"hm," he hums, distracted as the server leaves, then more pointedly, "you needed your own things."
the comment catches you slightly off guard. you glance down at the shopping bags resting beside your chair, then back up at him, "you didn’t have to do all that."
"i did," he replies simply. there’s no arrogance in the words, just quiet certainty, like the matter had been settled long before you ever stepped into the shop. his eyes move over you briefly, assessing in that way he sometimes does, neither cold nor distant, but thorough. making sure you’re comfortable and that you have what you need. "you’ve spent too long making do with whatever was around," he adds, almost absentmindedly, "i’m fixing that."
you blink, then laugh under your breath, "yes, that too." it's true, you've been living off his toiletries for months. his vetiver-scented soap and sandalwood shampoo feel just as good as they smell. and you liked smelling like him. liked that when he wasn't home, the house still carried his presence, the traces of him in the air, and all over. and the shirts...well, you’ve been less subtle there.
jinichi had come home early one afternoon to find you vacuuming the living room in nothing but panties and one of his old tshirts, music loud in your ears tuning out the rest of the world. leaving you completely unaware of the way he’d stopped in the doorway and simply…watched. long enough to note how the hem brushed your thighs, how the sleeves covered your arms past your elbow. you realize he’d never asked for those shirts back.
two plates are set between you, steam curling softly into the dim light. duck for him, fish for you. grilled sawara with skin blistered to a delicate crisp that crackles faintly when your fork brushes it. beneath sits a pale bed of cauliflower purée, silky and smooth, tucked neatly beside it are a few plump edamame ravioli, their thin skins glossy with butter.
jinichi’s plate is heavier by comparison. thick slices of aichi duck, the skin lacquered and dark, resting beside crisp shards of fried lotus root. the arugula sauce pools in a deep green streak beneath the meat, cut through by a darker ribbon of cassis and red wine reduction that smells faintly sweet and sharp all at once.
for a moment, you simply stare at the food, almost reluctant to disturb it. with your fork, you gently tap around the fish, feeling the texture absentmindedly, then you clear your throat before admitting, "it’s also nice seeing you out of your robes."
he looks up, raising an eyebrow at the suddenness.
"not that there’s anything wrong with them," you add quickly, "i mean, you have all these suits—" you gesture vaguely toward all of him, "you clean up well."
a pause, and because you mean it, you add, "you’re handsome."
jinichi stills. he’s not entirely sure where you’re going with this, but you hold his gaze steadily across the table. he’s not a man who thinks much about appearances, but history has a way of leaving its fingerprints. a brother who drew attention without trying. a fiancée who was never meant for him in the first place.
you can see the old doubt flicker there, brief but telltale. "where is this coming from?" he asks, raising a furry eyebrow suspiciously. "didn't think toji was such a cheapskate," he adds, one shopping trip and you're already trying to appeal to his ego with petty compliments. the timing alone doesn't help either. "if you wanted me to spoil you, all you had to do was ask."
he does spoil you. at least within reason. not with grand gestures or gaudy displays meant to impress strangers, but in quieter ways that are harder to notice if you aren’t looking for them. the new things that appear in your wardrobe without much announcement, not to embellish or flaunt, but so you wouldn't need to wear the same robes every day. the better groceries that start filling the kitchen, you notice your favourite snacks are always in stock. the way he notices when your shoes are wearing thin and replaces them before you can mention it. the way he remembers small preferences you’ve only said once—what tea you like, how you take your rice, which book you always reach for come evening—it isn’t indulgent, but it’s deliberate. and that, somehow, makes it more significant.
"i mean it," you reply, then add just in case, "and it has nothing to do with toji."
his eyes narrow slightly as he studies you for a long moment, as if testing the truth of it. then, without another word, he reaches across the table and nudges his dish toward you.
"eat," he says gruffly, "you've been picking at yours."
you smile to yourself when he takes the compliment, if not with some unwillingness. cheeks puffing up as you take a bite and chew. the duck is rich and warm, skin shattering softly between your teeth, "finally sharing your food now?"
he exhales through his nose, shaking his head. seemingly unable to stay irked for long, not when today is meant to be a nice day. "don’t make a thing of it."
after dinner, you wander through a small shopping district just beyond the restaurant. it’s the kind of place that seems designed for slow walking. wide flat pavements, glass storefronts glowing softly under warm lights, boutiques lining both sides of the lane, their displays arranged with careful restraint. silk scarves draped like art, watches floating in velvet-lined cases, handbags perched on pedestals like sculptures. everything gleams without looking like it’s trying to, the quiet confidence of wealth.
you drift past a perfume boutique, then a jeweller’s. halting in your steps when you spot a display of rings. gold, silver, delicate bands set with pale stones that glitter softly under the lights. your face lights up as you lean closer, fascinated by the different cuts and settings, the way each one seems to hold its own little universe of reflections.
jinichi watches you instead of the glass, "do you want one?"
you turn, startled, "oh…no, it’s alright. it’s not customary to wear rings," you glance back at the display, feeling a slight tug in your chest before shaking your head, "and they’re expensive."
"so?" he says.
you smile at that, fond and a little sad, "so i’m happy as i am." your fingers linger against the glass a moment longer before you pull them back. in its polished surface you catch your own reflection, just for a second, and the faint disappointment there surprises you. not because you've chosen to go without, but because reality has a way of returning unexpectedly, like a cool breeze slipping through an open door.
you had thought about it once or twice, what it might feel like to wear one. not for the jewellery itself, but for what it meant. a small, shining marker on your hand, a sign that told the world he was taken and you were spoken for. a sign of belonging. however customary you wished to be, following tradition and abiding by rules long determined, nothing about your marriage had followed custom. a fiancé who abandoned you, his brother who avoided you. a ring wouldn't change that. a ring would only make it more apparent how undeserving you were of one.
"really," you add lightly, brushing the thought away, "i don’t need one."
jinichi nods slowly, as if filing the answer away for later, though the look in his eyes suggests he doesn’t believe you entirely.
you leave soon after and drift toward the river. city lights blurring, traffic noise fading behind buildings, replaced by the hushed lap of water against the embankment. streetlights cast long reflections across the surface, orange and white streaks trembling whenever the current shifts. couples stroll past occasionally, their voices low, while somewhere farther down the path someone laughs. it feels calmer here.
you rummage through your purse as you walk, "i felt bad about not getting you a gift for our wedding," you say, "and i saw this earlier, it made me think of you." pulling out a small paper gift bag, you hold it out, waiting for him to take it.
jinichi stops, surprised but curious. he unfurls the thin tissue inside before pulling out...a keychain. a hedgehog charm hanging from a ball chain, it's got a plush and round little body, beaded dotted eyes, and tiny puffed spikes. unexpected, a little comical, but absurdly earnest.
you smile, embarrassed by how silly it looks. "remember when we first met? hedgehogs are kinda grumpy, and you had this mean look on your face. plus your hair—" you gesture upward. "all spiked like that."
it was your first time at the zenin estate. arriving with a small group of other girls as you gathered for introductions beneath the watchful eyes of the elders. everyone pretended it was a formality, an opportunity to meet the clan, to observe customs, but you understood well enough what it really was. the beginning of the sorting.
a private process of elimination carried out with polite smiles and careful silence. like grading cattle. you hadn’t expected much. the zenin clan wasn’t known for leniency when it came to appearances, especially when selecting women who might someday marry into it. the other girls had come dressed for the occasion, silk sleeves whispering against the tatami as they moved, each one composed and beautiful in a way that seemed almost deliberate. laughter floated between them in soft, controlled bursts while tea was poured and refilled.
you tried to do everything right. bowing at the proper angles, answering when spoken to, keeping your hands folded neatly in your lap during the ceremony. but no one paid much attention to you. none of the boys gave you a second glance. you weren’t remarkable enough to disrupt the flow of the room, nor interesting enough to invite conversation. you blended into the background so easily you almost disappeared.
and after that, you remember the courtyard.
the attendants had led you and the other girls through the estate grounds, past sliding doors and wooden walkways polished smooth from generations of footsteps. somewhere along the way the group slowed, pausing near an open courtyard where the sounds of training carried through the air. the sharp exhale of effort, the dull thud of bodies hitting packed earth.
that was where you saw him.
a teenage jinichi flashes through your mind. taller than the other boys already, shoulders squared, arms crossed. his dark hair stuck up in uneven spikes after a training session, sweat dampening the collar of his uniform while he stood off to the side of the courtyard, glaring at the world like it had personally offended him. terrifying, you thought at the time.
you remember looking away quickly, embarrassed to have stared at someone so openly, hurrying after the other girls when they began moving again. the moment felt small, barely worth remembering at the time. just another stern-faced boy among many inside a clan known for raising them that way.
and jinichi, one of the prides of their clan, had only spared you a passing glance. dark eyes flicking your way for the briefest moment before moving on. gone almost as quickly as it came, like it had never happened at all.
what isn't remembered, what went unnoticed, was how he had stood there long after you’d left, watching the space where you’d been. his gaze fixed on the stretch of stone where your shadow had fallen, where the faintest echo of your presence still seemed to linger. when the courtyard had emptied, the sounds of voices and footsteps fading into something distant, he didn’t move. jinichi hadn't followed or called for you. he simply stood there, as if committing the moment to memory. as if he could trace the shape of you from absence alone.
for a long time after, he found himself glancing toward that same spot without meaning to, like something in him expected you to still be there. like the air had shifted in a way he couldn’t quite explain, and for a fleeting, uncharacteristic moment, he wondered if he had imagined you at all.
jinichi’s expression now is flat as he turns the little hedgehog over in his palm, holding it like it might scurry off if he isn’t careful. "i guess some things don’t change," he says. and for good reason too, years of being told he looked severe had taught him it was easier to keep the expression than bother correcting it.
"my opinion did," you tell him, "you’re not as mean as you look." in fact, you don't think he's mean at all, not unless he wants to be, not unless it was anyone but you.
"hm. you should’ve known better," he replies.
"it’s because i never knew you. always avoiding me, never speaking." the sting of that memory has dulled with time, but it hasn’t disappeared entirely. "you must’ve hated me." like toji did, you almost add.
"don’t do that," jinichi says firmly, "assuming the worst of me." because he remembers exactly how hard it had been back then. to stand a few feet away from you and pretend indifference, to swallow down the urge to say anything at all. how does one ignore the one thing they want most?
after a moment, he adds, almost reluctantly, "if you must know…i thought you were trouble." not the loud, reckless kind that announces itself. you were the private, latent sort of trouble that settles somewhere under a man’s skin before he realizes it's there. the kind that lingers in his thoughts long after he’s walked away. even then, even as a boy, jinichi had known enough to recognize danger when he saw it.
you shrug, "seems like you never knew me either."
"no," he replies after a beat, "i didn’t."
then he reaches for your hand, fingers closing around yours easily, almost swallowing your hand whole as he draws you closer to his side. the gesture is simple, but it makes something soft unfurl in your chest.
the two of you start walking again and after a moment, you lift your free hand and curl it around his bicep, the muscle firm beneath your palm. relishing the warmth of him, the solidness of it, the way his stride adjusts slightly so you can keep pace. maybe this isn’t so bad, you think, maybe the two of you stand a chance of making this work.
your heart beats faster at the thought, a hopeful stirring there, like the first sign of spring. the idea of love blooming gradually between the two of you feels almost too delicate to name out loud.
but you won’t get ahead of yourself. for now, you keep the feeling close, letting it belong to you alone—later, when you’re both sated and settled into the stillness of his car, jinichi turns his keys in his hand before fastening the hedgehog charm onto the ring. the small smile on its face seems almost playful now, like it knows of your thoughts. he leaves it there, and watching him do it, you find yourself thinking—maybe not for long.
Fashion Friday: Shawn Michaels kicked Brian Pillman off so he could do promo for pay-per-view "Mind Games" on his match against Mankind on WWF In Your House series 10.
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