fawning angel @sinfulv1rgin - Tumblr Blog

Mar 21

Chasing Your Ashes | Twisted Oneshots

Pairing: Yandere!Suguru Geto x F!Reader

Genre: Dark fiction, Psychological thriller, Yandere, Memory manipulation, Obsession, Psychological horror, Alternate timeline AU

Word count: 7.9k

Warnings:

Dark content, psychological manipulation, memory tampering, gaslighting, mind break, obsession/possessive behavior, stalking, emotional coercion, distorted reality perception, implied non-con/dub-con elements (non-explicit), unhealthy relationship dynamics, power imbalance, identity confusion, suggestive themes, yandere behavior.

Please DO NOT read if you're sensitive to these topics.

AN: This piece explores heavy psychological themes including memory distortion and loss of autonomy. The story takes place in an alternate timeline separate from canon. If you’re uncomfortable with manipulative dynamics, mind break, or yandere characters, please skip. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Masterlist

The moon hung pale and distant above the palace roofs, its light spilling through the silken drapes like a ghost that refused to leave. The air was still — too still — heavy with a silence that seemed to suffocate even the faintest whisper of wind.

You sat before the lacquered mirror, its surface dimly reflecting the flickering candlelight. Your comb slid through your long hair with practiced grace, but there was no calm in your movements — only habit. Each slow stroke was a distraction, a fragile attempt to quiet the pounding in your chest.

This palace… your gilded cage. Every wall carried your father’s shadow — the tyrant king, the man feared more than loved. His voice still echoed in the marble halls, stern and cold, commanding obedience, demanding perfection. No one ever dared to breathe too freely in his presence. You had learned that lesson early — that fear was the only way to survive under his rule.

Your mother was gone. The servants bowed until their spines ached, and even then, their eyes never met yours. You, the king’s only daughter — the princess of a cursed throne — were trapped in a silence built from dread.

And now, war had come.

Your father had left days ago, leading his army toward the borders where neighboring kingdoms waited with sharpened blades and vengeful hearts. Everyone knew the truth — his enemies were many, his allies none. Yet he went anyway, arrogance cloaked as courage.

Since that morning, the palace had not known rest. Every servant’s footstep sounded like thunder in the stillness. The guards moved with rigid unease, hands never leaving the hilts of their swords. The halls felt colder, emptier — as if the kingdom itself was holding its breath.

You hadn’t slept. Each night you waited — for news, for a letter, for anything. But no one came. No messenger, no sign. Just silence and the endless whisper of your own thoughts.

A weary sigh slipped past your lips as you set the comb down upon the vanity. The night outside looked calm — deceptively so. You rose, the soft rustle of silk trailing behind you as you walked toward the window. The moonlight bathed your face in silver, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to hope — that perhaps tomorrow, he would return victorious.

Then you heard it.

A sound — faint, hurried — from the courtyard below. Metal clinking. Voices, low and strained. You froze, listening.

The unease that had sat quietly in your chest all week stirred violently. Pushing the curtains aside, you stepped onto the wooden balcony, the night air brushing against your skin. Below, the torchlight trembled in the hands of a few guards gathered near the gate. Their voices carried upward — sharp, nervous, panicked.

Your fingers curled around the carved railing. “What’s happening down there?” you called, keeping your voice calm though your pulse quickened.

The men below startled, heads snapping up at once. Their armor glinted faintly under the moonlight as they fumbled for words.

“H–Hime-sama…” one of them stammered, bowing hastily. “Forgive us, but… there’s been—”

He faltered, exchanging a look with the others. None of them seemed willing to continue.

The tension in your chest tightened. You took a slow breath, forcing your tone steady. “Speak,” you said softly. “What is it?”

The guard swallowed hard, eyes flickering toward the shadows beyond the gate — the place where the forest began, dark and endless.

“Hime-sama…” he began again, voice trembling. “There’s… there’s a man. A wounded soldier. We found him collapsed at the edge of the forest. He bears no crest we can recognize…”

The words trailed off into the night.

Your breath caught for a second.

A wounded soldier…?

The words echoed in your mind, sharp and urgent. Could it be—someone from your father’s army? Someone who had escaped the battlefield? Someone who might know what happened?

Hope flared like a dying flame suddenly catching air. You leaned slightly over the railing, voice tightening with impatience.

“What are you waiting for?” you called out. “Hurry! We need to bring him inside before he bleeds to death!”

The guards exchanged uneasy glances, shifting their weight. The one who had spoken raised a hand, bowing deeply.

“Hime-sama,” he said carefully, “forgive us, but… we cannot allow you to go down there. Especially not at night.”

You froze.

Of course. Not at night.

The familiar sting of helplessness burned beneath your ribs. You looked away, your fingers tightening against the railing until your knuckles whitened. You weren’t even permitted to step outside during the day without your father’s consent—what made you think you could now?

“…Very well,” you murmured after a moment, forcing your voice to steady. “Go, then. Bring him here.”

The men bowed once more and hurried off into the darkness, their torches bobbing like restless fireflies. You remained there a while longer, staring at the moon until it blurred through the tears you refused to let fall.

---

By the time the guards returned, the palace was bathed in a hush broken only by hurried footsteps and the soft clatter of armor. You followed the faint noise through the corridors until you reached one of the guest chambers — the air thick with the scent of herbs and blood.

The royal physician — an old man with silver hair and weary eyes — worked in silence, pressing bandages over wounds that looked far too deep to have been survived. The stranger lay on the bed, bare chest streaked with dried blood, his breathing shallow but steady.

You stepped inside, and instantly every head bowed low.

“Hime-sama,” the physician murmured, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the floor. The guards followed his lead, stepping back to make space for you.

You barely heard them. Your eyes had already fallen to the man on the bed.

Long, black hair spilled across the white pillow, strands tangled and damp with sweat. His features were sharp, almost too perfect — high cheekbones, a strong jaw, lips that looked like they’d been carved from silence itself. He looked nothing like the men your father commanded. There was something unfamiliar about him, something heavy in the air around him — like he carried the night with him even while unconscious.

Your gaze drifted over the scars across his skin — signs of countless battles. A man like this… how could even he fall?

If someone this strong was struck down so brutally… then Father…

Your thoughts stilled, dread closing around your throat. You swallowed hard, forcing the words out.

“This is the soldier?”

One of the guards, the same who had spoken earlier, hesitated. “We’re not certain, Hime-sama. There were no crests, no insignia, no proof of where he came from. Unless he wakes, we cannot say for sure. And if he’s not one of ours, then perhaps—” The man’s hand drifted toward his sword.

“Enough.”

Your voice cut through the room, quiet but firm. The guard froze mid-motion.

“Do not say such things,” you said, taking a slow step closer to the bed. “You’ll not speak of him as a threat while he lies half-dead under this roof. He’s to be treated until he wakes. Then, and only then, we’ll know the truth.”

“Hime-sama—”

“That is an order.”

The men lowered their heads at once. “As you command.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and turned your gaze back to the stranger. His face was still — calm in a way that unsettled you. The candlelight flickered across his skin, tracing the sharp curve of his jaw, the faint rise and fall of his chest.

There was something… strangely peaceful about him.

You shook the thought away. “Keep someone stationed here,” you said softly. “If he stirs, send word immediately.”

With that, you turned and stepped out of the room, the soft echo of your footsteps fading into the silence of the hall…

—

The morning light spilled softly through the paper screens, brushing gold against the polished floors. You were halfway through a cup of tea you hadn’t really tasted when a young servant knelt beside you, head bowed.

“Hime-sama,” she whispered, voice trembling slightly, “the man we brought in last night—he has regained consciousness.”

Your hand stilled mid-motion, the porcelain cup gently clinking against its saucer. For a moment, your heart skipped.

“…He’s awake?” you asked quietly.

“Yes, Hime-sama. The physician says he’s stable now.”

You nodded once, setting the cup aside. “Prepare the room,” you murmured. “I’ll see him.”

The girl bowed low before scurrying out. You rose, smoothing the folds of your robe, trying to steady the unease that had begun to coil in your chest. You didn’t know why, but the thought of facing him—this nameless soldier who had appeared from the darkness—made your pulse quicken.

---

The air inside the room was thick with the scent of medicine and incense. The wounded man sat upright on the bed now, his body bound in clean white bandages. He was silent, his long dark hair falling over one shoulder, and his gaze—those dark, calm eyes—lifted to you the moment you entered.

You froze.

It wasn’t hostility that met you. It wasn’t even pain. It was something deeper… an awareness. His eyes seemed to hold too much, as if he’d seen and known things no ordinary man should. For an instant, you forgot to breathe.

“Hime-sama,” the physician greeted, bowing low. The guards followed, heads dipping.

You nodded faintly, your attention never fully leaving the man on the bed. “You’re awake,” you said softly, stepping closer. “I was told you were gravely injured. Are you feeling better now?”

Silence.

He didn’t answer—didn’t even blink. Just stared at you, steady and unreadable. The stillness stretched, sharp enough to make your skin prickle.

One of the guards broke. He took a step forward, fury flashing across his face.

“How dare you!” he barked. “Our Hime-sama is speaking to you! You refuse to answer any of our questions and now you insult her with silence!?”

“Enough.”

But your voice was lost beneath another—calm, deep, and oddly familiar.

You turned toward the doorway, eyes widening.

A tall man stepped inside, robes of muted crimson flowing behind him. His hair was streaked with faint gray, his features bearing the same sharpness as your father’s, yet softer—warmer, somehow. It was your father’s younger brother.

“Uncle…?” you breathed, barely hiding your surprise.

Lord Renzō—that was his name, though you rarely used it aloud. Everyone called him Renzō-dono, the king’s estranged brother, the man who wanted nothing to do with the crown or the cruelty that came with it. He rarely visited the palace, and when he did, it was like a shadow passing briefly through sunlight.

Why was he here now?

He smiled faintly, stepping into the room. “He’s still recovering,” he said mildly, looking toward the injured man. “We shouldn’t rush him, right?”

That last word—right?—was spoken as his eyes flicked to yours. His tone was light, but there was something deliberate beneath it, something that made you hesitate.

You blinked once, then slowly nodded. “You’re right,” you said softly, glancing toward the furious guard. “Stand down.”

The guard hesitated, clenching his jaw before bowing. “As you command, Hime-sama.”

He stepped back, lowering his head. The room fell quiet again, save for the soft crackle of the brazier.

Your uncle crossed the space between you, his expression unreadable. His hand came to rest lightly on your shoulder, a gentle squeeze following.

“I heard what’s been happening,” he said, voice low but steady. “So I couldn’t stay away.”

You looked up at him, searching for meaning behind the sudden warmth in his tone. He’d never been the type to involve himself in your father’s affairs.

“Don’t worry,” he continued, his smile faint but practiced. “Your father isn’t the type to lose.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. He’d never said such words before—never shown confidence in the man he openly despised. Why now?

Your eyes shifted briefly to the stranger on the bed—his gaze was still fixed on you, silent and heavy. The moment your eyes met, you felt it again—that strange awareness, like he was listening to every word, every breath.

You turned away first. “You must be tired, Uncle,” you said softly, forcing a small smile. “I’ll tell the maids to prepare your chambers.”

Renzō inclined his head, his smile deepening just slightly. “Thank you, Hime-sama,” he said. Then, as he moved past you, his voice dropped lower—barely above a whisper. “I appreciate… whatever you do.”

A shiver crawled down your spine, though you couldn’t say why.

You looked back once, to the man still sitting on the bed, watching everything in silence. His gaze followed Renzō’s departing form for a moment before returning to you.

You didn’t understand then—but something in that quiet, in those eyes, felt like the calm before a storm you couldn’t yet see.

—

You could still feel his eyes.

Even when you weren’t looking, even when you pretended to busy yourself with letters and documents, the memory of those dark, unblinking stares lingered—quiet, patient, and far too deep. Every time you entered that room, he never spoke, never moved much—just watched you. It wasn’t the kind of gaze that was empty or lost. No, it was knowing. Like he could see through the silk, through the poise, straight into the restless, frightened heart you tried to hide from everyone else.

It made your stomach twist. You told yourself it was nonsense—that he was merely recovering, that the stillness came from pain or exhaustion. But the unease only grew.

Because those eyes… they didn’t belong to a wounded soldier.

They belonged to someone who understood far more than he should.

Your hands had begun to clench without you realizing. He knows. That thought burned inside you, clear and sharp.

“He was there. He must’ve seen my father. He must know what’s happening in the war.”

So you promised yourself that you’d make him speak—today, or tomorrow—but you would hear the truth from him.

Except—he didn’t speak.

Not that day. Not the next. Not the one after.

Each morning passed with whispers following you through the corridors. Servants spoke in hushed tones; guards exchanged wary looks whenever you walked by. Everyone had begun to question why the stranger still remained.

“He’s dangerous, Hime-sama.”

“No soldier of ours would bear no crest.”

“Please, send him away before misfortune strikes.”

Their words clung to you like shadows. And though you tried to ignore them, you felt your patience thinning. Maybe they were right. Maybe you were being foolish.

So, that morning, you went to him again—perhaps for the last time.

---

The air in his chamber was cool, filtered through the thin shōji screens that let in threads of pale daylight. The scent of herbs hung faintly in the air, and the quiet rhythm of your footsteps filled the space.

He sat as always—upright on the futon, bandages wrapping his torso and arms. His hair fell loosely over his shoulder, dark as ink against the white sheets. His eyes lifted to you the moment you entered.

You didn’t speak at first. The weight of his gaze made your breath slow. His silence felt heavier now, almost deliberate.

You exhaled, steadying your tone. “You’ve recovered enough to talk now, haven’t you?”

He didn’t answer. His face gave nothing away.

A flicker of irritation lit in your chest. You took another step closer. “You’ve been silent for days. If you truly served under my father, you must tell me what you know. Is he—”

“The Lord has ordered to send the remaining soldiers to the south side by sunset.”

The words cut clean through the air, calm and low.

You froze.

He looked at you steadily as he continued, his voice measured, emotionless.

“We’re on the verge of losing. He said we need to change our tactics—that’s what he told me to deliver, Hime-sama.”

Your breath caught. “We’re… losing?”

He said nothing, and that silence felt louder than any answer.

You took a step forward, the tremor in your voice breaking through the mask you tried to hold. “Why—why didn’t you say this sooner!? You’ve been lying here all this time, and you—!”

He looked away then, for the first time, his expression unreadable—but his voice softer, almost remorseful.

“I apologize. I was on my way to deliver this message. But… they caught me before I could reach the palace.”

His hand lifted slightly, brushing the edge of the bandages on his neck. “It’s not safe anymore,” he murmured. “They’re getting closer… to the palace.”

You felt your knees weaken.

Your eyes trailed over him—the dark bruises, the deep cuts along his shoulder, his arm, the scar at his throat. The words couldn’t be false. No spy could have survived wounds like that.

He’s telling the truth.

You forced your breathing to steady, the tremor in your fingers barely under control. “I see…” you whispered.

Then you turned sharply and left the room before your panic could show.

---

The wind hit your face as soon as you reached the roof terrace—one of the highest points of the palace overlooking the courtyards below. The guards on duty straightened in shock as you appeared, but you didn’t stop. You moved to the edge, the air alive with tension, your pulse hammering.

“Everyone, listen!”

Your voice echoed down into the courtyards. Every head turned—soldiers, servants, archers stationed by the gates.

“Gather the remaining troops!” you ordered, raising your voice louder. “By the command of the King, move the forces to the southern side before sunset! You are to reinforce the defense there immediately!”

The men blinked in confusion for a moment before snapping into action, shouting orders to one another.

You turned to the captain of the guards standing below. “Double the patrols! Tighten the watch around the palace—no one enters or leaves without approval!”

“Yes, Hime-sama!”

The courtyard burst into motion, men rushing toward the armory, banners rising, the clang of weapons breaking through the still morning.

You stood there for a long moment, wind tugging at your hair, trying to calm the pounding in your chest.

“Please… please let this work…”

For a fleeting second, you looked back toward the palace—the faint shadow of the room where the silent man waited—and your heart beat even faster, though you didn’t yet know why…

—

The night was restless.

Even after the orders were given, even after the soldiers marched out toward the southern border, silence did not bring you peace. The air felt too heavy; every breath you took seemed to taste of dread. You had done what you thought was right, yet doubt crept through the corners of your mind like fog.

You sat by the open window of your chamber, staring at the distant torches flickering across the palace walls. “Father… please, be safe.” The prayer slipped from your heart silently, lost to the wind.

Then, a faint knock sounded at your door.

“Hime-sama,” came a servant’s hesitant voice, “the wounded man… he wishes to speak with you.”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening on the fabric of your robe. Why now? Part of you wanted to refuse—too tired, too uncertain—but the thought of his calm, unreadable face would not leave your mind. Perhaps he had more news. Perhaps… something about your father.

“…I’ll go,” you said quietly.

---

His room was dim when you entered, lit only by a single lantern. Shadows moved like soft waves across the paper walls. The man was awake, sitting upright, one arm resting lightly across his bandaged torso. When he saw you, he inclined his head just slightly—more a gesture of respect than of servitude.

You closed the door behind you. “You asked for me,” you said.

“I did.” His voice was lower than you remembered, quiet but clear. “I wanted to thank you, Hime-sama. For trusting my words when I had done nothing to earn that trust.”

You stayed near the doorway at first, unsure. “I only did what had to be done.”

“Still,” he said, a faint trace of warmth touching his tone, “it saved lives. Perhaps even mine.”

You didn’t answer. The silence between you stretched again, heavy yet strangely calm. You could hear the faint crackle of the lantern flame, the soft rustle of his breath.

Finally, you spoke. “You never told me your name.”

He lifted his eyes to yours then. The faintest smile curved his lips.

“Suguru.”

The syllables rolled softly, almost reverent. You repeated it under your breath as if testing the sound. “Suguru…”

Something about it lingered in the air—simple, but grounding.

You drew a quiet breath. “Suguru. You were… part of the battlefield, weren’t you? You must have seen my father.”

He looked down for a moment, then nodded once. “I did.”

The answer made your pulse quicken. “And… he’s safe?”

There was a pause. His gaze lifted again, gentle but unreadable. “He was alive when I last saw him. But the front is chaos, Hime-sama. No one truly knows what the next hour brings.”

You swallowed hard, that sick feeling of fear curling tighter in your chest. “Then why didn’t you speak sooner?”

“I’m sorry.” His eyes softened, guilt touching his voice like a sigh. “I wanted to… but I couldn’t be sure who I could trust. I was half-dead when they found me. For all I knew, the palace might already have been infiltrated. If I spoke too soon and endangered you…”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Endangered me?

He smiled faintly, though the expression carried a trace of pain. “I’ve seen too many good hearts crushed by war. I didn’t want yours to be next.”

“......." You said nothing, but your chest felt tight.

He shifted slightly, the movement drawing a quiet hiss through his teeth as pain shot through his bandaged arm. You stepped forward without thinking. “You shouldn’t move—”

“I’ll manage,” he murmured. His voice was calm again, but softer this time, almost coaxing. “These wounds are the price I pay. I’ve survived worse...”

You frowned. “You shouldn’t speak of it so lightly.”

He looked up at you then, and in the glow of the lantern, his eyes looked warmer than before—gentle, deep, endless.

“I don’t,” he said quietly. “But… if I must bear the pain to keep you safe, then I will. Don’t worry, Hime-sama… I’ll always protect you. Until my last breath.”

The words caught you off guard. You felt your throat tighten, a rush of warmth spreading through your chest before you could stop it.

No one had ever said such things to you—not your father, not the soldiers sworn to your name. You had lived your whole life behind walls of fear and silence, and now, this stranger with his calm voice and wounded body spoke to you as though you were someone worth protecting.

You lowered your gaze, hiding the sudden rush of emotion behind your lashes. “You shouldn’t make promises like that,” you whispered.

He smiled faintly. “I never make promises I don’t intend to keep.”

For a heartbeat, the world outside the walls seemed to disappear. The lantern flame wavered between you, painting soft gold across his face, and something in his eyes—steady, unyielding—felt like a shield you didn’t know you needed.

Somehow, his words made your heart ache.

It wasn’t the promise alone. It was the way he said it—so quiet, so certain, as if protecting you had already become something inevitable to him.

Your fingers tightened slightly at your sides.

His voice lingered in your mind even after the words had faded, low and steady like a distant echo you couldn’t escape. And his eyes… the way they watched you so carefully, so gently—there was something inside them. Something unspoken.

As if he wanted to say more.

As if the words were already resting on the edge of his lips but never quite finding the courage to fall.

Your chest felt strangely heavy.

For a fleeting moment, a thought brushed against your mind—soft and distant, like a memory seen through fog.

I’ve felt this before.

The feeling of being looked at like that.

The warmth spreading through your chest.

The strange ache that came with it.

But no matter how hard you tried to grasp it, the memory slipped through your fingers like water.

You didn’t understand it.

And perhaps… you didn’t want to.

Slowly, you lowered your gaze, forcing the unfamiliar feeling down before it could grow any stronger.

“This is foolish,” you murmured quietly, though you weren’t sure whether you meant him… or yourself.

Without another word, you turned away.

Your steps were quiet as you moved toward the door, the soft rustle of your robes the only sound breaking the stillness of the room. You paused for the briefest moment with your hand resting on the sliding door.

You didn’t look back.

If you did, you feared you might see those eyes again—steady, patient, waiting.

And something inside you might answer them.

So instead, you slid the door open and stepped out into the cool night air, leaving the wounded stranger and the strange, aching feeling behind you.

Or at least… you tried to.

—

Days passed.

The palace that once echoed with the sounds of armored steps and morning drills now felt hollow. Every corridor whispered with emptiness. Every flickering lantern seemed weaker than before, shadows stretching too long against the gold-painted walls.

Most of the guards had already marched south. Those who remained stayed close to the gates, leaving the inner palace silent. You could hear your own footsteps too clearly now… and sometimes, when the wind brushed against the windows, it sounded almost like voices—faint, distant, and gone before you could listen again.

You hated that silence.

Every night, you told yourself you wouldn’t go to his room again. But then, when the air grew cold and your chest tightened with fear, your feet would move before your mind could stop them.

And so tonight again, you found yourself walking through the dim hall, carrying a single lantern. The flame trembled slightly with your hands.

When you opened the door, Suguru was awake.

He was sitting near the window, moonlight pooling over his bandaged arms. His long dark hair had been tied loosely behind him, and though he still looked pale, his posture was strong—too strong for someone who had nearly died days ago.

He turned at the sound of the door and smiled faintly. “You shouldn’t be walking around alone, Hime-sama. It’s dangerous at night.”

You exhaled shakily. “There’s no one left here to hurt me.”

“That’s not true,” he said calmly.

There was an unfamiliar curve to his smile now. Something subtle. Something… unreadable. As if a thought lingered behind it that he had chosen not to share.

The lantern light flickered between you, casting wavering shadows along the walls.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then Suguru tilted his head slightly, studying you with quiet curiosity.

“…Why didn’t you come sooner?”

Your brows knit together faintly.

“I asked the servants about you,” he continued calmly. “But none of them answered me.”

His gaze never left your face.

The smile remained on his lips, yet something in his eyes felt different—deeper, searching.

“Did I do something wrong…?” he asked softly.

A pause.

“Unpleasant, Hime-sama?”

The way he said it made your chest tighten.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words refused to come. Your mind felt strangely empty as you looked at him.

Suguru hadn’t moved from the bed.

Yet somehow his presence filled the entire room.

“I…” Your thoughts drifted, your gaze lingering on him longer than it should have—the fall of his dark hair, the quiet steadiness in his expression, the strange warmth in his eyes.

For a moment you weren’t even sure what he had asked.

You were simply… staring.

And then—

You blinked.

Suguru was suddenly standing in front of you.

Too close.

Your breath caught in your throat.

You hadn’t even seen him move.

The lantern in your hand trembled slightly as his shadow fell over you, tall and quiet beneath the soft moonlight.

His long dark hair slipped forward as he leaned down just slightly, strands brushing near your shoulder.

Before you could step back—

His hands gently took hold of yours.

Your fingers stiffened.

The warmth of his palms wrapped around them so naturally, as though they had always belonged there.

Yet you couldn’t move.

Couldn’t speak.

Your body felt strangely still, frozen in place as if you had turned into nothing more than a statue standing beneath his gaze.

Suguru lowered his eyes briefly to your hands.

Slowly—almost thoughtfully—he lifted one of them.

And then—

He pressed a soft kiss against your palm.

Your breath hitched sharply.

The warmth of it burned against your skin.

Not painfully.

But enough to send a sudden wave of heat rushing through your chest.

A quiet hiss of breath nearly escaped you, the sound dying somewhere deep in your throat as you stared up at him in shock.

Suguru was very close now.

So close that you could see the faint shadow beneath his eyes… the calm curve of his lips… the way a few loose strands of his dark hair slipped forward, brushing near your cheek as he leaned slightly over you.

His other hand rose slowly.

Your heart pounded in your ears as his fingers hovered near your face.

Then, gently—almost absentmindedly—his fingertips brushed across your upper lip.

The touch was light.

Careful.

As if he were studying something delicate.

His gaze darkened slightly as he looked at you.

And when he spoke again, his voice had dropped to a low whisper.

“…Pretty lips.”

“But enough to send a sudden wave of heat

“Would look better around my cock,” Suguru murmured, his voice a husky rumble that vibrated through the air between you, laced with raw intent.

His thumb traced the swell of your lower lip, parting it slightly as if imagining the stretch, the wet slide of his thick shaft pushing past. “Imagine it, Hime-Sama… those soft lips wrapped tight around me, sucking me deep until you're choking on every inch. Hmm… you'd take it so well, wouldn't you?”

Your eyes widened in shock, a flush exploding across your cheeks and down your neck, heat pooling low in your belly like molten fire. The words hit you like a slap, filthy and unyielding, stripping away any pretense of innocence in the room.

You wanted to gasp, to protest, to pull away—but your body betrayed you, locking in place as if invisible chains held you down. Every muscle froze, your limbs heavy and unresponsive, heart slamming against your ribs while your mind reeled in flustered chaos.

Oh god, he didn't just say that… not to me…

The thought swirled, but no sound escaped; your throat tightened, words dying unspoken.

Suguru's gaze never left yours, dark eyes gleaming with possession as his fingers continued their slow caress along your jaw, tilting your chin up to force you to meet his stare.

“Don't you want to? Hm?” he drawled, the words stretching out languidly, each syllable a deliberate tease that sent shivers racing over your skin.

His touch was feather-light on your cheek now, stroking down to the pulse point at your neck, feeling the frantic beat there. “I can see it in your eyes, princess… that needy little spark. You crave it, don't you?”

“Well… you always did…”

Before you could even process the haze of his words, his other hand—the one that had cradled your palm—slid away, trailing a path of fire down your side. It ghosted over the curve of your waist, fingers splaying wide to claim the dip of your hip through the thin fabric of your clothes.

Your breath caught again, sharper this time, but still no movement came. You were rooted, pinned by the weight of his presence, the room shrinking to just the heat of him so near.

Lower his hand ventured, deliberate and unhurried, skimming the edge of your thigh before cupping your mound possessively. His palm pressed firm against the warmth between your legs, fingers curling slightly to mold to your shape, the pressure igniting a spark that made your core clench involuntarily.

Fabric was no barrier to the intent in his grip—he owned that space now, rubbing slow circles that had your hips twitching faintly, the only rebellion your body could muster.

“This here…” Suguru whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned in closer, his body shifting to press fully against you.

You felt it then—the hard poke of his manhood straining against his pants, thick and insistent as it nudged your belly through the layers.

He was too close, deliberately so, grinding just enough to let you feel the rigid length of him, the heat radiating like a promise of what could come. “This is being really naughty, Hime-Sama. Soaking for me already, isn't it? Your needy thing begging for attention, clenching around nothing while you pretend to be all shy.”

A whimper built in your chest, but it stayed trapped, your lips parting only to let out a silent plea. Shame and desire twisted inside you, your mind a whirlwind of no, yes, stop, more as his fingers worked with expert patience.

He hooked them under the edge of your underwear, pushing the fabric aside to expose your slick folds to the cool air of the room. The first direct touch—his fingertips gliding through your wetness—drew a shudder from deep within, your walls fluttering at the invasion.

Suguru chuckled low, the sound vibrating against your skin as he nuzzled your neck, lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear. “That's it, Hime-Sama… let me feel how wet you are for me. Hmm, you're dripping already, just from my words. This is such a shameful act of you—the noble lady… the only Hime-Sama dripping from a stranger's touch…”

His middle finger circled your entrance teasingly, dipping in shallowly before retreating, building the ache until it bordered on pain. Then, with a possessive growl, he pushed deeper, two fingers now, curling to stroke that spot inside that made stars burst behind your eyelids.

You couldn't move, couldn't speak—your body a prisoner to the sensations crashing over you. His thumb found your clit, rubbing firm, insistent circles that had your thighs quivering despite the freeze.

Heat built relentlessly, coiling tight in your core as he pumped his fingers in and out, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the quiet room obscenely.

It's too much… he's everywhere…

Your thoughts fragmented, pleasure sharpening to a razor's edge while his free hand cradled your face, thumb brushing your lips again as if reminding you of his earlier words.

“Gonna make you come for me, Hime-Sama,” he breathed, voice rough with his own need, his cock twitching against your belly in rhythm with his thrusts.

“Come all over my fingers like the needy girl you are. Show me how much you want this—how much you want me to ruin you senseless after.” He added a third finger, stretching you fuller, his pace quickening as he watched your face, drinking in every frozen twitch, every silent gasp.

The pressure mounted, your body betraying you with slick gushes that coated his hand, the friction on your clit pushing you higher.

Foreplay blurred into pure torment—he leaned down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, tongue invading your mouth just as his fingers invaded below, mimicking the thrust he craved.

You tasted yourself on his breath somehow, or maybe it was just the rawness of it all. His body pinned you gently but firmly, that hard bulge grinding against you, promising more even as he focused solely on unraveling you. Sensations layered: the scrape of his teeth on your lip, the curl of his fingers hitting deep, the relentless rub that had your vision blurring.

The orgasm built like a storm, crashing without mercy. Your walls clamped down on his fingers, pulsing wildly as waves of ecstasy ripped through you, quaking your frozen form from the inside out.

A muffled cry escaped at last, vibrating against his mouth, your body arching involuntarily into his arms as you shattered.

He held you through it, fingers slowing to milk every aftershock, his whispers turning soothing yet still laced with possession: “Good girl… that's my Hime-Sama, coming so hard for me.”

You collapsed against him, limp and spent, falling into the solid warmth of his chest as tremors faded. But then—reality snapped back.

“Hime-Sama?”

Your eyes flew open.

The room was as it had been. Suguru sat on the edge of the bed, unmoved, his posture relaxed and unchanged, those dark strands of hair still neatly in place.

No hands on you, no press of his body, no lingering wetness between your thighs. It had all been in your mind—a vivid, shameful fantasy spun from that single kiss on your palm, the brush of his fingers on your lip.

Heat flooded your face anew, mortification twisting in your gut at the realization.

I just… imagined him doing that? Right here, in front of him? God, what if he could tell?

Before he could tilt his head further or voice the concern gathering in his eyes—“Are you okay?”—panic surged.

You bolted upright, scrambling off the bed on unsteady legs, the ghost of that phantom pleasure making your core throb with residual ache. Your pussy felt slick, traitorous, as if the dream had left echoes behind, dripping faintly against your underwear as you fled.

Shame burned hot, propelling you toward the door without a backward glance, the click of the latch echoing your frantic escape into the hallway.

Behind you, Suguru's voice followed, soft and puzzled, but you didn't stop—couldn't face the knowing look that might be there, the one that saw straight through your frozen facade to the desires you'd just unleashed in silence.

—

The morning did not greet you gently.

It came in fragments—thin streaks of pale light slipping through the curtains, the distant hum of life beyond your walls, and the slow, disorienting awareness of your own body. You stirred beneath the sheets, breath catching faintly as warmth lingered where it shouldn’t, coiling low and unfamiliar, like an echo that refused to fade.

Your eyes fluttered open.

For a moment, you didn’t move. You simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, your pulse uneven, your skin still carrying the ghost of something that wasn’t real—yet felt far too vivid to be dismissed as just a dream.

“…no…” you whispered under your breath, voice barely audible.

But your body betrayed you. The heat, the sensitivity—it all clung stubbornly, refusing to dissolve into morning logic.

And then it came back.

Not fully. Not clearly. Just flashes.

A voice—low, trembling ever so slightly as it spoke your name.

A touch—hesitant at first, then firm, as if afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

Those dirty words-

Your breath hitched, and you immediately turned onto your side, burying half your face into the pillow as if it could hide the sudden rush of embarrassment flooding through you.

“No, no, no…” you mumbled, squeezing your eyes shut.

“At this moment… I'm thinking of such things… this was not expected from me…” Your fingers curled into the sheets.

“But…. Why would I even dream that…?”

Because it hadn’t felt like a dream. That was the problem.

It had felt real. Too real. The warmth of him, the closeness, the way your name had sounded on his lips—it lingered in your ears like a secret you weren’t supposed to remember.

A soft groan escaped you as you pulled the blanket higher, as if that could somehow shield you from your own thoughts.

“And I just—ran away…” you muttered, peeking out from the covers with a mortified expression.

The memory of last night surfaced next—clearer, sharper.

The way you had avoided his gaze.

The way your heart had pounded as you turned your back on him, retreating too quickly, too obviously—

You pressed your palms against your burning cheeks.

“He definitely noticed,” you whispered in horror. “There’s no way he didn’t notice…”

Your stomach twisted, half from embarrassment, half from something else you didn’t want to name.

What if he asked?

What if he already knew?

What if—

Then the sound came.

A deep, echoing clang. Then another—louder, sharper. Panic sliced through the tranquility like a blade. You sat up instantly, heart hammering in your ribs. You were already off the bed, hastily throwing on a robe. The noise grew—boots, shouting, metal clashing somewhere down the marble corridors.

You ran.

Bare feet slapping against the cold floor, your breath catching as you rushed through the grand doors of the royal hall—only to feel the world collapse beneath your feet.

Your father’s body was nowhere to be found. Only his head lay upon the gleaming floor, eyes closed, face pale and still—as if he’d merely fallen asleep before death claimed him. A small pool of crimson framed him like a grotesque crown.

Your breath hitched. The sound that tore from your throat wasn’t a scream, but something broken—raw disbelief turning to anguish.

“F-Father…?”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

The voice came from behind. Smooth. Mocking. You turned, and there he stood—Lord Renzo, your uncle, dressed immaculately as always, his expression carved with a smirk too cruel to belong to kin.

“What—what have you done?” you choked, trembling.

Renzo clicked his tongue, stepping forward with a leisurely air. “Oh, my dear niece… still so naïve.” His boot came down—right on your father’s head. A sickening sound followed, echoing through the hall.

“STOP!” you screamed, surging forward. “Don’t you dare—step away from him!”

Renzo looked down at you with mock pity. “Such fire. Just like your mother.” He tilted his head. “And just as foolish.”

“Foolish?” you spat, shaking. “You stood by him—you served him!”

“Served?” His laughter rang sharp and hollow. “No, child. I waited.” He crouched slightly, meeting your horrified gaze. “All those years of pretending, of bowing, smiling, feigning loyalty… for this moment.”

You stumbled back a step, your tears burning. “You… you lied—”

He straightened, spreading his arms dramatically. “Lied? I call it strategy. After all, it’s easy to deceive those too blinded by blood and trust.”

You clenched your fists. “Guards!” you shouted, voice breaking. “GUARDS!”

Footsteps answered—many of them. Relief flooded you for a second—until the soldiers entered. Their armor wasn’t the crimson of your royal crest. It was black, etched with an insignia you didn’t recognize.

Your blood ran cold.

Renzo’s smile widened. “Ah… they’re punctual.”

You turned to him, voice trembling. “Wh—where are my guards? Where’s Captain Iro?”

He chuckled low, cruelly amused. “Didn’t I tell you to dismiss them? To send them away under the guise of inspection?” He leaned close enough for you to see the madness in his eyes. “They’re dead, my sweet niece. Every last one.”

Your breath faltered, knees threatening to give. “No…” you whispered. “Then… whose guards are they…?”

The hall fell silent for a heartbeat.

Then a voice—deep, calm, achingly familiar—cut through the stillness.

“Mine.”

The single word echoed through the vast hall like a verdict.

Cold. Final. Unfathomably familiar.

Your breath halted in your chest, your heart pounding hard enough to bruise your ribs. You didn’t turn at once—couldn’t. The voice alone rooted you to the spot, as if reality needed a moment to rearrange itself around the sound.

Then you turned. Slowly.

Suguru stood there.

Not the Suguru whose sleeping face had softened your morning.

Not the Suguru whose warmth still lingered faintly on your skin.

This Suguru—looked carved from some ancient shadow. Soldiers in dark armor flanked him like an honor guard of the underworld. His posture was regal, his eyes unreadable, his presence consuming the hall until even the torches seemed to dim.

Your lips parted, but the word slipped out in a broken whisper.

“…Suguru…?”

Your own voice sounded foreign, thin, like it belonged to someone else witnessing someone else’s life fall apart.

“Geto.” He corrected, sounding firm as he stared down at you.

You blinked—and the world around you blurred.

A memory seized you without mercy.

---

You were younger then.

Small enough that your feet didn’t quite touch the ground when you sat on the grand carved chair beside your father’s throne. The king—your king—was not yet the tyrant the world would one day spit upon. His voice still held warmth then, his eyes crinkling when he glanced at you fiddling with the embroidery on your dress.

“Y/N,” he called, tone half-tease, half-lecture. “Are you listening? Or daydreaming again?”

You looked up quickly, cheeks puffing in childish protest. “I’m listening! I’m just… resting my eyes.”

He laughed, patting your head with a hand that felt impossibly large back then. “Very well. Rest them while I tell you something important.”

He leaned back, expression turning thoughtful. “There are lands beyond our borders—some known, some spoken only in whispers. But there is one in particular…” He lowered his voice, as if the walls might overhear. “…a kingdom hidden in the folds of the world.”

Your eyes widened, curiosity instantly hooked. “Hidden? Like magic?”

“Perhaps.” His gaze turned distant. “Some travelers claim the paths twist strangely there. Walk straight, and you circle back. Turn left, and you find yourself lost. They say the land chooses who may enter.”

You leaned closer, enthralled. “And the people there?”

“No one truly knows,” he admitted. “Because those who claim to have entered…” His voice dropped, almost a whisper. “…never return.”

You shivered—not from fear, but the thrill of a child hearing a ghost story.

“Others say,” he continued, “that their ruler made a pact with the devil himself. That he stopped aging long ago. That he commands legions unseen by mortal eyes.”

You stared up at him, blinking dramatically. “That’s not real!”

He chuckled. “Maybe. Or maybe it is. The world holds more darkness than we teach our children.” He smiled down at you, tapping your forehead. “Consider it an interesting tale, little one. Nothing more.”

Back then, you grinned and nodded—because it truly was nothing but a story. A fun one. A bedtime fantasy you’d forget after falling asleep.

---

But now—

Now your gaze lifted back to the man standing before you in the royal hall.

The man who hadn’t aged.

The man whose presence made seasoned warriors tremble.

The man whose soldiers bore an emblem you’d never seen in your kingdom or any neighboring one.

That hidden empire.

That ruler who never grew older.

That legend whispered in fear.

It wasn’t a story.

It was him.

Standing right in front of you—looking at you with eyes that saw too much, felt too little.

A tremor ran through your fingers. Your breath stuttered. Your heartbeat hurt.

Suguru—or rather, Geto—watched you. A slow, curling smile touched his mouth. Something old and dark and almost amused flickered in his gaze.

He tilted his head slightly, raven hair brushing his shoulder.

“You look pale, Hime—Sama,” he murmured, voice smooth, velvet over steel.

You couldn’t speak. Not because you didn’t want to—

But because your throat refused to form words.

His smirk deepened, and then—

a low, soft laugh slipped from him.

Not warm.

Not kind.

Not the laugh you knew.

“Too surprised to speak,” he drawled lazily, “princess?”

[Extra Chapter]

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